Under the cover of night, Aburame Tetsumaru carried the four Root ninjas nearly twenty kilometers away. The four of them combined weighed over 260 pounds—a significant burden that left him half-dead with exhaustion.
By the side of a small stream, he dropped the unconscious ninjas. He set several traps as a precaution and then proceeded to execute them one by one from a safe distance. Once he was certain their deaths hadn't triggered any secondary seals or posthumous traps, he returned to incinerate the bodies. He carefully scattered the ashes into the stream, letting the current carry them away.
In the future, I should breed a "Cleanup Bug," he thought. Something that eats the evidence—bones and all.
With the deed done, Tetsumaru relocated once more. He changed his clothes, burned the old set to ash, and buried the remains of a "campsite" fire. Only then did he feel safe enough to return to his original resting point.
By now, the sun was fully up. Ignoring his physical fatigue, Tetsumaru hurried along. He had to reach the camp on schedule. Maintaining a perfectly normal record on paper would keep him off any list of suspects; prevention was always more reliable than trying to clear one's name after the fact.
On the third day, Tetsumaru arrived at the camp on time. He finalized his outstanding mission reports and went straight to report to Orochimaru.
Orochimaru was busier than ever. The High Commander had pushed a massive amount of paperwork onto him in an attempt to bog him down. Little did the Commander know, through these documents, the rank-and-file ninjas had discovered that Orochimaru's judgments were precise, his suggestions were logical, and his orders were far easier to execute. Three months of desk work had accidentally allowed Orochimaru to showcase his administrative brilliance to the entire army.
When everyone sees you as reliable, you win their hearts.
Tetsumaru watched from the sidelines as lines of ninjas waited to see Orochimaru. The Sannin solved their problems with methodical efficiency.
When someone didn't know how to approach a mission, he provided case studies and advice. When someone lacked supplies, he gave clear answers and pointed out exactly which official was responsible. When someone finished a mission but couldn't find the target item, he had them display all their loot and identified the disguised item on the spot.
"Water benefits all things and does not compete, therefore no one can compete with it."
Orochimaru had positioned himself as a servant to the Konoha shinobi. By appearing as a facilitator for everyone else, he had left the Commander with no counter-moves. Petty tricks and schemes were useless against Orochimaru's "open maneuver."
By seriously serving the collective and earning recognition through competence and credibility, he naturally acquired the authority that came with that trust. The levels of loyalty and obedience he was receiving were reaching an ideal peak.
Looking at the man before him, Tetsumaru felt a wave of respect. This Orochimaru was elegant yet grand, meticulous yet decisive. He might have lacked "warm" charisma, but his leadership and magnetism were undeniable. He truly was the perfect candidate for the Fourth Hokage.
It remained to be seen what kind of charm the "Yellow Flash," Minato Namikaze, possessed, but it was hard to imagine him truly surpassing an Orochimaru like this. It was a tragedy that sixteen years later, this man would be so utterly changed.
Regardless, even this "perfect" Orochimaru wasn't invincible.
He wasn't an independent power; he was a subordinate within a higher hierarchy. Even if he did his absolute best, he couldn't stop the weight of the higher-ups from pressing down on him. In the face of that senseless suppression, Orochimaru would eventually warp and defect—yet he would still manage to live a legendary life and arguably have the last laugh. He was a once-in-a-generation talent.
"Lord Orochimaru, I have returned."
Once the crowd had thinned and Orochimaru had finished a cup of tea, Tetsumaru stepped forward and bowed.
"Hmm. You've improved significantly," Orochimaru noted. "If you hadn't deliberately revealed yourself, I would have had a hard time sensing you. How did you achieve it?"
"The Great Image has no shape," Tetsumaru replied.
"Oh? An ordered and extreme dissipation of chakra? What a fascinating concept." Orochimaru's eyes lit up, and he reflexively licked his cheek with his long tongue. "Sometimes I truly want to crack open your head and see if the structure inside is different from everyone else's. How else do you have so many strange ideas?"
"..." Tetsumaru wasn't sure if he was joking. This was Orochimaru, after all; trepanning someone seemed like a standard Tuesday for him. "Please don't joke about that, Lord Orochimaru."
Hehehehe...
Orochimaru laughed heartily, seemingly having made a genuine joke. "I have nothing for you at the moment. Stay on standby for now."
"Yes, sir."
"If you have any more 'fascinating' knowledge, feel free to find me. I still have much I can trade."
"Thank you, my Lord."
One of the perks of being Orochimaru's subordinate was the lack of busywork. He was a goal-oriented man who didn't act on whims. He wasn't the type of leader who couldn't stand seeing his subordinates idle. As long as you could perform when it mattered, he didn't care what you did with your free time.
Orochimaru himself was too busy to micromanage things like discipline, dress code, or "morale" speeches. He simply offered straightforward, high-value rewards.
Furthermore, he was flexible. He gave money to adults with families to support; he gave encouragement and opportunities to idealistic youths. To Tetsumaru, he offered an equal exchange of knowledge—a sign that he had keenly sensed Tetsumaru's internal pride and thirst for understanding.
It was no wonder he could build a following so easily. That sharp intuition and targeted investment were peerless tools for recruitment.
Huddled in his tent, Tetsumaru focused all his attention on engraving runes onto an insect.
The Chakra Runes were three-dimensional, meaning they couldn't be printed on the surface; they had to be carved inside the body. This required careful piercing, weaving insect silk into the correct shape, and finally running chakra through to verify the connection.
It took forty seconds to complete one bug. This was his 1,000th—a Flight-Locust engraved with Wind Style Acceleration Runes. It possessed triple the launch speed and double the final impact velocity of a standard locust.
The speed of his work wasn't slow, but Tetsumaru didn't want to continue. It was too exhausting, too tedious, and too mechanical. And if it felt mechanical, that meant it could—and should—be automated.
Moreover, there were so many insects that needed runes. He wanted to engrave two, three, or even more runes into a single bug, eventually evolving them into portable sealing arrays.
Then there were the research plans: giant insects, the "Peasant" unit integration, the "Zergling" templates, the "Hydralisk" ranged units... the list was endless.
Tetsumaru needed help. He needed to escape the repetitive drudgery so he could focus on high-level planning and architectural design.
In short: he needed to build a Broodmother, even a primitive prototype.
What could a Broodmother do? In games, they spread creep, gathered resources, bred larvae, researched tech, and birthed high-tier units.
Tetsumaru wiped a bit of drool from his chin. If it could just help him automate the rune engraving, it would save him mountains of time. He pressed his hands together: "Release!"
Tetsumaru's vision blurred for a moment. His head, which usually looked like a fully enclosed helmet, "opened" as he removed the headpiece. He revealed his true face—slightly pale from a lack of sunlight, but otherwise identical to his transformed appearance.
I can't build a massive mechanical factory yet. I have to solve the automation problem through intelligence. I'll split a "Cerebrate" branch off from the Eye of Truth.
Dropping the tedious carving, Tetsumaru selected a site near the camp and began digging. The cultivation of the Broodmother had begun.
First, he stripped the functions from the Eye of Truth, leaving only the Cerebrate (Brain Bug) component. This intelligent creature was essentially a giant brain, meaning its development required massive amounts of energy. He had to release a swarm of Sugar Ants to provide a steady supply of glucose.
Next, his mining insects excavated a large underground chamber to accommodate the Cerebrate's growing mass.
Defenders were essential—not against ninjas, but against predatory insects. The Cerebrate was immobile; if it were attacked by a stray bug, it would just be a high-protein meal.
Once the Cerebrate matured, Tetsumaru integrated larval reproductive glands and sensory organs. He then grafted an exoskeleton onto the Cerebrate's body—which had grown to over three hundred meters in length—to reinforce it. Using this exoskeleton as a frame, he grafted thousands of spider legs to act as surgical tools.
Mapping these limbs and organs into the creature's vascular and nervous systems was an immense task. Failed grafts resulted in necrotic limbs that had to be amputated one by one.
Fortunately, Tetsumaru had Kikaichu as precision tools, and his Domain Field Barrier provided a holistic view of the internal biology. He eventually unified the disparate biological systems into the Cerebrate's body.
Finally, he programmed the Cerebrate's tasks. There were only three: First, breed larvae and pupate them into whatever specialized insects were needed. Second, engrave runes into the newborns. Third, breed for rune-heredity, attempting to pupate insects that were born with runes already integrated.
Finally, the system test passed.
Tetsumaru walked through the underground chambers, inspecting the progress. He watched as eggs were laid and carried by Mole Crickets to the hatching room. Once they became larvae, they moved automatically to the pupation chamber, where the Cerebrate assigned them a form.
The tireless Cerebrate then used its hundreds of limbs to inject nutrients, growth hormones, and minerals into the pupae.
The resulting Flight-Locusts, Combination Bugs, Dragonflies, Landmine Insects, and Camouflage Butterflies entered their respective assembly lines. There, the Cerebrate commanded its tentacles to thread insect silk into each bug, forming and fixing the runes before activation.
Successful bugs left the line; failures were processed into feed or nutrient fluid.
The Cerebrate worked at a relentless "007" pace (24/7). Even though the success rate of the individual pupation and engraving steps wasn't ideal yet, the total production capacity left Tetsumaru utterly satisfied.
After all these years, I've finally become a capitalist exploiting insect labor.
The results of two months of Orochimaru's tutelage were extraordinary. But it wasn't all Orochimaru's credit; he had simply provided the final link Tetsumaru had been missing.
Nothing can be completed in a single leap; everything requires a sequence of steps. If a single step is missing or a link is broken, the project fails. Previously, due to his lack of chakra and ninjutsu theory, Tetsumaru had been forced to rely on makeshift solutions. He'd had to compromise constantly, abandoning countless inspirations because he simply didn't have the tools.
The Broodmother concept had been simmering for two years, but it was a massive project. The steps required were three to four orders of magnitude more complex than breeding a new bug. The missing links couldn't be fixed with compromises; he simply hadn't been able to start.
Now, with the chakra knowledge integrated, Tetsumaru had completed a "budget version" of the Broodmother in forty days. The "Broodmother Construction" tech point was officially lit.
While it didn't provide a sudden spike in combat power like the runes had, it signaled the official start of the Swarm's expansion. This was the difference between zero and one.
Before this, Tetsumaru believed he would eventually dominate the world with his swarm, but the timeline was fuzzy—it always felt like it was "fifty years away," much like nuclear fusion.
Now, Tetsumaru could say with certainty: in ten years, thirty at most, the Swarm would leave the cradle of this world and step into the deep reaches of the stars.
Tetsumaru loaded twenty thousand reinforced insects into his hives and unsummoned them. Satisfied, he returned to the camp. All he had to do now was visit the Broodmother periodically to collect the "harvest."
Back at the camp, he found Orochimaru was out. Checking his mission records, Tetsumaru realized he had been "slacking off" for two months. This was a bit of a problem.
An empty paper trail was a liability. He decided to work seriously for a while to pad his record. He picked up a few routine patrol missions and started "grinding."
On the afternoon of the fifth day, Tetsumaru suddenly received an emergency assembly signal from Orochimaru. He abandoned his patrol and rushed to the coordinates. Along the way, he encountered several squads—Orochimaru's people, ANBU, and even Root.
The closer he got, the more crowded it became. The atmosphere between the ninjas was wrong; there was a heavy sense of mutual suspicion.
Something big had happened.
When he arrived, a large circle of ninjas had already formed around Orochimaru. The ANBU and Root ninjas were unreadable behind their masks, but the regular shinobi looked stunned—their limbs trembling, their eyes glazed.
Tetsumaru shoved aside an ANBU who tried to stop him and blurred to Orochimaru's side. He was shocked to see the usually decisive Sannin looking lost, grief-stricken, and filled with a rare, burning rage.
Three steps in front of Orochimaru, a body was slumped against a shattered tree trunk. The chestnut hair was a mess of blood and soot, but the face was unmistakable.
It was Nawaki. Nawaki Senju.
Tetsumaru's eyes widened. In disbelief, he instinctively lunged forward to check for vitals, but a Root ninja with an intricately patterned mask stepped in his way, kunai drawn.
The Root ninja was shouting something at him, but in his state of shock, Tetsumaru couldn't hear a word. His ability to think logically had temporarily short-circuited. He only knew one thing: Root was the enemy, and the enemy had to be moved.
Tetsumaru lashed out with his hand. In an instant, a chorus of high-pitched shrieks filled the air. Flight-Locusts erupted from his gear, scorpions lunged from the ground, and Combination Bugs streaked in from the distance.
The most lethal strike came from the Poison-Needle Beetles hidden in his sleeves, which fired a volley of needles at the Root ninja's mask from only a foot away.
Fortunately, even in this state, a sliver of reason prevented Tetsumaru from committing murder in front of so many witnesses. He used the relentless assault to force the Root ninja back, clearing a path to Nawaki's body.
He checked for a pulse. He checked for chakra.
It was Nawaki. The biological signatures matched. And the boy was truly, undeniably dead.
Damn it, Tetsumaru thought, his stomach sinking. The world just changed.