Naruto : Blazing Legend

Chapter 20: The Puppet Master's Gambit

The underground chambers of Root headquarters reeked of dampness and old blood—a fitting atmosphere for the architect of Konoha's latest tragedy. Danzo sat behind his scarred wooden desk, fingers steepled as he listened to the litany of reports from his masked subordinates. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his unmarked face, both eyes still whole and gleaming with cold satisfaction.

"The crowds are growing more violent by the hour," reported a Root operative, his voice muffled behind a porcelain mask. "Our plants among the civilians have successfully escalated the rhetoric. They're no longer content with mere words—debris has begun flying at the Hatake compound."

Danzo's lips curved into something that might charitably be called a smile, though it held no warmth. "Excellent. Continue stoking their rage. Let them taste blood in the water." He leaned back in his chair, savoring the moment. "Poor Hiruzen. Even if he suspects my involvement, suspicion without proof is merely impotent rage."

The operative bowed and melted back into the shadows. Almost immediately, another took his place.

"Sir, there's been a complication. The Uchiha have dispatched peacekeepers to the scene. The Hatake boy was preparing to lash out at the mob when they arrived—now he's been forced to restrain himself."

Danzo's expression soured, irritation flickering across his features like a guttering flame. "Fools. Don't they understand that chaos serves their interests as much as mine? The worse this situation becomes before they intervene, the more indispensable they appear." He drummed his fingers against the desk, the sound echoing in the confined space. "No matter. Their premature heroics won't derail the plan."

A harsh laugh escaped his throat—bitter and triumphant. "The White Fang, the Uchiha... even my old teammate Hiruzen scrambling for solutions that don't exist. They're all dancing to my tune, and they don't even realize the music has started."

He waved dismissively. "Return to your posts. Maintain surveillance. Tomorrow, we enter the final phase."

---

High in the branches of an ancient oak, Rei crouched motionless, his dark eyes fixed on the growing mob below. The scene had transformed from mere protest to something far uglier—a feeding frenzy of collective hatred that seemed to feed on itself. Villagers who had returned home now emerged carrying baskets of rotting produce, their faces twisted with an anger that seemed too pure, too focused to be entirely organic.

The stench of decay drifted upward as eggs splattered against the Hatake compound's walls, leaving trails of yellow slime. Voices rose in an increasingly violent chorus, calling for blood, for justice, for a reckoning that felt more personal than any mission failure should warrant.

A presence materialized behind him—silent as death, quick as lightning. Rei's muscles tensed, nearly sending him tumbling from his perch before he recognized the familiar chakra signature.

"Damn it, Minato," he hissed, shooting a venomous glare at the blonde shinobi. "Announce yourself next time. Some of us don't appreciate heart attacks with our surveillance."

Minato had the grace to look sheepish, though his expression quickly grew grave as he took in the scene below. "Sorry. I've been looking for you—figured you might be here." His voice carried an unusual weight. "This is getting out of hand faster than anyone anticipated. If we don't act soon..."

"Sakumo won't survive it," Rei finished grimly. "Not the way this is headed."

They watched in silence as the crowd's fury reached new heights, voices blending into an inhuman roar of condemnation. It was a sound that belonged in nightmares, not in the heart of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

"The Hokage wants to see you," Minato said finally. "Both of us, actually."

Rei's stomach clenched. Being summoned by the Third Hokage during a crisis like this meant one thing—they were about to be dragged into the deadly game of village politics.

---

The Hokage's office felt suffocating despite its spacious dimensions. Smoke from Hiruzen's pipe hung in the air like a physical manifestation of the tension that gripped everyone present. Jiraiya lounged against the wall with forced casualness, while Tsunade stood with her arms crossed, radiating barely contained fury.

"Rei," the Third Hokage began without preamble, his weathered face etched with concern, "I need your assessment of the Sakumo situation. Something about this feels... orchestrated."

The weight of expectation settled on Rei's shoulders like a lead blanket. He'd hoped to remain a bystander in this tragedy, but fate had other plans. "Hokage-sama, this isn't random mob violence. Someone's pulling the strings, using the villagers as weapons to destroy Sakumo-sama from within."

Hiruzen nodded grimly, his intuition confirmed. "But who could harm someone of Sakumo's caliber? He's one of our strongest—"

"Physical strength means nothing here," Rei interrupted, his voice carrying a hard edge. "The real target isn't his body—it's his spirit. I witnessed operatives actively inciting the crowd, pushing them toward greater violence. This is psychological warfare at its most vicious."

Tsunade scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "Ridiculous. If harsh words could fell a warrior of Sakumo's stature, what good would all our training be?"

"Tsunade-sama raises an interesting point," Rei acknowledged, though his tone suggested she was missing something crucial. "You're right—no one in this village could easily kill Hatake Sakumo. But what if they didn't have to? What if they could convince him to kill himself?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Jiraiya straightened from his casual pose, while Tsunade's expression shifted from dismissive to horrified.

"Explain," Hiruzen commanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rei took a steadying breath. "It's a step by step breakdown of psychological defenses. First, you isolate the target—turn the entire village against him until he believes he truly was wrong. Then you escalate the demands from mere condemnation to calls for his death. Finally..." He paused, letting the implications sink in. "You bring in the comrades he saved. Have them join the chorus of blame. The ultimate betrayal."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Minato, who had heard this theory before, looked shaken by the plan.

"Who would orchestrate something so... thorough?" Jiraiya asked, though his tone suggested he already suspected the answer.

"Someone who understands that in the shadows, a whisper can be deadlier than a blade," Rei replied cryptically. "Someone who's made a career of turning people into weapons—including himself."

The sound of splintering wood echoed through the office as Hiruzen's fist connected with his desk, leaving a spider web of cracks across its surface. His face was a mask of controlled rage, the Will of Fire burning cold and deadly in his eyes.

"Jiraiya," he commanded, his voice carrying the full authority of his office. "Get to the Hatake compound immediately. Watch Sakumo—don't let him out of your sight. And tell him what we've discussed here. He needs to understand what he's really fighting."

"Understood." Jiraiya was already moving toward the door, his usual playful demeanor replaced by grim determination.

"Tsunade, mobilize your contacts among the civilian population. We need voices of support to counter this manufactured hatred. Remind them what Sakumo has sacrificed for this village."

For once, Tsunade didn't argue, simply nodding curtly before following Jiraiya out.

"Minato, take command of available ANBU operatives. I want our own people in that crowd, spreading word of Sakumo's heroics. If they want to play the propaganda game, we'll play it better."

As the room emptied, leaving only Rei and the Hokage, the weight of unspoken knowledge hung between them like a blade.

---

Miles away, in the comfortable study of the Shimura compound, Danzo savored his evening tea with the satisfaction of a man watching his enemies destroy themselves. The porcelain cup felt warm against his fingers as he contemplated tomorrow's finale—the moment when Konoha's White Fang would finally fall to his orchestrated campaign.

The sound of approaching footsteps barely registered before a masked Root operative materialized from the shadows.

"Report," Danzo commanded without looking up from his tea.

"The Third Hokage has called an emergency meeting. Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Namikaze Minato were all present, along with the Uchiha boy who's been observing the Hatake situation."

Danzo set down his cup, finally showing interest. "Hiruzen called in his old students for advice? How... desperate." A cold smile played at his lips. "And what wisdom did this council of fools provide?"

"Unknown, sir. But Jiraiya has been dispatched to the Hatake compound, Tsunade is mobilizing civilian support, and Minato is coordinating with ANBU."

For a moment, genuine concern flickered across Danzo's features before being consumed by his characteristic arrogance. "Hiruzen grows predictable in his old age. Counter-propaganda and emotional appeals—the tactics of someone who's already lost."

He leaned back in his chair, confidence restored. "Jiraiya is a powerful shinobi but a poor strategist. Tsunade's reputation precedes her—most civilians fear her more than respect her. As for Minato..." Danzo waved dismissively. "Talented, yes, but he operates in the light. He has no understanding of the shadows where real power is wielded."

The Root operative remained silent, awaiting further orders.

"And the Uchiha boy?" Danzo continued, almost as an afterthought. "A child playing at being important. His jutsu development means nothing if he lacks the wisdom to use it effectively."

Standing, Danzo moved to the window, gazing out at the village he was systematically manipulating. "By tomorrow night, Hiruzen will come crawling to Root, begging for the stability only I can provide. The White Fang will be dead, and the last obstacle to my influence will crumble with him."

He turned back to his subordinate, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Continue monitoring the situation. Tomorrow, we deliver the killing blow."

As the operative vanished back into the darkness, Danzo returned to his tea, the taste of victory already sweet on his tongue. In the game of shadows he had mastered so well, he had never considered that sometimes the light could be just as blinding—or just as deadly.

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