Chapter 16: Snake Ninja
"As you wish! My Queen!"
The loud, sycophantic response echoed through the dilapidated church, shaking loose a few thin strands of dust.
Satou Kazuma and Sakata Gintoki, two men who had just been agonizing over their respective dark histories, were now embroiled in another fierce argument over the question of "where to find a castle for the Queen."
Just as they were about to expose each other's embarrassing pasts again, Perona tapped her umbrella against the floor with clear irritation.
"That's enough, you two maggots." She wrinkled her small nose, looking thoroughly disgusted.
"Stop bickering. First, solve the clothes problem, then find a place to live, and finally, dessert and hot chocolate. Is that sequence really so hard to grasp?"
"Right away!"
"As you wish!"
Both men snapped to attention and bowed, looking like scolded lapdogs waiting for their owner's next command.
Gintoki's eyes flicked toward an old storage cabinet tucked in the corner of the chapel. "Your Majesty, looks like the old priest left some spare clothes in that cabinet. Maybe this guy can make do with them for now."
Kazuma followed his gesture and brightened. Anything was better than being naked.
Perona gave a reluctant nod. "Hurry up, don't dawdle. I don't want to be around a naked pervert for too long."
Kazuma scrambled over to rummage for clothes while Gintoki, off to the side, was already plotting how to buy the best desserts with the least amount of money to win favor with their new queen.
At the same time, in a dark corner on the other side of the city, a completely different drama was unfolding.
Hell's Kitchen, West Side.
Inside an abandoned meat-processing plant, the air reeked of rust, grease, and a faint metallic scent of blood. Under the dim yellow lights, two groups faced each other in tense silence, the atmosphere tight as a drawn wire.
On one side stood the hulking Russian gang, led by a man named Boris. His massive beer belly strained against his expensive suit.
On the other side was the local Gilru gang, mostly skinny street thugs, led by a man named Gilru, whose eyes were as fierce as a wolf.
Tonight was the time they had agreed upon for the arms deal.
"The goods?" Gilru asked first, his voice hoarse.
Boris grinned, golden teeth gleaming. He clapped his hands, and two of his men hauled over a heavy wooden crate. They pried it open in front of Gilru. Inside, brand-new automatic rifles reflected the harsh light with a chilling metallic sheen.
Gilru gave a satisfied nod and signaled his men. They pushed forward a briefcase stuffed with crisp American bills.
The trade was smoother than either side expected. Smiles crept across their faces as they sensed an easy fortune.
But just as Boris bent down to check the money, the air between the two groups rippled like disturbed water.
A moment later, a figure appeared out of thin air.
A man, or rather, a man with an unsettling, eerie presence.
Tall and slender. Wrapped in a loose, old-fashioned kimono. Long black hair flowing over his shoulders. Skin pale to the point of translucence under the dim light.
The most chilling part of him was his eyes — golden, slit-pupiled like a serpent's, framed by streaks of purple eyeshadow.
This man was Orochimaru.
Just a second ago, he was in his dark underground laboratory, observing with interest the cellular changes in a test subject under the influence of a cursed seal, recording valuable data.
The next second, a strong sense of dizziness struck, and everything around him turned into a blur of light.
When his vision returned, he was standing here.
A foreign place. Foreign people. And a scent of… gunpowder mixed with cigarette smoke.
Orochimaru didn't panic. He didn't even tense. His snake-like gaze simply swept across the room, calm and curious, as though he were a human intruder observing ants scrambling inside their nest.
Then, a semi-transparent panel, visible only to him, appeared before his eyes.
[Welcome to the "Marvel World," player Orochimaru.]
[All players involved are divided into three major factions based on their inherent nature…]
His eyes skimmed the text. When he reached the faction classification, a cold smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
[Assigned Faction: Assault Faction]
A blood-red skull emblem flickered faintly at the top of his vision.
"How intriguing…" Orochimaru murmured, his long tongue gliding across his lips.
"Something even more valuable than the Shikotsumyaku or the Sharingan… A different world. A singularity."
His focus shifted fully toward the system shop's descriptions.
"Reputation points… exchangeable for anything?" He let out a soft chuckle. "I wonder if that includes the techniques I desire… or perhaps a perfect vessel."
Eternal life and truth were his only pursuits. This suddenly appearing "system" seemed to have opened a completely new door for him.
While Orochimaru was absorbed in analysing this trove of unfamiliar knowledge, chaos had erupted between the two gang leaders at the deal.
"Boris! What the hell are you trying to pull?!" Gilru took a step back, and his men raised their guns in unison, aiming at the Russian gang.
"Trying to double-cross us?!"
"Bullshit!" Boris snapped upright, his heavy face trembling with suspicion. "I never brought this guy! I thought he was yours!"
A man materializing out of nowhere was something none of them had ever encountered during a deal. Both sides instantly fell into a chain of suspicion, each assuming the other planned to use this strange intruder to disrupt the trade and strike.
The air tightened, one spark away from gunfire.
"Calm down!" Gilru barked, forcing himself to steady. Firing now would doom them both. "We figure out who this bastard is first!"
Boris hesitated, puffing for breath before giving a reluctant nod.
"Hey!" Gilru jerked his chin toward one of his scrawny men. "You. Go talk to him."
"Me?" The man's face paled.
"And you!" Boris jabbed a sausage-like finger at one of his own unlucky men. "You're going too! Damn it, find out what this freak is!"
To prove they weren't pulling a trick, both bosses agreed to send one man each to question the intruder.
The two chosen men exchanged miserable looks, finding nothing but shared dread in each other's eyes. But they couldn't disobey. Gritting their teeth, they drew their pistols and advanced on Orochimaru from opposite sides.
"Hey! You!" Gilru's henchman pointed his gun at Orochimaru. "Who the hell are you? Who sent you?"
The Russian mobster was even more direct. "Hands up! Or I put hole in your pretty face!"
Orochimaru stood unarmed, unmoving, watching them with those gold, slit-pupiled eyes — not afraid, not anxious, simply observing.
Like a researcher looking at two lab rats awaiting dissection.
Their rage spiked at that expression.
"Damn it, why are we wasting time talking to him!" Gilru's henchman lost his patience. He stepped forward, wanting to smash the gun butt into Orochimaru's face.
He never got the chance.
Before his arm even lifted, he bore witness to something he would remember for as long as his dying mind could hold a thought.
From the sleeves of the pale, ghostlike man, two jet-black shapes shot out.
Not ropes. Not chains.
Snakes.
Two glossy black serpents flashed into view, moving faster than the eye could follow.
Shhk!
Shhk!
Two soft, wet puncturing sounds rang out almost in unison.
The fierce expressions on the two gangsters' faces instantly froze.
They stiffly lowered their heads and saw bowl-sized bloody holes in their chests. One black snake pierced through the heart, while the other bit through the throat.
Not even a scream escaped them. Life drained from their eyes in an instant, and their bodies toppled backwards.
Only after the corpses hit the ground with two heavy thuds did the serpents snap back into Orochimaru's sleeves as if they had never existed.
The entire processing plant went dead silent.
Everyone stood petrified by the grotesque, blood-chilling spectacle. Boris and Gilru gaped, faces quivering. Their men trembled so hard that several dropped their guns, the metallic clatter echoing through the factory.
Was this sorcery? Magic? Some kind of curse?
Orochimaru lifted his head slightly, those golden snake eyes sweeping across every trembling soul in the room.
His tongue flicked out again as he broke into a smile filled with dreadful scientific curiosity.
"Decent experimental subjects... although a bit weak, the quantity is considerable."
His voice wasn't loud, but every person heard it with painful clarity.
"Perfect. Let's see how much 'reputation' I can earn from killing all of you."