What Akatsuki Village was about to face were, in the end, nothing more than ordinary civilians with no combat power at all.
On average, one shuriken was enough to deal with one person.
At most, they possessed a bit of authority.
But so-called authority, when placed in front of real violence, was laughably fragile.
Storming Chang'an had always been easier than passing the imperial examination.
That said—
Konoha was still a problem.
Not because Makoto Uchiha feared Konoha would suddenly "awaken."
The traditional shackles and rigid mindset of shinobi in the Naruto world had persisted all the way until Uzumaki Naruto became the Seventh Hokage.
Change was never their strong suit.
The real concern was different.
This matter was too big.
Konoha would inevitably hear rumors.
Under traditional shinobi logic, they wouldn't intervene directly—
military affairs are military affairs; politics and economics are politics and economics.
In their minds, these were two parallel lines that never intersected.
What Makoto worried about was this:
What if the nobles panicked and hired Konoha shinobi to strike Akatsuki Village?
Only shinobi could deal with shinobi.
If Konoha got involved, things would become genuinely troublesome.
"If the nobles panic and go crawling to Konoha," Makoto muttered,
"then things get annoying."
"So this operation must be fast."
"Mobilize all clans in Akatsuki Village. Split them up and move simultaneously."
"Start politely—send fruit baskets to the salt merchants. Watch them quietly from the shadows."
"Give them a few days to think."
"If they still don't cooperate… then we persuade them with physics."
"As for the daimyō—I'll deal with him personally afterward."
Makoto made the decision instantly.
He had to strike before anyone else could react.
Unifying the salt market and eliminating competitors had to be done at lightning speed.
Emergency Clan Council
The very next day, Makoto convened an emergency meeting of all clan representatives.
Inside the council chamber, he spoke plainly.
"This time, our targets are the large and small salt merchants across Fire Country."
"Deal with the major salt merchants first—and the patrons backing them."
"With these people, your methods can be… relatively gentle."
"As for the small salt traders—use your own judgment."
"What matters most is speed."
"I don't care about the process."
"I don't care about casualties."
"I need them to shut up."
"Intelligence is already being gathered by the newly formed ANBU."
"You will fully cooperate with all ANBU operations."
Makoto paused, his gaze sweeping the room.
"I've said what I needed to say."
"Who agrees?"
"And who objects?"
He didn't explain why he was suddenly purging the salt industry.
Because that would have been pointless.
For these old-school clans—
Explain it, they wouldn't listen.
Make them listen, they wouldn't understand.
Even if they understood, they might not act.
So it was better to simply issue orders.
Loyalty
As his words fell, Makoto raised a hand.
The next instant—
A large group of ANBU shinobi stormed into the chamber, moving with perfect coordination.
They fanned out and stopped, each one standing directly behind a clan representative.
Then, in unison, they shouted:
"Loyalty!"
The clan leaders' faces changed instantly.
Black uniforms with red clouds.
Expressionless masks.
An overwhelming killing intent pressing down like a mountain.
In their hands—black, metal batons, long and heavy, catching the light.
And most terrifying of all—
These ANBU members came from their own clans.
Something this big…
And none of them had received any advance notice.
When the clans had sent their elite members into ANBU, it wasn't purely for village service.
There were private calculations involved.
ANBU had access to secrets.
More secrets meant more leverage for the clan.
But now—
They were completely caught off guard.
Makoto watched their reactions—the shock, the fear, the confusion—
A smile crept onto his face.
He even hummed softly.
To create an ANBU that answered only to him, Makoto had spared no effort.
The method itself wasn't complicated.
It was group psychology.
Once upon a time, a German high-school politics teacher had created a dictatorship-like organization in just six days.
Makoto simply applied the same principles.
All qualified shinobi were taken to a secret training base.
They were given identical uniforms.
Rules were imposed to erase individuality.
Self-esteem was suppressed.
A tight collective was formed.
Troublemakers were filtered out in secondary selection.
An abstract enemy was created.
Through missions, individuals prone to self-sacrifice were highlighted.
Their sacrifices emotionally bound the group together.
Gradually, their identity shifted—
From clan members
to ANBU operatives.
Their personal identities were submerged beneath the collective.
And once that happened—
They became capable of terrifying strength.
Knowledge is power.
On top of that, Makoto provided:
Complete logistical support
Absolute financial security
Zero worries for their families
Combined with the shinobi world's ingrained "tool of the mission" mindset,
once a person fully merged with the group, the result was inevitable.
A brand-new ANBU—
One that obeyed only the Light Shadow—had been forged.
Decision
The council chamber fell deathly silent.
The atmosphere was suffocating.
The black metal batons behind them reflected harsh light—
Almost blinding.
A thought crept into the clan leaders' minds, absurd yet terrifyingly real:
If I refuse… will that baton come down on my head next?
They didn't understand.
How could their own clan members change so completely in such a short time?
This oppressive, indescribable pressure made their skin crawl.
"I… agree."
"I agree."
"…I agree."
One by one, hands were raised.
Part of it was fear.
But there was another reason.
Objectively speaking, these missions weren't difficult.
Strictly speaking, they were only D- and C-rank tasks.
Killing an ordinary civilian was trivial for a shinobi.
What bothered them was the scale—
Mobilizing everyone for so many low-rank missions felt excessive.
But the batons behind their heads were extremely persuasive.
"Very good," Makoto said calmly.
"Effective immediately, all missions will be upgraded to B-rank."
"For targets with special status, mission ranks will rise to A-rank, or even S-rank."
Authority had been demonstrated.
Now came the money.
These missions would cost, at most, a few hundred million ryō.
Compared to the profits of monopoly?
Pocket change.
"Yes, Light Shadow!" ×N
The clans responded in unison.
Any lingering dissatisfaction instantly turned into enthusiasm.
At the end of the day—
It was just a matter of money.
Before, they had been doing D-rank construction work inside the village.
Easy money—multiple missions per day using Shadow Clones.
Now they had to run all over Fire Country.
One mission at a time.
Sleeping rough.
Living on soldier pills.
No proportional reward.
How were they supposed to explain that to their clans?
But once the pay increased—
Everything changed.
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