Under the scrutiny of all parties, the date and location for signing the ceasefire agreement were determined with extreme rapidity.
With Hanzō as witness—a point Konoha raised no objection to—the signing location was naturally Amegakure.
Orochimaru, as the nominal leader and plenipotentiary of Konoha's negotiation delegation, felt somewhat wistful as he gazed at the gate ahead.
His disciple had died in this war; his comrade from the same squad had been captured; another had clashed with him over attitudes toward Tsunade.
Intelligence on Hanzō was no longer lacking, but reflecting now, he admitted he still couldn't handle the 'Demi-God' who had bestowed upon them the title of 'Sanin.' Though he didn't consider being named by him humiliating, being suppressed so still thoroughly ranked.
But it didn't matter. Even if filled with sorrowful things, it was merely logical development. Not that he was particularly obsessed—it merely reaffirmed the conclusion that 'life is fragile,' strengthening his resolve to continue exploring ninjutsu's true essence.
Except for that Crimson of Agony.
Ah, if I don't get to see you this time, what a pity that would be...
Showing an eerie smile that sent chills down spines, Orochimaru stepped toward Amegakure's gate; the rest of the delegation followed.
Guided by welcoming Amegakure jōnin, with over a dozen Amegakure ninjas as guards, Konoha's twenty-plus delegation entered Amegakure, heading toward a certain compound.
Though the delegation's average strength exceeded these 'guards,' matters of 'attitude' were precisely this.
If some lunatic like the Kinkaku and Ginkaku brothers suddenly popped out to cause trouble, they couldn't stop them. But Amegakure's own people would show their hardworking colleagues some face—wouldn't go so far as to throw rotten vegetables at Konoha ninjas.
Only rotten vegetables—eggs, in Amegakure, no one could afford to let spoil.
As more pure victims than the declared-upon Konoha, Amegakure's villagers apparently couldn't show them any kindness.
Konoha ninjas understood this, but being stared at with hateful eyes made them uncomfortable. Despite Amegakure's distinctive architecture, they lost interest in chatting, silently trudging forward, wishing they could just Shunshin to the location.
Unfortunately, they couldn't Shunshin.
Entering the compound, they saw corridors and gates along the way guarded by Amegakure ninjas, with specially constructed partitions guiding their path.
"Thank you for your efforts. We'll take over from here."
The Amegakure ninja at the gate said to the guiding ninja, who nodded, signaled the 'guards,' and headed elsewhere.
Whether dismissed to rest or to greet Suna's delegation was unclear.
Orochimaru's gaze briefly flickered over their retreating backs, then dismissed them, following new guides into the compound.
Apparently, this was a building purposely built for hosting 'foreign guests.' Its decor wasn't shabby even compared to Konoha—spacious reception room, directly connected to separate residences.
Given the Land of Rain's weather, such corridors were necessary design. Likewise, these corridors were guarded by Amegakure, but guarding within the residences was Konoha's responsibility.
After arranging various security measures and storing luggage, the Konoha group rested awhile, drank two pots of tea, and then received word from Amegakure.
Before entering the reception hall, they saw Suna's delegation approaching from the other side.
Leading them was naturally Chiyo—as Suna's wartime commander and elder, she couldn't be absent.
In In contrast, Orochimaru as nominal Konoha representative was somewhat mismatched. Age and status—a generation gap—made his momentum lacking.
But Orochimaru never cared.
His gaze rapidly swept Suna's delegation, almost unerringly locking on his target among the red-haired crowd.
Though they'd never really met, and the other was unexpectedly young, Orochimaru could be sure this young man with red-and-white slightly wavy hair was the Crimson of Agony he'd long anticipated.
No reason—pure, indescribable 'attraction.'
He then showed a more obvious smile—to outsiders, only describable as sinister, as if plotting murder.
'I achieved 1.3 seconds in the Don't Laugh Challenge—you try it too.jpg'
"?"
Locked by this unconcealed gaze—literally seeming to want to devour him, without any hatred, but carrying a hint of 'appetite'—Hii Kōri was momentarily startled.
Dude? Your eyes are a bit too gay, you know?
Oh, Orochimaru. Never mind.
Looking toward the gaze's source, having gradually 'decompressed' his memory and knowing Orochimaru's nature well, Hii Kōri is relieved. Downing a long-unused little potion—a potent stimulant—he completely ignores the other's eager gaze, unhurriedly mingling in the delegation entering the reception hall.
Ignore him!
He just wanted to find a corner, sit in meditation, contemplate Zen—no other worldly desires.
As the underworld's biggest black marketeer in every sense, he possessed countless props useful in various ways. Even his jujutsu sorcerer constitution alone could crush such boring excuses.
In this world, inheriting pure Uzumaki bloodline and training in Yang Release and medical ninjutsu, his confidence in stamina was exceptionally well-founded.
Karura—low attack, low defense, only loud mouth—excluded. Pakura, an elite jōnin renowned for taijutsu, could only strike out in the 'Hii Kōri Demon King raid battle.'
Then Hii Kōri understood in another sense what 'Hashirama Senju's bloodline' meant.
All things are gone, at three o'clock in the hour, the basement sealed with barrier techniques became the starting point of the battle.
***
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