章 9: Chapter 7: Adventurer Guild!
Madara sat in the dimly lit inn room, his crimson armor removed, resting against the wall. The faint sound of splashing water echoed from the adjoining bathing room where the children were washing off the grime, blood, and filth of their imprisonment. They had been trapped in a cage for days, their small bodies soaked in misery, their stench unbearable.
Earlier, he had bathed first. Though he wasn't as filthy as the children, he refused to tolerate even the slightest discomfort. He had been surprised to find the room equipped with a bathing chamber; it was unexpected in such a shabby inn. He had assumed it would merely have a creaking bed and little else. To his mild surprise, the room was spacious enough for both him and the children to stay for a while—be it hours or days, depending on his whims.
As he leaned against the wooden chair, sharp and unyielding as ever, a soft knock, knock broke the silence.
Madara's eyes shifted to the door, his expression unmoving. He already knew who it was and why they had come. Rising to his feet, he crossed the room and opened the door with calculated precision.
Standing there was the innkeeper, a man whose empty gaze betrayed the lingering effects of Madara's genjutsu. A mind completely subdued, waiting for release. Perhaps Madara would free him once he was done with this wretched town—but not yet.
The innkeeper silently handed over a bundle of fresh clothes for the children. Madara accepted it without a word, his sharp gaze dismissing the man, who turned and walked away like a puppet with severed strings.
Before he could close the door, a woman appeared, balancing a large tray stacked with food. The aroma wafted into the room, a reminder that the children had not eaten a proper meal in days. The woman's trembling hands betrayed her unease, her eyes fixed on the ground as she spoke.
"Sir… your order," she said, her voice barely audible.
Madara's cold, authoritative voice cut through the tension. "Put it on the bed."
The woman flinched but obeyed, quickly placing the tray down before scurrying out of the room. Even when he spoke without intent to intimidate, his tone carried a weight that crushed the will of others.
The children emerged from the bathing room shortly after, their small forms now clean, though their faces remained etched with fear. They had bathed quickly, barely taking ten minutes, likely too afraid to linger.
Madara glanced at them, his expression unreadable. "I have to go somewhere," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Eat the food on the bed. Stay here. Do not leave this room."
The children nodded, their silence born of both fear and gratitude. They didn't dare question him, not after what they had seen. They remembered too vividly how he had crushed the girl's leg earlier with no hesitation. They had never encountered someone like him before—a man whose mere presence made the air feel heavier.
And yet, despite their fear, they were thankful for the food. It was the first kindness they had received in what felt like an eternity, though even this kindness was tinged with an undeniable sense of menace.
As Madara stepped out of the room, his thoughts darkened. He had no illusions about himself. He was no savior, no righteous hero sent to bring justice to the world. Far from it. But even for someone like him, there were things that ignited his disgust.
The memory of those children, caged like animals, their spirits shattered, burned in his mind. Sold as property, destined to become tools for the twisted pleasures of nobles or anyone wealthy enough to afford them—it sickened him to his core.
It wasn't just non-human races who suffered this fate, either. Humans, too, were devoured by this depravity, but the inhuman races bore the brunt of this cruelty.
Madara was not a saint. He didn't act out of compassion or justice. He was a man with a goal, and anything that stood in the way of that goal was a stepping stone or an obstacle to crush. He had long since abandoned the ideals of light and righteousness, embracing a path of power and darkness.
After all, this was the same man who groomed Obito Uchiha into a weapon, forcing him to witness his own descent into the depths of despair. He had no qualms about manipulating, destroying, or even sacrificing others if it meant achieving his vision.
Yes, Madara Uchiha was far from righteous.
….
After leaving the inn, Madara made his way toward the Adventurer's Guild. It wasn't as though he truly needed an identity in this world, but acquiring one could prove useful. If nothing else, it might help him avoid unnecessary attention and offer an easy way to gather information. Besides, the guild was rumored to provide monetary rewards for eliminating monsters—a simple task for someone like him.
The entrance to the guild was bustling with activity, a hub of movement and noise. Adventurers of various races and builds, armed with weapons and clad in armor, moved in and out of the large building. Despite this town's reputation as a slaver's haven, non-human adventurers were still present.
Madara paid no mind to the crowd as he walked forward, his presence commanding attention without effort. He entered the guild, his sharp eyes scanning the room. It was crowded and lively, much like the inn, though the air here felt more charged, filled with the clamor of adventurers discussing quests, rewards, and battles.
Without hesitation, Madara approached the reception counter. A woman in a guild uniform stood behind it, her practiced smile welcoming the visitors. She greeted him with polite enthusiasm.
"Hello! Good to have you here. How may I assist you today?"
Madara met her gaze with his cold, unwavering eyes. "I want to register as an adventurer," he stated plainly, his tone devoid of unnecessary emotion.
The receptionist's smile faltered slightly under his piercing gaze but quickly returned as she pulled out a clipboard. "Of course! Please fill out this form with your details," she said, handing it over along with a pen.
Taking the clipboard, Madara began filling out the required information. His movements were deliberate and precise, his handwriting neat yet firm. He listed only what was necessary: his name, age, and basic details. Anything else was irrelevant.
As he worked, a commotion erupted near the entrance. A young man barged into the guild with almost comical enthusiasm, his wide-eyed expression filled with awe as he took in his surroundings. The boy's energy was palpable, as though he had just been freed from some unseen chain and was now experiencing in the unseen of the world around him.
Madara didn't spare the newcomer a glance. His focus remained on completing the form, which he handed back to the receptionist shortly after.
"Here," he said curtly.
"Thank you," the receptionist replied, taking the clipboard. She then placed a crystalline orb on the counter in front of him.
"Now, please place your hand on this. It will measure your mana levels and assign you a rank. This will help us match you with appropriate missions," she explained, her tone upbeat.
Madara's expression remained unchanged, though he found the process tedious. 'Useless,' he thought as he placed his hand on the orb. As expected, nothing happened.
The receptionist blinked, visibly puzzled. "That's strange. Perhaps the device is malfunctioning. Could you try again, sir?"
Madara sighed faintly, placing his hand on the orb once more. Again, it remained inert.
"There's nothing wrong with your device," Madara said coolly. "I don't have mana in my body."
The receptionist's brows furrowed. "No mana? But everyone has at least a trace, even if it's barely measurable… Though, I suppose there are rare cases where it's possible," she muttered, half to herself.
"Will this prevent me from obtaining an adventurer's license?" Madara's tone carried an edge of impatience. If this bureaucratic process became too bothersome, he had no qualms about using genjutsu to resolve it.
Before the receptionist could respond, the boy who had entered earlier approached the counter, his voice cutting through the noise.
"Ma'am! I'd like to register as an adventurer too! What do I need to do?"
Madara glanced briefly at the boy, noting his unusual attire—familiar, yet faintly out of place. It sparked a vague sense of recognition, though he dismissed the thought almost immediately.
The receptionist, caught between the two, offered a quick apology. "Please wait a moment. Let me finish assisting this gentleman, and I'll be with you shortly."
"No problem, ma'am! Sorry for interrupting," the boy said cheerfully, his tone brimming with enthusiasm.
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