Chương 200: 200
Danzo sat in the dimly lit warehouse, flanked by three of his most skilled Root operatives, each wearing the featureless, animal masks that marked their membership in the secretive organization. The atmosphere was tense, but Danzo felt a strange satisfaction as he waited. This was a pivotal moment, one that could shape Konoha's future. Hisato Mura, a man who had been a recluse for over a decade, had finally decided to pass on his legendary genjutsu techniques. Techniques that, in Danzo's hands, would become another tool to secure the village's power.
The warehouse, an old Root facility, had been chosen for its seclusion. It was tucked away from prying eyes, allowing the meeting to proceed in secret. The table in the center of the room was just large enough for the four of them—Danzo, Hisato, and the three operatives—who had been personally selected for their aptitude in genjutsu. Danzo knew Hisato well. Despite the years of isolation, he had always respected the man's unparalleled skill. Today was an opportunity to finally harness that power for Root.
The rhythmic tap of a peg leg echoed through the quiet warehouse, announcing Hisato's arrival. Danzo straightened slightly in his chair, watching as the old man limped into view. Hisato's face, a mess of scars and age, remained expressionless as he entered the room. His crutch tapped with each step, creating an almost hypnotic rhythm.
Danzo rose and greeted him with a slight nod. "Hisato. I'm glad you've chosen to come. Your decision to share your knowledge will strengthen Konoha more than you can imagine. Your legacy will live on through us."
Hisato didn't respond right away. He simply walked over to the table and sat down to Danzo's right, his movements slow and deliberate. His one good eye, sharp despite his age, fixed on Danzo for a long, silent moment. Danzo felt a flicker of unease under the man's intense gaze but quickly pushed it aside.
"I brought my best shinobi," Danzo said, gesturing to the three masked operatives sitting across from them. "They are skilled in genjutsu and eager to learn. I trust you'll find them more than capable of continuing your work."
Hisato remained quiet, his gaze still locked on Danzo. There was something unsettling about his silence, a depth to the look that Danzo couldn't quite place. The flicker of unease returned, stronger this time, but he dismissed it once more. Hisato was an old friend. There was no need for concern.
Danzo attempted to butter him up further. "You've always been a great asset to the village, Hisato. This act of generosity is—"
The moment their eyes met again, Danzo felt it—a subtle shift, like a drop of temperature in the air. His heart skipped a beat as he suddenly realized what was happening.
Genjutsu.
The world around him started to twist, but Danzo, with years of experience and a mind trained for deception, fought back instantly. His chakra surged, breaking the illusion before it fully took hold. Hisato's expression didn't change, but Danzo's blood ran cold as he glanced at his three operatives, frozen in place, ensnared in the very jutsu Hisato had mastered over a lifetime.
Danzo's hand instinctively moved toward his kunai, but something in Hisato's demeanor made him stop. The old man was still smiling—calm, composed—and then Danzo saw why.
Hisato's body was covered in explosive tags, hidden beneath his robes. There were dozens of them, placed strategically along his torso and arms. Danzo's eyes widened. This wasn't a meeting to pass on knowledge. This was a trap.
Hisato's smile never wavered. In that split second, Danzo knew he had been played. Before he could react, Hisato's hand moved slightly, and with a flick of his wrist, the explosive tags ignited.
Danzo flickered, attempting to escape, but the blast caught him as he moved. The explosion tore through the room, sending debris and fire in every direction. Danzo felt the searing heat tear through the right side of his body, the force of the blast throwing him across the room and slamming him into the wall. Pain ripped through him as his vision blurred. His right arm was useless, hanging limply by his side, and blood poured from multiple wounds.
The warehouse filled with smoke and the acrid smell of burning wood and flesh. Danzo's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to maintain consciousness. His mind raced, still reeling from the realization of what had just happened. His three operatives were gone—vaporized in the explosion. The only thing that remained was the hollow silence after the destruction.
He tried to move but found his body unresponsive, the right side of his body screaming in agony. Root operatives from outside rushed in, drawn by the explosion, and quickly surrounded their leader, lifting him from the ground as they assessed the damage.
Danzo's vision swam as he was carried out of the wreckage, barely aware of the men supporting him. His body was shattered, but his mind was on fire with a single, burning thought.
Ren. Damn that old bastard, this was all because of Ren.
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