Chapter 28: The Sacrament and the Scream
Uchiha Ci's plan was simple.
Stand up. Blend in. Betray them halfway. Mash the A-button to death, then lie down and let himself be carried out.
When facing an evil cult like this, there was no need for mercy or hesitation.
Just infiltrate with a clever disguise, deceive the cultists of Jashin, and let them bring him straight to their headquarters.
Then—he'd just flex, break his restraints, and shout at the top of his lungs:
"Freeze! I'm the police!"
Inevitably, hundreds of Jashin cultists with knives would rush at him in fury. Before he was hacked to death, he could even act all cool, open his Sharingan, and declare:
"What's wrong? You wanna dance too?"
He'd fulfill his childhood dream of showing off in front of a crowd and collect a massive payout afterward. Was there anything more beautifully ridiculous than that?
Just thinking about it made Ci's heart race. His eyes gleamed as if he'd just discovered a new continent.
That radiance—was even brighter than the light in Hidan's eyes beside him!
For once, Hidan was dumbfounded.
He had been about to give Ci another round of persuasion. After all, this was a sacrifice to Lord Jashin.
If the ritual succeeded, he'd become one of Jashin's immortal zealots—a walking vessel of divine will. If it failed… well, he'd just die on the altar.
Hidan had tried recruiting others before, but they'd all resisted fiercely. Each time, he could only sigh at their foolishness, give them a good kick for wasting his time, and let them go.
It wasn't until he'd read in a book about the tactic of repaying kindness with loyalty that inspiration struck. So when he met Uchiha Ci, he decided to try it out.
And damn—it worked like a charm!
Was this… the power of knowledge?!
Hidan scratched his head as his scalp tingled. Then suddenly, a thought hit him—one that chilled him to the bone.
Wait a second… Ci's too eager.
Could it be—he's trying to steal Jashin-sama's favor from me?!
That thought alone made Hidan's expression tense up. His gaze toward Ci turned wary and defensive.
And then—
"Everyone, come out."
A cold voice echoed from outside the door.
The moment Hidan heard it, he stiffened like a nervous office worker about to attend an interview. He straightened his collar, put on his most reverent face, and strode out with zeal.
If there had been a mirror in front of him, he probably would've spent another five minutes fixing his look.
Ci narrowed his eyes slightly. After slipping an S-rank forbidden scroll into his leg pouch, he followed outside as well.
---
Groups of ragged refugees emerged from the corners of the ruined village, slowly gathering on the flat ground at the center.
But—something about them immediately caught Ci's attention.
Their condition… was too good.
They weren't gaunt or malnourished like the war-torn refugees he'd seen before. Their faces, though worn, still had color. None looked starved.
That was far from normal.
At this time, in war-ravaged Land of Hot Water, the only people living comfortably were the nobles rich enough to hire shinobi bodyguards.
This village—though not far from the capital, Yu no Shiro—was clearly outside any shinobi's protection zone.
By all logic, these villagers shouldn't be living this well.
Then he saw them—
Three figures stood in the middle of the crowd, wearing black, high-collared robes with scripture cases strapped to their forearms. Their faces were pale and solemn.
At their feet were two large wooden barrels.
The leader, with slick black hair and sunken eyes, scanned the crowd impassively before turning to his followers.
"Begin."
The two cultists nodded and lifted the lids off the barrels.
Inside were bowls of steaming meat stew.
As the savory aroma spread through the air, the villagers' eyes lit up with excitement.
The cultists wasted no time distributing the food— even Ci, the outsider, received a bowl.
Generous, to say the least.
The leader of the cult pulled a few handwritten scrolls from his scripture case, raised his hand, and began to chant.
The crowd instantly fell silent.
His voice rang clear and fanatical:
"What makes a god… a god?"
"Before we answer that, let's speak of those who pretend to be gods— the rulers of the Land of Hot Water—what sets them apart?"
"First, the nobles who have fallen to the sin of pride. Then the shinobi of Hot Water, tainted by the sin of sloth. The Cloud shinobi, consumed by wrath… and on it goes…"
He went on and on for nearly a thousand words, listing every sin of the five great nations, the nobles, and the Hot Water shinobi. The speech even included juicy gossip—like how many mistresses the daimyo secretly kept.
The sermon was so long and droning that Ci nearly dozed off halfway through.
But Hidan—and the villagers—listened with burning passion, fists clenched, eyes wild with fervor.
They looked ready to storm the capital that very moment and replace the daimyo's head with another.
Finally, when the leader's voice began to crack, he coughed and took a sip of water offered by his attendant.
Then he turned coldly to the crowd.
"Present the sacrifice," he said.
"After that—you may partake in the Holy Feast."
The villagers immediately dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the ground in reverence.
"Thank you, divine envoy!" they chorused.
Then, a woman stood up—eyes glimmering with manic hope—pulling a little girl by the hand toward the stage.
"Yuko, go," the woman said excitedly. "Go with the holy men of Jashin. Once you do, our family will never go hungry again!"
But the little girl, Yuko, froze.
Her blank stare suddenly twisted in terror. She grabbed her mother's sleeve desperately as she was dragged forward.
"No! No, I don't want to!"
Her tiny voice cracked into a scream. Her face turned pale as chalk, her wide eyes brimming with tears.
"Mom! Don't! Help me! Please! I don't want to be eaten! I don't want to die! Mom, look at me! Please look at me!"
The woman's façade broke. Tears welled in her eyes as she shook off the girl's grip and shouted in anguish:
"Let go, Yuko! Let go! What are you doing?! You'll get us all killed!"
But Yuko only clung tighter, trembling and crying:
"Mom… Mom, can't you see? Can't you see?"
"In the bowl… the bowl—my brother's in there!"
"Mom…"
Swish!
At the word "brother," the cult leader's expression twisted.
He swiftly pulled from his sleeve a black spear—a signature weapon of Jashin's cultists.
It was a compact, collapsible spear about twenty centimeters long when retracted, but could extend to over a meter. Its sharp edges made it perfect for both assassination and ritual self-mutilation during curses.
Now, his eyes glinted coldly as he stepped forward— and thrust the spear straight toward Yuko's back.
Ci's expression darkened the moment he understood.
His eyes flicked to the bowl of meat in his hand.
Then—without hesitation—he tossed away every plan he had.
Forget infiltration. Forget the act. Forget dying gloriously or showing off.
A surge of rage blazed from his chest, igniting every nerve in his body.
His eyes snapped open—blood-red Sharingan blooming like twin flames.
He hurled the bowl to the ground, shattering it with a sharp crack!
Then he stepped forward—each stride heavy with righteous fury.
"Stop right there!"