Chapter 12 — He Calculated Everything
"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
The voice slithered from the shadows like a whisper of venom. Orochimaru — ever elusive, ever watching — emerged into the dim light of the chamber where Oda Nobunaga was removing his armor under the careful hands of his retainer, Zōmajirō.
The pale serpent's hands clapped slowly, mockingly, but the gleam in his eyes was cold and predatory — the kind of gleam a snake gives before it strikes.
This boy… this little daimyō…
He had surprised him yet again — so much so that Orochimaru almost wanted to crush him here and now, just to stop those calculating eyes from scheming any further.
And yet — bound by certain unspeakable rules, even he could not make that move.
For reasons he himself couldn't quite name, the killing intent that had welled up in him a hundred times before… dissipated again when he looked into Nobunaga's calm, unflinching gaze.
"You want me to officially assume the role of Otogakure's leader?"
Unbothered by Orochimaru's aura, Nobunaga raised a hand to halt Zōmajirō, who had instinctively drawn his sword to protect him. Half-armored, Nobunaga turned and met the serpent's golden eyes with a quiet, faint smile.
Orochimaru froze for a heartbeat.
In truth, his fury came not from fear but from irritation.
This child had publicly declared — before the world — that he would become the head of the Hidden Sound Village, without so much as a whisper of warning.
Did he think Orochimaru was just another servant?
A mere subordinate to a provincial lord?
But then again… after a moment's thought, even Orochimaru had to admit the logic of it.
A man like him — tainted, feared, walking in the dark — could hardly stand in the light as the legitimate head of a nation's ninja village.
A figurehead would be needed… a mask for his will.
Still, that didn't mean he enjoyed being cornered.
Watching Nobunaga's composed expression — that serene confidence of someone who already saw ten moves ahead — Orochimaru's irritation burned hotter.
This boy wasn't just shrewd; he was dangerous.
And the worst part? He knew it.
When Nobunaga calmly gestured for Zōmajirō to continue removing his armor, as if Orochimaru's killing intent were no more than a passing breeze, the snake's lips curved into a humorless smile.
"Murata-dono was indeed a fool," Orochimaru said at last, voice smooth as poison silk, "but in claiming the title of leader of Otogakure… there is one thing he said that wasn't wrong."
Nobunaga raised an eyebrow, his tone still gentle. "Oh?"
Orochimaru's smile widened, revealing the faint edge of his fangs.
"You've made yourself the enemy of the Five Great Ninja Villages."
He leaned forward, voice low and sharp like a blade dragged across glass.
"No matter how clever your words, no matter how righteous your face before the people — the moment you, a daimyō, claimed dominion over a ninja village, the balance of this world cracked.
The Five Villages will not tolerate it. You've drawn every serpent's gaze upon you."
For a long moment, Nobunaga said nothing. He simply adjusted the last piece of his armor, gaze distant — thoughtful.
Then, with the same calm certainty as before, he replied:
"Then let them look."
His lips curved into a smile — not arrogant, but resolute.
"Every era must have someone who breaks the old order.
If I must be the villain in their eyes to give my people a future…
then so be it."
The light flickered against his armor, half on, half off — half man, half symbol.
Even Orochimaru, watching from the shadows, felt a ripple of unease crawl up his spine.
Because in that moment, he realized—
this boy hadn't simply been gambling.
He had calculated everything.
Orochimaru's voice slithered through the room like cold mist. His tone was sharp enough to flay flesh as he finally spoke aloud the truth that even the late Murata-dono had only dared to hint at.
"The Five Great Ninja Villages will never allow you to become the head of a shinobi village," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
After all—how could they?
The relationship between the ninja villages and their daimyōs was anything but the harmonious partnership it appeared to be on the surface.
In truth, a ninja village within a nation was nothing less than a thorn in the flesh, a blade at the throat of its own lord.
Cooperation and rivalry—those were the two pillars that defined their existence.
Even mighty Konoha was not spared from the Fire Daimyō's quiet manipulations.
And Sunagakure, the weakest of the five, had been humiliated time and again by its own Wind Daimyō—reduced to sending its kage into the desert to gather gold dust just to fund the village's survival.
So when Oda Nobunaga of the Land of Fields took the unprecedented step of merging the authority of a lord and the leadership of a ninja village, he had made himself into the single thing every kage secretly wished to destroy—
a daimyō who could not be controlled.
"Ha."
Nobunaga let out a quiet chuckle, glancing sidelong at Orochimaru with a faint, unreadable smile.
"The Land of Fields is a small nation," he said softly. "Even if I united every shinobi within our borders, Otogakure's power wouldn't register in the eyes of the Five Great Villages. Even Sunagakure could crush it if it wished."
That truth made Orochimaru's brow twitch. The pleasure he had taken in taunting Nobunaga soured instantly.
He couldn't refute it—because it was, painfully, true.
But before he could retort, Nobunaga's calm voice continued, almost as if he had anticipated the next thought forming behind those golden eyes.
"Even so," he said, "don't forget—I am still the daimyō of this land."
"The shinobi world has a rule that not even the shadows dare to break: a ninja may not raise a hand against a daimyō. Even the Five Villages lack the resolve to cross that line. It is the foundation of their legitimacy."
Orochimaru narrowed his eyes. "You think that will keep you safe? That it will protect your precious Otogakure?"
He thought he had finally found a crack in Nobunaga's logic.
Sure, the great villages wouldn't openly attack him—but since when had the shinobi ever played by the rules in the dark?
Let the boy have his confidence; Orochimaru knew better.
The moment the shadows learned of this, the "eyes in the dark" would move—and Oda Nobunaga would never even see the blade that ended him.
But before he could speak his warning aloud, Nobunaga interrupted him with a soft smile.
"The daimyō will like what they see," he said. "And in the shadows of Otogakure… there's you."
For a heartbeat, Orochimaru froze.
Then fury ignited in his eyes, and his tongue darted out in anger.
Damn it. He'd underestimated this boy again.
With a low, humorless laugh, Orochimaru strode forward until he stood face-to-face with Nobunaga. His pale hand twitched — just one impulse away from wrapping around the boy's throat.
Only now did he fully understand Nobunaga's entire plan.
Before publicly announcing his vision of "a united nation of ninja," the boy had likely already spoken to the Five Great Daimyōs.
He was using the Land of Fields—and his own life—as a pawn, a test case for those daimyōs who dreamed of curbing their own shinobi.
In exchange for their recognition of his plan, Nobunaga had bought himself protection.
So long as the Five Daimyōs endorsed him, no great village could act against him openly without defying their own rulers.
And because Otogakure's power was still small, no kage would risk open rebellion over such a trivial state.
As for secret assassins, infiltration, or sabotage?
Well—there was Orochimaru, wasn't there?
If he stayed in the Land of Fields, if he continued to draw on its resources for his pursuit of immortality, then it would fall to him to guard this infuriating young lord against the dark.
The thought made him grind his teeth.
Maybe he should just leave. Find another nest.
But as he looked at the smiling boy before him—calm, arrogant, and frighteningly perceptive—he hesitated.
Because deep down, Orochimaru had to admit it: he liked this boy.
Nobunaga was defiant, ambitious, unbound by convention—
a heretic in a world that worshipped obedience.
…Much like himself.
Perhaps, he thought, it would be easier to make Nobunaga his puppet.
Yes. That had always been an option.
And yet… even as he stared into those calm, calculating eyes, he found himself unwilling to do it.
He couldn't explain why.
After a long silence, the malice in Orochimaru's gaze faded. He finally spoke again, his tone measured and quiet.
"What will you do with the shinobi clans of the Land of Fields?
Ninja are ninja because they share a fierce sense of unity."
Nobunaga smiled faintly. "You mean the Fūma clan?"
He was pleased to see Orochimaru's momentary look of surprise — a silent admission that Nobunaga had once again guessed right.
With graceful poise, Nobunaga prepared tea before the Sannin's eyes, performing each motion of the ceremony with disarming elegance. When he was done, he slid a cup across the table toward Orochimaru.
"The Fūma clan," he said, "is scattered across the entire shinobi world. Calling them a clan is generous — any rogue with a shuriken calls himself Fūma these days.
Do they really have the kind of unity you fear? They have no bloodline secrets to protect, no sacred techniques to bind them."
He smiled again, eyes glinting like steel beneath calm waters.
"And those among them who are too proud to serve, too foolish to adapt…
I imagine you, Orochimaru-kun, would be delighted to meet them—on your dissection table."
For a moment, silence hung between them — thick, heavy, and alive.
Then Orochimaru picked up the cup of tea, studying the calm boy before him.
He drank it in one long sip.
A rare smile flickered on his lips — not of mockery, but of anticipation.
He wanted to see just how far this young daimyō, Oda Nobunaga, could go.
How high he could climb before the world itself broke beneath him.