The Fire Capital, center of the Land of Fire.
The Guardian Shinobi Twelve, an important security organization tasked with protecting the Fire Daimyo, was normally composed of twelve powerful Jonin. Under typical circumstances, this force was sufficient to protect the Daimyo and the nation's central authority.
The problem, however, was that the Twelve could no longer be considered a unified organization.
The root of the issue traced back to debates over the societal system itself. Although the First Hokage's "one village, one nation" system unified military power within the country and granted the shinobi village sole legitimacy by linking military and political authority, the overall political structure of the Land of Fire couldn't truly be called a unified military-political regime. While the hierarchical relationship between the central government of the Land of Fire and the Village Hidden in the Leaves was clear nominally, in reality, this relationship didn't extend much deeper than that "nominal" status.
The Daimyo ostensibly led the Hokage; the Hokage actually ruled Konoha; Konoha remained largely outside the Daimyo's jurisdiction… Konoha essentially operated with a strong mercenary characteristic.
This irrational separation of military and political power wasn't just apparent to someone like Habara, with his "otherworldly knowledge." In fact, anyone close to the center of the Land of Fire's political power would sense something similar, and some would even seek solutions… This was precisely the situation with the Guardian Shinobi Twelve.
Separation was illogical; unification of military and government was the mark of a complete nation.
In this regard, Habara shared the same understanding as these individuals. However, due to their differing standpoints, their views on who should unify whom were diametrically opposed.
Simply put, half of the Guardian Shinobi Twelve believed that the position of Hokage shouldn't exist. The correct approach, in their view, was for the Daimyo to directly rule Konoha. Stepping outside the fundamental context of the shinobi world, this perspective was, of course, perfectly valid – a government ruling its military is logical; the reverse often symbolizes turmoil.
But within the shinobi world, such thinking was impractical. What cards did the Hokage hold, and what cards did the Daimyo hold? Should they lay them all out for comparison? Whether comparing size, reach, or sheer power, in what aspect could the Daimyo possibly match the Hokage?
Nevertheless, those accustomed to power struggles inevitably desire to participate. A faction within the Twelve believed that assassinating the Hokage would resolve the massive hidden danger concerning the Land of Fire's political structure and power balance. With the Third Hokage dead and the Fifth having just taken office, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to strike. A significant portion of the Twelve had been personally recruited by the Daimyo; they weren't Konoha shinobi. They served whoever paid their salaries—ideal employees, in a sense.
Perhaps precisely because they were independent shinobi, they failed to grasp Konoha's true strength and habitually overestimated their own capabilities. Truthfully, plotting against Konoha or the Hokage wasn't impossible, but those capable of such schemes were on the level of Orochimaru, Uchiha Obito, or Pain.
So, what level was this faction of the Twelve on? Fodder level, more or less.
Given the extreme unreliability of this radical plan, the other half of the Twelve naturally opposed their actions. Thus, they split into pro-Hokage and anti-Hokage assassination factions.
Each faction had six members. The leader of the assassination faction was a ninja named Kazuma, while the central figure of the pro-Hokage faction was the Third Hokage's son, Asuma Sarutobi. Ironically, Asuma had originally left Konoha to join the Twelve in the Fire Capital because he couldn't understand his Hokage father; now, here he was, needing to protect that same incomprehensible father.
Some time ago, the Third Hokage passed away unexpectedly. Asuma Sarutobi had to return to Konoha, and his departure led to the collapse of the pro-Hokage faction. The conspirators' actions grew increasingly audacious—in reality, the Twelve had long ceased to fulfill their original duties.
As for the Daimyo's view on these ninja? To put it nicely, he feigned ignorance. To put it bluntly, it was tacit approval. If they won, the Daimyo took all. If they lost, he could push these problematic ninja onto Konoha to take the blame. All potential gain, no risk—why wouldn't he allow it?
So, when Habara received this intelligence from Kakashi, he instantly perked up. He had been itching for a reason to do something, and wouldn't you know it, someone delivered a pillow just as he was getting sleepy. Clearly, these plotting independent ninja were truly good people, their timing impeccable, like a much-needed rain shower.
Such a conspiracy couldn't remain hidden from Konoha, yet Konoha couldn't directly move against these ninja. They were the Daimyo's protection detail; any move by Konoha against them would imply treasonous intent… It was a situation where propriety could be exploited.
But they were merely hiding behind borrowed authority, pulling a tiger's skin to make a banner. Stripped bare, Konoha only hesitated because of the Daimyo. Without him, what were these few ninja compared to a powerful hidden village? Did they truly believe they could challenge Konoha?
Konoha tended towards conservative thinking, stuck in old ways, lacking the novel perspective to see outside the established framework. They believed what the First Hokage left behind was the best. Honestly, though, when it came to political systems, perhaps even someone with polio might demonstrate more imagination and creativity than the First Hokage.
Therefore, the logic of certain individuals did gain traction, leading to the present situation where some felt the Daimyo himself had outlived his usefulness. Look, the thinking went, Konoha always cares so much about the Daimyo's opinions and feelings. If the Daimyo were gone, wouldn't these problems simply resolve themselves?
That night, a ninja, looking seventy or eighty years old yet still tall and robust, entered the Fire Capital with a cheerful heart. This was none other than the respectable Lord Kakuzu, here to get paid for a job.
Generous income, low mission difficulty, perfect for a quick in-and-out operation—how could such a prime job, the kind encountered only once every few years, not put him in a good mood?
To make Kakuzu's task even easier, Habara even had to lend him a hand secretly.
Deep in the night, within the main hall of the Daimyo's residence in the Fire Capital, a figure casually strolled in, trailing an incredibly elongated shadow stretched by the moonlight.
The hall was silent, seemingly empty. Yet, his swaggering entrance, treating the place as his own home, naturally and easily triggered the security system.
"Who goes there?"
Two shinobi appeared, one in front and one behind Habara, seemingly ready to immediately restrain this intruder.
Habara glanced them up and down. "You may not know me, but I know you… Kazuma of the Guardian Shinobi Twelve, correct?"
"Where did this little thief come from? Don't you understand your situation?"
Kazuma knew that someone who could infiltrate this deep without a sound was no mere thief. He prepared to cripple Habara first, then interrogate him about his origins and purpose.
As Kazuma spoke, distracting Habara, the ninja behind Habara silently struck, a sharp kunai stabbing towards Habara's lower back.
And then…
Clang!
With a crisp metallic sound, the kunai in the attacker's hand snapped in two.
Habara feigned bewilderment, glancing back. "What's this? Are you demon clowns? Do backstabs deal extra damage?"
He had already sensed them. Although only two ninja had appeared before him, four more remained hidden in the shadows. The entire conspiracy faction of the Twelve was here. Habara hadn't come blindly; Konoha's internal intelligence was clearly accurate, able to see even the Daimyo's metaphorical underwear.
"Not sharp enough, right?" Habara continued, a predatory edge to his voice. "I'm in a decent mood today, so I'll let you witness true sharpness."
The good mood was a lie; being short on time was the truth. Habara needed to clear the stage for Kakuzu, quickly.
As his words fell, the shinobi noticed something glinting within the moonlight.
Countless taut silver threads, as fine as a spiderweb, had appeared. And this vast "web" had already enveloped the entire main hall from the outside.
Habara abruptly clenched his fist. The net of silver threads instantly tightened, like a fishing net suddenly drawn closed around a massive catch.
Streaks of silver sliced through roof tiles, wooden beams, support pillars, stone bricks, limbs, and even priceless paintings and lacquerware. In a mere instant, the threads formed a cocoon enclosing the space thirty centimeters around Habara.
Droplets of blood traced paths along the silver threads, then dripped onto the floor.
Compared to the true monsters, the real system-breakers, Habara's current strength still fell slightly short, especially against those with greater raw physical power. But compared to these ordinary ninja? There was really nothing to discuss. A mantis trying to stop a chariot—who was the mantis, and who was the chariot?
Looking around, the results of the first rough cut were clear: the six shinobi now lay dismembered across the floor. What meaning did their grand ambitions hold now? If blame was to be assigned, it lay with their lack of strength to realize such ambitions. Simply put, they should never have entertained such excessive thoughts in the first place.
Faced with such a sudden, wide-ranging ninjutsu, this method of dicing that resembled an inescapable net cast from heaven and earth, ordinary shinobi had no way to evade. One would either need defenses capable of withstanding Habara's silver threads or possess space-time ninjutsu to escape.
"Has it begun?"
The silver threads around Habara coalesced into a shimmering silver sphere, which then floated behind him and retracted into the black iron container on his back. He tilted his head, listening intently, seeming to catch a distant sound. Then, the main hall began to erupt in roaring flames.
He was destroying the evidence. He had no choice; the cutting marks left by his Mercury Lamp technique were too distinct. Anyone with even slight familiarity could identify his handiwork.
To ensure the swift, silent elimination of the six Jonin here, Habara had sliced the entire building to pieces. Because this was done while the building "wasn't looking," coupled with the extreme sharpness of his threads, it still appeared intact, standing tall as before. However, the slightest disturbance—a gust of wind, a tremor—would cause it to collapse into a pile of rubble.
Therefore, Habara had to burn the place down, and burn it thoroughly, reducing everything inside and out to ash.
Clearly, tonight concluded with another heartwarming ending.