For a moment, Orochimaru was simply stunned.
The man holding a short blade to his throat was supposed to be dead—the very same Hatake Sakumo who had "killed himself."
"T-that's impossible…"
The "Ice-Cold Lord" of Konoha couldn't maintain his composure. Shock twisted across his face.
He'd seen it with his own eyes: White Fang, kneeling in his room, driving a short blade into his own gut. He'd confirmed the corpse himself.
And yet that same man, who should have been lying in a coffin, was here. Standing behind him. Using that same short blade to hold him hostage.
It was absurd enough to make him wonder if he'd finally gone mad.
At this point, Orochimaru would have preferred to discover he was just dreaming.
"Anything is possible."
Adam—Uchiha Sogetsu—finally spoke.
His voice carried a strange undertone, a calming pressure that soothed the panic roiling in Orochimaru's mind.
"No. You can't be White Fang."
Orochimaru gritted his teeth, pupils trembling.
"I watched him slit his own belly open. I confirmed the body. And I know for a fact it wasn't genjutsu."
"There are many definitions of death," Adam said mildly. "Are you sure the 'death' you witnessed was truly death?"
He raised a hand in a light gesture. Sakumo stepped back, sheathing his blade and releasing Orochimaru.
"White Fang is indeed dead," Adam went on. "But it was only his body that died. What stands before you now… is his spiritual form."
"His… soul?" Orochimaru's eyes lit up with a manic gleam; his voice shook with barely contained excitement.
He'd been secretly probing the mysteries of the soul for a long time. Hundreds of human test subjects, countless experiments—and so far, not a single concrete result.
Yet now, a living specimen—if you could call it that—was right in front of him.
How could he not be tempted?
"'Soul' isn't entirely accurate," Adam said with a soft chuckle. "But as a rough term, it'll do."
He didn't bother explaining further.
"Now, I can answer your first question," he continued. "I don't plan to interfere with your fate. I don't intend to do anything to you. The only reason you've come here… is because the Lord chose you."
"And in turn, you have two choices."
Orochimaru's guard snapped back up.
"What choices?"
Deep inside, a small voice was already urging him to listen—telling him this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Something he'd regret losing for the rest of his life.
"First choice: treat all of this as a dream."
Adam's footsteps echoed as he strolled back to the base of the bone cross.
"When you wake, you can tell others, or keep it locked in your heart. Either is fine."
"And the second?" Orochimaru pressed.
"Become the Lord's regent."
Adam's tone stayed light.
"That way, you'll have access to hints of fate. A chance—however slim—to struggle against it. You won't be a slave to destiny anymore."
"Didn't you say just now—'the awakened are always happy'?" Orochimaru narrowed his eyes, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "If I join you and serve this 'Lord' of yours… I get to defy my fate, is that it?"
"Of course."
Standing beneath the white-bone cross, Adam's posture turned almost devout.
"When all things come to an end, the Primordial Creator will rise from death. The realm He dreams of will descend upon the material world. The future He proclaims… will be enacted. And made real."
"Interesting. I accept."
Orochimaru's eyes flicked, thoughts spinning. Then he smiled.
"But in exchange, I want something. You'll teach me everything you know about the soul."
Whether this "Lord" was real or not, Orochimaru couldn't care less.
What mattered was the knowledge and research behind this so-called spiritual form. That was the true prize.
"How about it? My terms."
His tongue slipped out, curling over his lips like a snake tasting the air. A dangerous grin stretched across his face.
"And of course, beyond joining you, I can pay a few other prices. Say… Konoha's bloodline secrets. The Scroll of Seals. Cells from the First Hokage. I imagine those would interest you."
Hss… that's Orochimaru for you.
Sogetsu's heart gave a sharp thump—but he smoothed the reaction away with a quick use of Calm.
He had to admit: the offer was very tempting.
Forget Konoha's other bloodlines—just the Scroll of Seals, packed with forbidden techniques, or the cells from the First Hokage's Sage Body were enough to make anyone drool.
Unfortunately… for the moment, he didn't need them.
"The Lord is not interested. Nor does He need such things."
Adam refused without hesitation, as if those prizes were meaningless trinkets.
"To you, Orochimaru, those objects are treasures. To us, they're worthless. They hold no weight. So put those little schemes away."
It hurt. It honestly hurt.
His heart ached so hard he could barely breathe—but he still had to say no to keep his "holy" persona intact.
He consoled himself silently: There'll be chances later. No need to cling to a few scraps now.
"Heh. Fine."
Orochimaru shrugged, taking the rejection in stride.
"So. Can you tell me what this organisation of yours actually is?"
"The Twilight Hermit Society."
Adam's ethereal voice echoed through the hall.
"Our purpose is simple. At critical points in time, we intervene in history. We nudge the current of the era, guiding it toward the future we desire—toward the awakening of the Primordial Creator who slumbers in death."
Sakumo, who had lowered his blade, moved silently to the side and stood still, like a shadow.
"What a fascinating place," Orochimaru murmured, turning slowly to inspect the Cathedral of Bones—its vaulted skull-dome, its avalanche of bones, its writhing faces pressed against doors and windows.
"So this is where we'll be meeting from now on?"
He didn't say whether he was admiring the structure or marvelling at the mountain of corpses.
One thing was clear: his interest in the "man" under the cross had only deepened.
To think someone like this existed in the ninja world, with no trace in any of his information networks.
Those slit-gold eyes, so like a serpent's, never left Adam's shrouded silhouette.
Curiosity. The kind that made him want to cut someone open and see what was inside.
"Since you mentioned meetings…"
Adam snapped his fingers in his mind; the cathedral shuddered as black mist surged like a tide.
He hadn't tried this before, but if this place was built on dreams and minds, there was no reason it shouldn't work.
In an instant, a long bronze table appeared in the centre of the hall, flanked by high-backed bronze chairs to either side and at the ends.
Hatake Sakumo and Orochimaru took the first two seats, facing each other near the head of the table—closest to Adam's oversized throne.
Sorry, Klein, Sogetsu apologised internally. Borrowing your idea for a minute.
We're both transmigrators. You understand, right?
"Real…"
Orochimaru ran his fingers lightly across the bronze armrest.
The chill of metal met his skin—and with it, a jolt in his chest.
"No doubt about it. This isn't genjutsu."
As a master of ninjutsu, he knew his way around illusions. Something this solid, this tangible, wasn't something you cooked up with genjutsu alone.
Just what secrets are you hiding, Twilight Hermit Society…?
Judging from what Adam had shown so far, the power involved here had already gone beyond any ninjutsu Orochimaru knew.
Maybe… this is my chance.
For now, I'll believe in you. A little.
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