"The reason our Blood-Mist Hidden Mist makes the whole ninja world tremble is the iron-blooded policies the Mizukage have enforced without wavering for generations!"
Veins bulged on the neck of the red-eyed Mist shinobi as his emotions spiked. He completely ignored Elder Genshi's warning look.
He bellowed up at Uchiha Chizumi standing atop the heap of corpses: "It's the Blood-Mist policy! Those brutal graduation exams, the blood-reek that fills our village—that's what sifted out the true strong!"
"Look at Mei Terumi-sama! Look at the Demon of the Mist, Zabuza Momochi! Even that S-rank defector, Biwa Jūzō! Which of them didn't claw their way up from seas of blood?!"
His voice shook, yet burned with fanatical faith. "The ones eliminated—killed—by the policy were just useless trash! What right do weaklings have to keep living?!"
"Their deaths save precious resources for the Land of Water! More chakra metal, stronger ninjutsu scrolls, richer mission payouts—concentrated on cultivating real shinobi like us, ruthless and gifted!"
He snapped his head to one side and spat, eyes full of contempt. "As for those so-called noble kekkei genkai clans? Hah! A bunch of ungrateful, bottomless 'white-eyed wolves!'"
"They gorge on the village's shelter and resources, then skulk about scheming to topple the Mizukage's rule and end this glorious Blood-Mist policy!"
"If traitors like that are slaughtered to the last, so what? It's an internal affair of the Hidden Mist!"
"What does any of this have to do with you people from Konoha? Mind your own business, you Konoha bastards!!"
His final shout crashed into a deathly silence.
It felt like even the sound of blood trickling could be heard.
Mei Terumi went paper-white; she could feel the chill creeping into her fingertips.
Beside her, sweat beaded at Ao's temple and slid down his tense cheek; his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, loud in the quiet.
Both of them fixed their gaze on Uchiha Chizumi, hearts in their throats.
But the man standing on the pile of bodies didn't even shift his stance.
Chizumi only turned those uncanny Sharingan eyes toward the howling Mist shinobi.
There was no anger at being insulted in his gaze.
"Whether the sins festering in the Land of Water concern me…" he said, "what has that to do with you?"
Mei and Ao both blinked.
They hadn't expected… that faced with such a fierce challenge, Uchiha Chizumi would answer with a question that simply refused the premise.
"Y-you…!"
The shinobi's face flushed crimson, as if he'd punched air. He panted, scrambling to recover. "You Konoha shinobi—do you have no sense of rules at all?! You—"
He cut off.
Because Uchiha Chizumi's figure atop the corpse mound blurred without warning.
In the next instant—like teleportation—he was standing silently right in front of the Mist shinobi.
The blood-stench from fresh slaughter hit like a wall, thick enough to taste, still faintly warm. Mizuno Hideki reeled with dizziness and nausea.
For the first time in his life, he felt raw fear at the very reek he'd once taken pride in.
He tried to summon the courage to meet that gaze, but his eyes felt frozen; he couldn't focus on the slowly turning crimson tomoe inches away.
His knees went weak. The fingers gripping his kunai spasmed and trembled.
"Rules?" Uchiha Chizumi repeated, tone flat enough to chill marrow. "Who made those rules?"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes like blades parsing every flicker of fear on Mizuno Hideki's face. "Which land, which law, states I have no right to interfere in the Land of Water?"
Mizuno forced his stiff neck to turn, eyes begging help from his comrades.
He saw sympathy in a few eyes, anger in more, and—clearly—their hesitant feet, their instinctive retreat before the mountain of corpses.
He even saw Lady Mei's furrowed brow… and Elder Genshi's eyes squeezed shut with a heavy weight.
Why? Why is no one stepping forward? What happened to the Blood-Mist will of "the village above all"?!
"Th—the successive Mizukage! And the Daimyo of the Land of Water!" Mizuno howled on raw instinct, his teeth knocking together with a chattering clack.
"They're the rule-makers! Under their wise leadership, the Hidden Mist stands unshaken, and the Land of Water claims its place among the Five Great Nations!"
"Oh." A monotone syllable slipped from Chizumi. He dipped his chin, as if actually weighing the answer.
"Then let's reverse it." He leaned in a fraction, the invisible pressure nearly crushing Mizuno's breath. "If they were… entirely removed—wouldn't the old rules the Land of Water and the Hidden Mist run on collapse with them?"
His Sharingan pinned Mizuno's blown pupils. "When the old rules of a nation and a village collapse, a vacuum follows—and new rules must fill it. That logic holds, yes?"
Mizuno froze.
He dimly felt something was wrong with that line of thought, but under the soul-grinding pressure, his mind went blank.
He nodded. Reflexively.
"Good." The corner of Chizumi's mouth tugged up by the barest degree—no warmth in it at all, only a chill that crept under the skin.
"Then kill them all. From this moment, the Land of Water and the Hidden Mist fall under the custody of 'Absolute Justice.'"
Mizuno Hideki: "???"
His jaw hung; his thoughts tangled into a knot. He couldn't follow the leap, couldn't believe what he'd heard.
"Chizumi-samai…" Elder Genshi's worn, weary voice rose again—one last attempt to pull the cliff edge back from under them. "Please… hear me. The Land of Water and the Land of Fire are worlds apart—climate, custom, history, all different."
"Your creed of 'Absolute Justice' may… may not take root here. It could prove impossible to truly implement."
But Uchiha Chizumi didn't spare even a side-glance for the elder.
His eyes never left Mizuno Hideki.
As if the man before him were the only one worth addressing.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"…M-Mizuno Hideki!" Mizuno clenched his fists, nails biting deep, trying to use pain to burn off fear and scrounge up a shred of courage.
"In the Mist, are there many like you—who believe in the Blood-Mist policy from the bottom of their hearts and are willing to defend it without reservation?" Chizumi asked.
Elder Genshi's brow twitched hard; he coughed again, a clear warning.
But Mizuno, already drunk on fear and a warped loyalty, missed the cue entirely. Seizing on the chance to prove he wasn't alone, he raised his voice in excitement. "Of course! The village is full of shinobi like me!"
"We're the policy's staunchest backers—the Mizukage's most loyal subordinates! Invaders like you are the enemies of our entire village!"
"Even knowing full well the Blood-Mist policy shatters families and slaughters innocents who've done no wrong, you still wouldn't regret it?" Chizumi's tone didn't ripple.
"Are you deaf?" Mizuno's reverse scale was struck; he snapped, voice ragged. "I already said it—only the weak die! Trash dies!"
"If they die, they die! Their deaths hand limited resources to real shinobi! Everyone thinks like I do! Everyone!"
Chizumi's gaze drifted across every face present.
He saw eyes burning with hate, desperate to tear him apart; he saw nods and tight-lipped approval from those who agreed with Mizuno.
He also saw darting glances, knotted brows, lips that twitched and fell still—and eyes that instinctively avoided his.
"Mizuno Hideki," Chizumi said at last, "you're an 'excellent' shinobi. You've saved me a great deal of sorting time."
He… smiled? That Konoha monster who'd just butchered hundreds of Mist comrades smiled?
The thought flitted through Mizuno's mind—he didn't even manage to parse what "saved me time" meant—
Before indescribable pain swallowed every sense he had.
Schlrrk—!
Flesh torn open, then flash-charred to carbon at hellish heat—that sick, tooth-aching sound.
Mizuno's pupils trembled, shrinking.
He stared down in disbelief.
A forearm sheathed in thick, dark-red, scalding magma had slid through his chest without a sound.
His custom flak jacket, before that arm, was no stronger than parchment—melted and ripped in a blink.
The steel plate beneath hissed, went red, softened—and ran as molten iron, dripping into the blood at his feet and raising a little wisp of smoke.
He could see the instant-carbonized shreds of his own organs. He could smell his flesh and viscera burning, the scorched stink braided with blood.
"Guh… hhh…"
His mouth stretched, but only a bellows-broken wheeze came out.
Hot blood flooded from his lips beyond control.
With the last scrap of strength, he lifted terror-blown, uncomprehending eyes and locked them on Uchiha Chizumi's face, so close.
With Elder Genshi already mediating…
How could he… how dared he…
Schlrrk!
Expressionless, Chizumi slid his magma-wreathed arm back out.
As it withdrew, the gaping, blackened hole in Mizuno's chest, still smoking, met the air.
His body lost all support and flopped forward.
Thud—into the clotted blood, sending a dark red ripple across the surface.
Chizumi lifted his gaze. His Mangekyō Sharingan swept the field, and his cold voice carried into every soul present:
"The Blood-Mist policy—what turned the great Land of Water into a greenhouse for sin and fed uncountable tragedies—is the mortal enemy of Absolute Justice."
"Whether you are an evildoer, an ordinary citizen, or an innocent dragged along—if, in your heart, you choose to unconditionally endorse and support that policy, you have chosen to stand against Absolute Justice."
"From this moment, the execution of Absolute Justice will no longer spare anyone merely because they aren't already Red Named Villains. Those who do not wish to be enemies of justice—who reject the Blood-Mist policy in your hearts and who have not committed crimes yourselves…"
"You have three seconds to leave this area and make your stance clear."
"Three…"
The cold countdown tolled like a funeral bell. The crowd erupted into instant unrest—harsh breaths, the scrape of weapons rising all around.
Mei, Elder Genshi, and Ao's pupils all tightened. They knew words were useless now.
Uchiha Chizumi had already given the Hidden Mist chances—more than once.
"Two…"
Many Mist shinobi, faces twisted, began to drive chakra hard. Kunai edges gleamed in the dim light; more hands flew through seals.
At the same time, a portion of them…
After a fierce struggle in their eyes, settled into a quiet resolve.
They silently sheathed the kunai and blades they had just drawn, or let them down with a soft clink.
Under the stunned, confused, even angry and contemptuous stares of their comrades,
they lowered their heads and backed away.
Step by step to the edge of the field.
They couldn't betray their conscience to support a policy dripping with their own people's blood—even if it branded them as traitors.
To say they were willing to uphold the Blood-Mist policy…
would hurt worse than death.
"One."
"Kill him! For the Village of the Bloody Mist! Kill that Konoha monster!!!"
Murderous intent, crushed to the limit, blew like a volcano.
Still countless in number despite the elder's earlier command, the Mist shinobi surged like a broken dam, howling as they launched a death-charge at Uchiha Chizumi from every side.
Shuriken rained in sheets, explosive tags flared dangerously, and torrents of Water Dragon Bullets coalesced.
In an instant, every attack swallowed the place where Uchiha Chizumi stood.
"Wood Release…"
A chakra surge too vast to name—oceanic—erupted from him like a nuclear bloom.
The earth groaned, buckled, heaved, and split.
Countless thick shadows punched up through the ground.
"Nativity of a World of Trees."