"Otherwise, they all die."
Elder Yangmian froze. His eyes, visible through the mask, widened in disbelief—and then narrowed in fury at Orochimaru's cold declaration.
But his anger wasn't for the wounded ninja in question. That man? He'd sell him out without hesitation. No guilt, no second thoughts. Honestly, with how much trouble the fool had brought upon the village, even if Orochimaru spared him, Kusanagi would likely punish him severely.
No, what truly enraged Elder Yangmian was Orochimaru's utter disdain.
If he wanted that ninja dead, fine—he could've just talked to them. They feared him enough to delay, argue a little, and eventually comply.
Or, if he didn't want to negotiate, he could've just killed the man. With Orochimaru's skills, it would've been clean and silent. Even if there were witnesses, they'd all pretend they saw nothing. That's how afraid they were.
But no. Orochimaru chose the most humiliating path possible—forcing them to obey in front of everyone, shaming Kusanagi Village in broad daylight.
Elder Yangmian's fists clenched. His body trembled slightly. Rage burned behind his mask.
Finally, after a long silence, he managed to speak.
"Lord Orochimaru… is there truly no room to change your mind?"
Orochimaru's cold smile deepened. He didn't even bother to answer. The massive python tensed, lowering its head like a drawn bowstring, the pressure of death looming heavy over them all.
Elder Yangmian understood. Orochimaru had run out of patience. One more word, and the killing would begin.
No pretense. No diplomacy. Just raw power.
Bitter anger welled in Yangmian's chest. He saw now just how little the great ninja villages thought of them. Of Kusanagi. Of anyone without power.
After a brief moment, he raised a hand and gave the signal.
A gust of wind swept past as Kusanagi's ANBU operatives entered the medical room.
---
A stir rose from below. On the now-silent street, the noise was impossible to miss.
One by one, a group of injured ninja emerged from the building, helped along by comrades and Kusanagi's ANBU. They were in poor condition—pale, unsteady, and bleeding through their hastily wrapped wounds. They should've been resting, but now they were being forced to walk, reopening injuries as they moved.
The sight was pitiful. Hard to watch.
All around, Kusanagi's villagers and shinobi looked on. Then they looked up—at the shadowy figure standing atop the great snake's head. Rage swelled in their hearts.
Even outsiders, those stranded in the village, felt a sting of shared bitterness. In times like this, even they, who longed for the protection of a powerful village, found themselves overwhelmed by resentment. Resentment born from years of feeling small, ignored, and powerless.
Usually, these feelings were buried, locked away in the corners of the heart.
But now, witnessing Orochimaru's cold display of strength, that buried fury had a target.
At this moment, whether they were from Kusanagi or not, everyone shared a single thought:
This is what the great ninja villages do. They bully the weak. Disgusting. Despicable.
For once, their anger felt justified—united.
And yet, atop his massive serpent, Orochimaru only narrowed his eyes at the rising hostility... and smiled.
It had clearly been the elders of Kusanagi Village who gave the order—who pushed these broken, discarded shinobi into the open, hoping perhaps that Orochimaru's target might be among them. But now, they were playing the victim.
Of course. He should have known the old man wouldn't stay quiet. But this counterattack came faster than expected.
Tsk, tsk, tsk… What a masterful display of feigned helplessness.
Yet Orochimaru didn't ignore it. Standing with his hands behind his back, he fully cooperated with their little drama—unleashing a cold, bone-deep pressure that had been building for years. The oppressive aura he radiated made the crowd shiver, dousing the heat of their collective anger with icy dread.
Though they still shared a united hatred for Orochimaru, no one dared make a move. Instead, they quietly decided to vent later—with angry words, whispers, and curses behind his back.
It wouldn't affect Orochimaru in the slightest. But it might help them feel less powerless.
The two Kusanagi elders could sense the change in mood and cursed silently to themselves. Still, their goal had been achieved. In the eyes of the villagers, they had suffered humiliation yet held their ground—turning Orochimaru's overwhelming pressure into a rallying point for unity.
"Cohesion." The word sounded hollow, but it mattered.
When the people's hearts are divided, a village cannot stand. Small villages like Kusanagi are especially fragile—high risk, weak crisis response, and prone to collapse if the people lose faith.
These elders, who had led Kusanagi through years of chaos, understood this better than even Konoha's advisors. Sacrificing pride to strengthen village unity? A small price to pay.
More and more people emerged from the medical room.
At first, it was only the gravely wounded. Then came the lightly injured, followed by the remaining medical-nin, and finally the heads of the infirmary.
Among them was Orochimaru's target—the woman bearing the blood of the Uzumaki clan.
She looked terrified, cradling a fragile baby, no more than seven or eight months old, whose hair and features revealed the same bloodline. The child was weak, sickly, clearly unwell.
Orochimaru's eyes narrowed when he saw the woman's skin—marked with scabbed-over bite wounds. He had expected something like this, but seeing it in person made even him pause.
Savages, he thought. No matter how imperfect the Immortal Human Body experiment had been, it was still based on Uzumaki resilience. And yet they had drained her to the point of ruin.
But that was fine. The severity of her injuries was undeniable. No amount of excuses from Kusanagi could hide this now.
The giant serpent lowered its head, and Orochimaru rubbed his chin thoughtfully, scanning their faces with quiet scrutiny.
Most of those below had collapsed from the crushing aura of his presence. Only a few stronger shinobi remained standing, and even they were paralyzed, rooted in place by fear.
If Orochimaru had made it clear who he intended to kill, perhaps they would have fought back in desperation. But as long as it remained uncertain, no one dared move.
The snake shifted. Orochimaru's eyes turned, sweeping over them one by one.
Every time his gaze landed on someone, their heart skipped a beat. And every time it moved away, they exhaled in silent relief.
It was psychological torment—slow, methodical, and cruel. The courage they had mustered earlier now crumbled under this silent pressure, like paper in a storm.
Because Orochimaru understood people.
If he truly intended to kill someone, he wouldn't give them a chance to resist.
____________________
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