Unlike what he had imagined, even from a distance, Hayashi could already smell the gunpowder and smoke of the exiled city of Mihuacho.
"Are there any traces of chakra nearby?" he asked, stopping in his tracks, glancing at Himeji beside him.
"…No," she replied softly after scanning carefully with her Byakugan.
"Alright, be cautious. Let's move in and see what's happening."
The interior of Mihuacho was worse than he had anticipated. Arrows littered the streets, broken blades and shattered hilts lay scattered, and blood mingled with the corpses of the fallen.
"…There are no traces of chakra being used," Himeji observed after carefully inspecting the chaos.
"That's good," Hayashi said, relaxing slightly. "If this wasn't caused by ninjutsu, then the Mist Ninja probably weren't involved. Still, judging by this level of destruction, it seems the rebellion here is close to succeeding."
Himeji suddenly pointed ahead. "Someone's coming."
Hayashi nodded, standing firmly in place instead of ordering them to hide.
Soon, a group of raggedly uniformed figures emerged. Their leader carried a tattered katana, wore only a loincloth, and walked with a cocky swagger.
When he spotted the unfamiliar figures in the distance, he waved his sword and shouted a series of commands. The distance was too great for Hayashi to hear, but the others clearly began advancing toward them.
As the group neared, the leader's eyes fell on the Leaf Village headbands. He hesitated. Being from the Land of Fire, everyone knew of the Hidden Leaf's reputation—even prisoners who had been isolated for years.
He wasn't a fool like the other prisoners; his selection as patrol leader spoke to his cunning. He knew the danger ninjas posed.
Yet the soldiers behind him couldn't contain themselves. They surged forward with lewd smiles, clearly having noticed Mikoto and Himeji.
"A bunch of idiots," he cursed, slowing his pace to observe. If these were skilled ninjas, he could retreat; if weak, he could have his fun.
Hayashi smirked and raised a hand. "Leave none alive."
"Yes, sir," Mikoto and Himeji replied, passing him and rushing forward.
The result was immediate. Even an ordinary genin could overwhelm these civilians; Hayashi, a seasoned jonin, made the massacre effortless. These people weren't innocent—how many had been bloodstained already?
Seeing the overwhelming assault, the leader cursed again and turned to flee down an alley.
"Where do you think you're going?" Hayashi blocked the exit, a sharp, mocking smile on his face.
"Ninja-sama, this has nothing to do with me…" the leader stammered, dropping to his knees. But in the next instant, his katana was drawn, and his aura sharpened.
"Heh, still a samurai," Hayashi said with amusement.
They were four or five meters apart. The man could close that distance instantly, a speed matching a chunin-level ninja. Yet he was just a civilian, a pure samurai—a rare, almost tragic specimen.
Hayashi observed him, knowing how many talented individuals were wasted outside the villages. In another context, he might have let the man go. But this was Mihuacho.
The leader's momentary arrogance vanished when his slash was stopped mid-air. Hayashi simply waved a kunai, blocking effortlessly.
Slash again, block again. Three times it repeated, the man's fury mounting. Yet Hayashi remained calm, twisting his wrist to perfectly deflect each strike.
Then Hayashi's Sharingan flared, the red glow illuminating the alley. With a crushing grip, his left hand clamped around the samurai's throat, lifting him off the ground and pressing him against the wall.
"Ninja-sama… please… I'll tell you everything… just let me go…"
"No need for trouble," Hayashi said, the red light in his eyes flashing again.
Two minutes later, the samurai lay lifeless on the alley floor. Hayashi dusted off his hands and strode out.
Outside, corpses were scattered across the street. Mikoto and Himeji waited in the sunlight.
"How was it?" Mikoto asked as he approached.
"The rebels have trapped the Mihuacho guards in the Tenshukaku. It's only a matter of time before they break through. The former daimyo's son is at the shrine now," Hayashi said.
"Shrine? What is he doing there?"
"Who knows," he shrugged.
Himeji asked quietly, "What about Ryoma?"
Hayashi shook his head. "That's the problem. The samurai I just met last saw Ryoma three days ago."
"…Could he have run away?"
"It's possible," Hayashi said, "but let's check the shrine first."
The three made their way without further effort and soon located the former daimyo's son at the shrine.
Hayashi finally understood why the current daimyo hadn't eliminated this potential threat: the boy was utterly useless.
The moment he saw the Leaf ninjas, he trembled, dropping to his knees. He didn't cry, only tried, and failed, to suppress his fear.
Hayashi had expected a scheming, Hamlet-like figure, but instead found a cowardly, trembling boy. His shameful state—yellow liquid seeping between his legs—prompted Hayashi to skip any words and employ the Sharingan to subdue him.
A few minutes later, Mikoto asked, "Do you want to kill him?"
"No need. Someone else will eventually deal with him," Hayashi replied.
"Then leave him here?"
Hayashi considered for a moment, then smiled. "Tie him up and throw him into the Tenshukaku."
"Got it," Mikoto said. She and Himeji bound the boy carefully, even tying a playful bow on the end.
Hayashi picked up the rope and walked out of the shrine. "Let's move. The Mist Ninja are probably still waiting for free kills."