Having just finalized the Internal Purging Plan with his four uncles, the warmth of the teacup still lingered on his fingertips, yet the aura around him had quietly shifted—from the relaxation of discussing family matters to the cold sharpness of one in total control.
As he passed the residence of the Moderate Faction Elders, he caught sight of two Ninjas whispering at the entrance. The contempt and wariness in their eyes caused a cold arc to curl at the corner of his mouth.
A moment later, Uchiha Setsuna's courtyard was within sight. Before even pushing open the door, he felt the surging Chakra within the yard, like a pot of magma on the verge of boiling.
The wooden courtyard gate was left ajar. Shine gave it a gentle push, and as the "creak" faded, the courtyard instantly fell into a dead silence—every gaze snapped toward him, and crimson Sharingan lit up throughout the courtyard like clusters of suddenly ignited sparks.
It was a courtyard of modest size, with wisteria trellises climbing the walls. But at this moment, under the trellises, beside the stone tables, and even in the shadows beneath the eaves, the space was filled with Ninjas dressed in deep black clan attire.
Twenty-five Three-Tomoe Elite Jōnin stood in the front row. The hems of their cloaks bore the frayed marks of the battlefield, and the uchiha clan crests pinned to their collars were polished bright from wear. As their crimson Sharingan spun, they exuded a heavy stillness born from long experience in war.
Forty Two-Tomoe Jōnin were lined up on either side, their hands pressed against the ninja swords at their waists. Their knuckles were white from the force of their grip, yet their breathing remained exceptionally steady.
In the back row, nearly a hundred Two-Tomoe Elite Chunin, though young, had fanatical looks in their eyes. Many still had unhealed battlefield scrapes on their cheeks, yet they stared intently toward the seat of honor, unwilling even to blink.
Behind the stone table in the center of the courtyard, Uchiha Setsuna reclined in a rattan chair with his eyes closed, resting. A black cloak was draped casually over his shoulders, revealing wrists covered in scars.
He did not intentionally release his Chakra, yet the Killing Intent surrounding him—honed since the Sengoku period—made even the Elite Jōnin in the front row subconsciously hold their breath.
It was not until Shine's figure appeared at the courtyard gate that Setsuna slowly opened his eyes. His Three-Tomoe Sharingan swept over him, and then he gave a slight nod—a silent understanding between allies that required no words.
"Lord Shine!" someone barked first. Immediately following, nearly two hundred Ninjas knelt on one knee simultaneously. Their black figures spread across the courtyard like a surging wave of ink.
Their voices weren't perfectly synchronized, but they carried a roar suppressed for many years, causing the wisteria petals to flutter down: "Greetings, Lord Shine!"
Shine raised his hand to signal everyone to rise, his gaze slowly scanning every face, both familiar and strange.
He recognized several of the Three-Tomoe Jōnin in the front row—after his father Senba went into retirement years ago, they had been stripped of their front-line combat status because they refused to submit to the Moderate Faction, and were relegated to menial patrol duties at the border.
Then there were the young Chunin in the back; last year, because they had argued with Moderate Faction Ninjas in a tavern over "Uchiha sovereignty," they had been punished by the Third Elder, Yakushi, and sent to clean the latrines of the Clan Compound.
These people were all "troublemakers" suppressed by Konoha and the Moderate Faction, and they were also the sharpest blades in Setsuna's hand.
Memories from ten years ago surged into Shine's mind like a tide.
Back then, his father Senba held a third of the Moderate Faction's combat power and was the person with the best hope of unifying the factions. But after he retired due to Danzo's threats, his followers became meat on a chopping block—Setsuna, relying on the Radical Faction's Foundation, snatched up this group of the most capable Ninjas.
The neutral faction of the Second Elder, Nanadai, was already weak and only received some Medical Ninjas and logistics personnel. Meanwhile, the Moderate Faction of the Third Elder, Yakushi, with the support of Hiruzen Sarutobi, forcibly swallowed the remaining connections and resources.
Even more laughable was the so-called "neutral faction." Shine glanced at the Neutral Faction informant in the corner of the courtyard (a pawn planted by Setsuna) and sneered inwardly—these people were impartial in name only, but in reality, they were already firmly gripped in the hands of the Clan Chief, Fugaku.
Just as Shine finished speaking and before the commotion in the courtyard could settle, a cold, hard voice pierced the air: "Lord Xia Yin, empty talk of 'rebirth' is useless—I would like to ask, on what basis do you intend to lead us to restore the glory of the Uchiha?"
The crowd parted to form a path, and a burly Ninja stepped forward slowly.
He was dressed in black combat gear marked with battle scars, and a particularly hideous scar ran from his brow bone down to his jaw on the left side of his face. He was one of the core combatants of the Radical Faction, Uchiha Tekka.
His Three-Tomoe Sharingan was locked onto Shine, his knuckles turning white from the intensity—this wasn't senseless provocation, but the accumulation of too much resentment: three protests suppressed by Fugaku, and over thirty brothers pushed to the border as cannon fodder, only half of whom returned.
Yet this youth before him had been "Konoha's good boy" only six months ago, and now he suddenly wanted to be their leader. He had to be cautious.
"Are you questioning me?" Shine's eyes didn't flicker in the slightest. The hem of his black robe brushed past Tekka's boots, stirring a gust of wind as he walked straight toward the empty seat by the stone table. He didn't even give Tekka a second glance; the indifference in his tone was more unsettling than a direct rebuke.
"I am seeking proof!" Tekka took a step forward, his voice suddenly rising. "You are only fifteen years old! Even the brats under me are older than you! To ask me to lead my brothers to follow a youth who hasn't even had his Coming-of-age ceremony into a life-and-death struggle—forgive me, but I cannot follow blindly!"
His words were like a stone thrown into the crowd. Several Three-Tomoe Jōnin who had fought alongside Tekka nodded one after another, the same concern hidden in their eyes—they were terrified of being betrayed by the Moderate Faction again and could not afford another "wrong leader."
"Tekka! How dare you!" Setsuna slammed his hand onto the stone table, his Three-Tomoe Sharingan glinting coldly. "I have witnessed Lord Shine's capabilities with my own eyes! It is not your place to criticize here!" He was about to stand up but was held down by Shine's hand on his shoulder.
Shine slowly took his seat, his fingertips lightly tapping the stone tabletop. His gaze swept over the Clan Members in the courtyard, whose expressions varied, and his voice was as calm as a deep, bottomless pool of cold water: "I don't need to prove anything to you, nor do you have the right to demand it."
He paused, looking at Tekka's suddenly ashen face, and continued, "Have you ever heard of boiling a frog in lukewarm water?"
Seeing their confusion, he explained, "If you throw a frog into boiling water, it will immediately jump out to survive. But if you put it in lukewarm water and slowly heat it up—it will let its guard down because of the initial comfort. By the time the water temperature is lethal, it no longer has the strength to jump out and can only watch as it is boiled to death."
These words were like a thunderclap, instantly silencing the crowd. A young Chunin subconsciously clenched his fists, cold sweat trickling down his spine—
He remembered how, three years ago, his father had been sent by Fugaku to intercept an elite Iwagakure squad under the pretext of "considering the bigger picture." That squad was three times as strong as theirs, and his father never returned...
Advance chapter available on pãtrêon Got1808