The chamber exploded into noise.
Hanzō's declaration hit like thunder.
These were not minor words.
This was Hanzō of the Salamander—leader of Amegakure, the man once hailed across the shinobi world as the "Hanzo the Demigod."
He had mentored many. Several people seated in this very hall had received his personal guidance.
But never—
Not once—
Had he taken a true disciple.
Yahiko. Nagato. Konan.
They were the first.
And before the shock could settle—
Hanzō delivered another blow.
"I will raise the three of them as the next leaders of Amegakure."
"In other words… they are the future head and elders of this village."
Silence crashed down.
Even the rain outside seemed to hesitate.
The first announcement had been astonishing.
This one?
It was seismic.
Admittedly, taking disciples already hinted at succession.
But declaring it openly—publicly—before every power-holder in the village?
That was unprecedented.
Yet Amegakure had always been Hanzō's domain. His word was law. Even if some harbored doubts, none dared voice opposition.
Hanzō's gaze swept across the room.
"I know many of you do not understand this decision."
"But I am old."
"How many more years can I shield this village?"
"If I do not cultivate successors while I still have strength… then even in death, I would know no peace."
The sincerity in his voice moved the room.
Only now did many truly notice how much he had aged.
The war-torn decades had carved deep lines into the man who once stood invincible.
"I have long searched for suitable heirs," Hanzō continued.
"But I found none."
"The most outstanding among you are Tenyu and Kanzō."
Both men stiffened slightly.
"In administration, in governance, in loyalty—you are exemplary."
"But in strength… you fall short."
His words were blunt.
Neither man objected.
In fact, both lowered their heads, ashamed.
They understood.
The Land of Rain lay squeezed between the Lands of Fire, Earth, and Wind—a battlefield by geography alone.
A weak leader meant extinction.
Hanzō's successor needed power.
Overwhelming power.
"My choice of Yahiko, Nagato, and Konan," Hanzō said steadily,
"is first because of their talent and potential."
"They may one day reach heights equal to my prime."
A pause.
"But there is another, more important reason."
He turned.
"Nagato. Come forward."
Nagato stepped beside him.
Curiosity intensified.
Tenyu stared without blinking. He had already heard rumors—but he needed to see it himself.
"Raise your head," Hanzō instructed softly.
"Show them your eyes."
Nagato brushed aside his red hair.
The hall inhaled sharply.
Ripples.
Concentric rings.
The eyes seemed like turning gears of fate itself—solemn, oppressive, ancient.
Those who met that gaze felt an instinctive tremor in their souls.
It was as if their existence had been weighed—and found unbearably small.
"What… what is that? Is it the Sharingan?"
"Idiot! The Sharingan is red with tomoe! The Byakugan is white!"
"Then what are those eyes?"
"Wait… the legend…!"
"Three great dōjutsu…"
"Sharingan."
"Byakugan."
"And the last one…"
"…Rinnegan."
"The eyes of the Sage of Six Paths."
A collective gasp.
Even the Akatsuki members were stunned.
They hadn't known.
"Yes," Hanzō confirmed.
"This is the Rinnegan."
"The eyes of the Sage of Six Paths."
The words settled over the room like sacred scripture.
For shinobi, the Sage of Six Paths—Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki—was not merely historical.
He was myth. Origin. Divinity.
The founder of ninshū.
The man said to have ended the age of chaos.
In lands scarred endlessly by war, the Sage was more than a legend.
He was hope.
And here—
Standing in their conference hall—
Was a boy bearing his eyes.
Hanzō had revealed the Rinnegan not lightly.
Yahiko, Nagato, and Konan were young. Their influence shallow. Their authority fragile.
To establish them swiftly required something greater than rhetoric.
Faith.
In a country ravaged by war, people longed for salvation.
And who better to symbolize that salvation than the Sage reborn?
With the Rinnegan revealed, Nagato's presence transformed instantly.
He was no longer just a youth from the slums.
He became—
A vessel of legend.
A bridge to something divine.
Subtly, reverence began shifting.
From myth…
To man.
Of course, Hanzō—and behind him, Jin—had no intention of turning Nagato into a god.
This was a transition.
A means to secure footing.
Nothing more.
But for now—
The seeds had been planted.
And in the Land of Rain, even seeds could grow into storms.
Read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon -> patreon.com/warewolvesTL