[20PS!! Nice, I didn't thought it would do good.! Keep them coming and you get more chapters!!]
As they drew closer and closer to the daimyo's estate, Kankurō and Maki only grew more tense.
People liked to pretend the daimyo kept no real experts around him.
But that was nonsense.
Even if the daimyo didn't have, and wasn't allowed to have, a formally organized shinobi army, the retainers he kept were another story. The daimyo "raised" a stable of vassals: samurai and wandering shinobi.
Every single one of them had strength that could rival a jōnin.
So Kankurō, Maki, and the others had already braced themselves for a fight at any moment.
What happened next, though, left both of them dumbstruck.
When they reached the first checkpoint, Teizawa simply kept walking, expressionless.
The dozen-plus samurai responsible for the estate's outer defenses finally spotted them, stepped in, and blocked their path.
The killing intent rolling off them made Kankurō's heart jump.
And just as everyone assumed a major battle was unavoidable…
The samurai suddenly dropped to one knee in unison and shouted as one:
"Kazekage-sama!"
"…What the hell?" Kankurō whispered.
Kankurō was shocked, sure, but Maki looked like his brain had just stopped functioning.
For a split second, it felt like they'd been thrown back to that night in the Sand Village.
But this was the daimyo's estate.
The people stationed here were supposed to be the daimyo's most trusted inner circle.
So how?
Teizawa only said coldly, "Cooperate with the shinobi army's lockdown of the daimyo's estate."
Then he didn't spare the samurai another glance and continued forward.
"Yes!" the samurai roared, obedient.
And from there, the road ahead turned into something surreal.
Kankurō and Maki watched people bow their heads and swear "Loyalty."
They also watched others rush up to stop them and demand explanations…
Only to have their heads cut off on the spot by their own comrades.
None of it surprised Teizawa.
Where was the Land of Wind's wealthiest concentration of people?
Obviously, the daimyo's estate.
He'd run his gray-market networks for years. He'd shoved money and men into this place until it took.
Not all of them, but at minimum, a full third of the estate's samurai and wandering shinobi were his plants.
Some owed him their lives and worshipped him with gratitude.
Others had their throats held in his palm by blackmail, and could only throw themselves into the fire for him.
Before coming here, he'd already sent secret orders.
So those people knew exactly what to do.
Finally…
As a few screams rang out, the entire daimyo's estate fell into chaos.
Shouts of murder, cries, and panicked wailing arrived at last, late to the scene.
Teizawa's group ran into several waves of samurai trying to intercept them.
But after only a few exchanges, the ANBU, specialists in assassination, erased them all.
Teizawa advanced almost unimpeded.
And then they reached the central, most prosperous manor of all.
Teizawa stood before the main gate of the brilliant estate.
He looked up at the towering white walls and the gilded plaque above them.
He fell silent for a moment, then gave a soft, contemptuous laugh.
"The Sand Village's budget is stretched thin every year. The civilians outside struggle to survive in sand and wind. But look at this…"
He pointed at the complex before them.
"Our noble daimyo really knows how to 'live.'"
Calling it "lavish" didn't even begin to cover it.
The base of the surrounding wall was built from a rare white stone, polished so smooth it shone like a mirror.
Above it, the wall was coated in a fine white plaster, inlaid with golden glazed glass and multicolored tiles arranged into ornate patterns.
The vermilion gate was nearly ten meters tall.
Even the studs were cast from brass, scrubbed until they gleamed.
Layer after layer of eaves and bracketed beams stacked upward, and at each corner sat a golden sculpture of an unknown beast, sunlight pouring off it in blinding sheets.
The air itself carried the oasis's damp, sweet scent of grass and leaves.
It was a different world from the dry, starving wind-and-sand stink outside.
Kankurō, Maki, and the ANBU behind them frowned without realizing it.
For many of them…
This was the first time in their lives they'd stepped into the Land of Wind's true power center.
Before today, they'd known the Land of Wind was poor.
So they'd assumed everyone was poor. That suffering was just the way it was.
But now that they were seeing it with their own eyes…
White jade steps, gold-leaf trim, clear spring water winding around pavilions and towers.
The sight made their insides go cold.
So…
The only ones who were poor were them?
The only ones who were parched and starving were the Sand Village.
And the civilians outside who'd been forgotten.
A fire they couldn't name lit silently in every chest.
We eat sand and scrape by in the desert.
And the daimyo lives like this? Eats like this?
Fine.
But on top of that, he dares to cut our shinobi budget year after year?
Rough hands tightened around kunai grips.
Sunburned faces, dark red with wind damage, grew heavier, darker.
Teizawa took in their reactions without comment.
His goal had already been achieved.
The natives of the shinobi world had a slave mentality baked into them.
They could kill gods, split mountains, and still insist on kneeling to a daimyo who was just a civilian.
Then they'd slap a "peace-loving" label on themselves and call it virtue.
It disgusted Teizawa so much he wanted to puke.
Even by the Boruto era, it still hadn't changed.
To him, it was like watching someone open a door labeled "Disgust" and discover a whole damn house.
As a transmigrator, he wasn't going to swallow that.
If he'd taken the seat of Kazekage…
Then the Land of Wind would have only one voice.
Without hesitation, Teizawa started forward.
The black ceremonial robe made him look even more domineering.
He walked straight to the massive vermilion gate.
The guards at the entrance had already been controlled.
Two rows of Sand shinobi silently saluted and pushed the heavy doors open for him.
Inside was a straight, embroidered carpet running toward the ornate main hall.
"Move," Teizawa said. His voice wasn't loud, but it landed clearly in everyone's ears. "Let's see with our own eyes what our noble daimyo is so busy doing right now."
He stepped in.
Kankurō drew a long breath.
He exchanged a look with Maki, then lifted a hand in a quick signal.
The ANBU followed behind, equal parts fervor and tension boiling in their blood.
…
"Damn it! What do these lawless shinobi think they're doing?!"
Inside the grand hall, lacquered columns soared into the ceiling, and silk drapes hung low like waterfalls.
Dozens of officials sat kneeling in two lines, holding their breath.
Every head was bowed. Not a single person dared make a sound.
Only cold sweat slid down temples and disappeared into collars.
At the highest seat of the hall, an old man in ornate court robes was shaking with rage.
He looked sixty or seventy, his face round from years of pampering.
Now it was flushed crimson with fury.
"Where is the envoy I sent? Why haven't I heard anything?!"
"Not only has he failed to report back, but these crude shinobi have surrounded my estate! Are they rebelling?! Huh?!"
"Do they want their funding or not?!"
The daimyo's roaring bounced around the hall, laced with disbelief and violent anger.
And honestly, it made sense that he'd lost control.
Not long ago, he'd been holding a newly taken concubine of sixteen, enjoying singers and dancers performing for him.
Pretty music. Sweet wine.
Until a retainer, white-faced with panic, had crawled in to report that unknown shinobi forces had encircled the outer estate and sealed every entrance and exit.
He hadn't even finished questioning it when worse news arrived.
Half the samurai under his orders had turned traitor, and the enemy was advancing on the main hall.
For the first time in decades of sitting above everyone else, treating shinobi villages like tools…
He felt real fear.
What's wrong with these shinobi?
Usually they're all smiles and flattery when they speak to me.
So what is this? Why today?
Did they all lose their minds?
"Speak!" the daimyo shouted, sweeping his gaze across the trembling officials below, his rage intensifying. "Someone tell me what these crude shinobi want!"
"Correct."
A voice dripping with unmistakable mockery suddenly came from outside the hall.
Everyone shuddered as if ice had been poured down their spines.
Heads snapped toward the entrance in unison.
The bright daylight beyond the doors was cut by a tall silhouette.
Teizawa stood at the border of light and shadow.
His black ceremonial robe was as cold as night, the Sand symbol on his forehead protector reflecting a hard gleam.
He walked in at an unhurried pace.
Behind him, Kankurō, Maki, and the Sand Village elites fanned out fast, sealing the doors and cutting the hall off from the outside.
Samurai and shinobi rushed forward to challenge them.
They were cut down without hesitation.
The difference in strength, and the sheer suddenness of it…
In the span of a single breath, dozens of samurai and shinobi were slaughtered where they stood.
Screams tore the air. Blood painted the floor.
Teizawa's gaze swept over the officials who'd gone silent.
Then it settled on the old man on the high seat.
The mocking curve of Teizawa's mouth deepened.
"Yeah. I'm rebelling."
He tilted his chin slightly, voice lazy and cruel.
"So what are you going to do about it?"
(End of Chapter)
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