For a moment, Orochimaru was stunned.
The person pressing a blade against his neck was… Sakumo Hatake—the White Fang—who everyone believed had died by his own hand!
"This is impossible," Orochimaru muttered, his composure cracking for the first time. He had seen it with his own eyes: Sakumo committing seppuku in a private room, confirmed the body, and ensured it was no illusion. Yet here he was, alive—or at least… threatening Orochimaru with a blade. The scene was absurd beyond reason. In that instant, Orochimaru almost wished it were a dream.
"All things are possible," Uchiha Munetsuki said calmly, his voice carrying an unsettling authority that quieted Orochimaru's unease.
"No. You cannot be Sakumo!" Orochimaru ground his teeth, his pupils quivering. "I saw him die. I confirmed the body. This was not a trick!"
"Death has many definitions. Are you certain what you witnessed was truly… final?" Munetsuki raised a hand, signaling Sakumo to release his grip. "Sakumo is indeed dead—but only in body. What stands before you now is his spiritual form."
"His… soul?!" Orochimaru's eyes glimmered with excitement, his voice taut with anticipation. He had long conducted secret experiments on the soul, expending hundreds of test subjects with no progress. And now, a living example stood right in front of him. How could he not be intrigued?
"Spirit… yes. That's a rough understanding, but accurate enough." Munetsuki shook his head, offering no further explanation. "Now, I will answer your first question. I do not intend to interfere with your fate, nor will I harm you. You are here because of the Master's choice. You, in turn, have two options."
Orochimaru tensed immediately. "Two options?"
"The first," Munetsuki said, pacing slowly back beneath the bone cross, "is to treat this as a dream. You may share it with others when you wake, or simply forget it entirely. That is your choice."
"And the second?" Orochimaru pressed, an instinctive voice within him whispering that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one he could not afford to ignore.
"The second is to become the Master's emissary."
Munetsuki's expression remained calm, almost reverent. "By doing so, you will gain insight into destiny itself, a chance to resist its chains. No longer a slave to fate."
Orochimaru narrowed his eyes, lips curling with dark amusement. "Earlier, you spoke of the enlightened being ever happy. Join you, become an emissary… and I can defy my fate?"
"Precisely," Munetsuki replied. "When all ends, the First Creator will awaken from death. The Master's imagined world will manifest in reality. The future the Master envisions will unfold, become tangible."
"Interesting… I agree," Orochimaru said, eyes gleaming as he considered the bargain. "However, in return, I require instruction on the soul."
He cared little for the so-called Master's existence. What mattered was the knowledge of the soul—the ultimate treasure.
"And my terms," Orochimaru added, his tongue flicking across his lips like a serpent, "aside from joining your ranks, I will contribute something as well. Konoha's bloodline limits, the Forbidden Scroll, cells from the First Hokage… surely these interest you?"
Munetsuki's heart skipped, though he quickly masked the reaction. Orochimaru's proposal was tempting indeed. Even leaving aside the village's secrets, the forbidden scroll and the First Hokage's cells were treasures beyond measure. Yet, they were not what Munetsuki truly sought.
"The Master has no need of such things," he said coolly. "Orochimaru, what you consider priceless is, in truth, meaningless. Set aside your schemes."
Orochimaru shrugged, unconcerned. "Very well. Then tell me—what exactly is this organization?"
"The Twilight Hermits," Munetsuki's voice echoed through the cathedral. "Our sole purpose is to intervene at key moments in history, guiding the flow of eras toward the Master's vision, to awaken the First Creator from death."
Sakumo stepped aside, silent and shadow-like.
"An extraordinary place," Orochimaru observed, his eyes tracing the cathedral's skeletal architecture. "So this is where our… exchanges will take place? Fascinating. A man like you—no one in the shinobi world has any information on you. Intriguing."
His serpent-like eyes fixed on the figure beneath the bone cross, curiosity and the desire to dissect the unknown igniting within him.
"Since you mention exchanges…" Munetsuki's thoughts shifted, and the cathedral filled with black mist, flowing like a tide.
In an instant, a bronze table appeared in the center of the hall, high-backed chairs arranged around it. Sakumo and Orochimaru took the front seats, nearest Munetsuki.
Orochimaru reached out, brushing the bronze surface. Its chill confirmed reality. This was no illusion.
"Twilight Hermits… what secrets do you truly hold?" he wondered, acknowledging the power on display surpassed any ninjutsu he had encountered. Perhaps this was his chance, and for now, trust was necessary.