Shirai Castle was one of the great cities in the southern Land of Fire — a sprawling hub where three rivers met and trade flowed like lifeblood.
Even in winter, the waterways never froze, and the streets thrummed with hundreds of thousands of people; merchants hawking wares, travelers passing through, gamblers, thieves, nobles, and beggars.
Among the crowds wandered a young man in plain clothes, forehead protector tucked away, looking every bit the idle tourist. In truth, Uchiha Gen was hunting.
In this world, wealth rarely came from clean hands. And those with clean hands rarely held any wealth at all.
After two days of gathering intelligence, Gen almost felt overwhelmed as there were too many rotten targets. Choosing one was like pointing at random.
That evening, after a quiet dinner in a roadside restaurant, he strolled aimlessly down a lantern-lit street. He planned to return to his inn soon, maybe draw lots for fairness' sake. But then three men caught his eye; shifty, restless, and moving like rats in shadows.
Thieves?
Gen trailed them at a distance, casual as a shopper but watchful as a shinobi.
The men stopped at a busy barbecue stall, ordered cheap skewers and drinks, and sat near a father with two small children.
Soon, light chatter flowed between the tables. Laughter, clinking cups, the easy trust of strangers sharing food.
Then the boy, no older than seven, excused himself to the toilet. One of the three followed soon after, smiling.
Time passed. The man returned. The boy did not.
Moments later, all three rose together, now carrying two unconscious children across their shoulders.
Gen's eyes sharpened. He moved.
At the mouth of the alley, he stepped into their path, silent, and steady.
"Watch where you're going!" the tallest of the men barked, trying to sound annoyed rather than afraid.
"Put the children down," Gen said, voice calm, almost soft.
"They're ours," the tall one snapped. "Our kids. We're going home."
"That's right, move along."
"Don't stick your nose in."
The other two added their voices, nervous under the bravado.
Passersby slowed, eyes flicking between the men and the dark-haired youth blocking their way. The alley lights flickered, half-broken, shadows swallowing the scene in uneasy half-dark.
Gen tilted his head. "Strange. If they're yours, why are they unconscious?"
The murmurs of the small crowd shifted, suspicion turning against the men.
The tall one's face hardened. He hissed: "The Viper Gang is working here. Leave if you value your life." A flash of steel, a snake-shaped dagger glinted in his hand.
The other two drew the same.
The crowd recoiled at the name.
The Viper Gang ruled this part of Shirai Castle, a syndicate of thousands with a wandering shinobi backing them and nobles shielding them. Ordinary folk couldn't afford to get involved.
The tall thug smirked as the crowd's courage faltered. "That's right. Walk away. Before I..."
He never finished.
Gen blurred forward. A flick of wind-wrapped chakra traced across three throats, swift and invisible as the cut of paper.
Blood sprayed, daggers clattered, the men clawed at their necks, choking on their last breaths.
By the time their bodies hit the ground, Gen was already behind them, lifting the two children gently by the scruff of their collars, cradling them away from the crimson pooling on the cobblestones.
Screams broke the silence.
"Murder!"
"Run!"
"Don't get involved—go!"
The crowd scattered in panic. A lone man paused long enough to call out to Gen: "Leave the city, boy! The Viper Gang won't forgive this!" Then he, too, fled into the night.
Gen only smiled faintly and carried the children aside. He searched quickly... finding the missing father unconscious in a reeking alley, not stabbed but drugged.
After checking their pulses and neutralizing the toxin with practiced hands, he left the family together in safety.
Not out of fear of being recognized; he had been under a transformation jutsu since entering the city. It was habit. With his chakra control, he could maintain it indefinitely.
He asked for no thanks. He needed none.
Human traffickers were filth.
In his previous life, powerless, he could only repost missing-person notices on a glowing screen. In this life, with strength at his command, he acted.
And tonight, fortune aligned; the Viper Gang wasn't just a den of slavers. They were also wealthy enough to fund his next steps and already on his list of potential targets.
He didn't bother returning to the inn. Instead, he moved through the sleeping city until he reached a fortified manor in the south district; the Viper Gang's headquarters.
At half past two, when human vigilance was lowest, Gen's hands blurred through seals. His form shimmered and melted into camouflage. Silent as breath, he scaled the walls.
On the rooftop, with the crescent moon sharp at his back and snow drifting like glass dust in the air, he raised his hands. Chakra pulsed out, red and cold, without restraint.
Demonic Illusion: Nirvana Abyss Technique!
Blood-colored feathers, delicate and translucent, spilled from the sky like a storm of phantoms. They fell everywhere; through tiles, shutters, and into the very marrow of the manor.
Snow and illusion wove together, indistinguishable.
The moment the feathers touched their eyes, gangsters and wandering shinobi alike froze. And then the screams began.
Hundreds of voices shrieking in terror. So loud the city around them stirred, neighbors cursing the gang for their late-night madness, pulling blankets over their heads rather than daring to investigate.
The Nirvana Abyss Technique; Gen's own creation, fusing the Nirvana Temple genjutsu with the Abyss Vision; turned mass slumber into mass nightmare and sleep twisted into unending fear.
Gen closed his eyes, lifted his face and breathed in the chorus of terror.
Then he moved.
Through halls and courtyards, his figure flickered like a shadowed flame. Where he passed, souls tore free like threads of light, streaming into him in endless rivers.
He left no one. Man, woman, elder, youth; if they bore the mark of the Viper Gang, their light was his.
In two minutes, silence fell.
A hundred corpses lay unmarked on the ground, their bodies whole and their spirits gone.
Gen dissolved the illusion and descended to the underground prison. Another genjutsu swept through the captives, replacing terror with deep, dreamless sleep. When they woke, they would find the doors open, their chains cut.
He summoned Shizukamaru and together they shredded the prison bars like paper.
Freedom waited with the morning.
One task remained.
In the warehouse, behind a crude steel door that cracked at the first slash of his Wind and Flame Sword, treasures glittered.
Crates of gold, silver, jewels, pearls, and stacks of bills. More than ninety million taels, at a glance.
He spared only one suitcase for himself. The rest was sealed into summoning scrolls and called forth great pythons.
"Deliver it all to Orochimaru," he ordered. "Intact."
The snakes bowed their heads and vanished in smoke, carrying riches in their bellies.
There were other vaults in the manor, no doubt. But Gen didn't care.
This was enough.
If he needed more, there were always other leeches to bleed.
Unlike the cautious, reputation-bound shinobi of this world, he felt no shame in carving wealth from gangs, smugglers, and corrupt nobles.
And yet, he admitted, as he returned to his inn before dawn, slipping into bed with the quiet satisfaction of a job finished, the weight of gold still pleased him.
Because it wasn't just money. It was proof of his strength.
And it was earned.