Orochimaru’s Magic Lamp

The brutal truth about Root was laid bare by Orochimaru in just a few words, and the entire room fell into a heavy silence. The clan heads of Konoha, hardened veterans all, felt a chill run down their spines.

Even Koharu and Homura—the two elder advisors—were not immune. Their expressions turned tense and complicated.

Ninja battles aren't just fought on the front lines. In a world without overwhelming strength to guarantee victory, information becomes the most vital weapon. Beneath the surface of Konoha's prosperity, endless dirty secrets fester in the shadows.

And for that, expendable spies are needed.

Most of those present were already aware of the darkness hidden within Root. But normally, they simply chose not to look.

Someone has to do the dirty work, after all.

They could stand in the sun and pretend not to see—or oppose it and take on the burden themselves. Unsurprisingly, no one volunteered for the latter.

In the shinobi world, there's no room for saints with nothing but good intentions and loud words.

Ordinary Konoha ninjas, even those from noble clans, held a deep-seated fear and unease toward Root—not just because of their power, but because of something more visceral: moral revulsion. Root was seen as unclean.

Yes, everyone knew Root was cruel, ruthless, and cold-blooded. But because it served a necessary function, its existence was tolerated.

Yet when that filth was dragged out into the open, forcing everyone to look directly at it, disgust and rejection inevitably followed.

Root used people's most precious things to control and manipulate them. They engineered tragedies to ensure loyalty. And now that this was exposed, every person in the room instinctively recoiled.

As Orochimaru spoke, more and more eyes turned to Danzo—no longer just with suspicion, but with open contempt.

Danzo, of course, knew this would happen.

He had tried to use Kabuto's backstory to strike at Orochimaru, but the same blade now turned against him.

Still, this outcome was within his expectations.

"Kabuto was adopted from an orphanage," Danzo said flatly, face emotionless. "I did what I did for insurance."

His sharp gaze swept across the room.

"He was an ideal spy, and he knew far too many secrets. If even a fraction of them had leaked, which of you could bear the consequences?"

One had to admit, Danzo always knew how to invoke the name of "the village" as the ultimate justification. It was the shield that had made him untouchable for so long.

And just like that, the momentum Orochimaru had built began to falter.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Orochimaru slowly applauded, the corners of his mouth lifting in a mocking smile.

"Truly admirable, Danzo-sama," he said with a sneer. "As long as you act in the name of righteousness, you can sacrifice anyone without hesitation."

Then he continued to lay bare the rest of the story.

Kabuto had done his job faithfully, passing valuable intel to the village. But from the beginning, Danzo never trusted him.

Root tampered with the letters and photos Kabuto sent to Nonō Yakushi, the orphanage caretaker who had raised him. Eventually, the information was so heavily altered that she could no longer recognize the real Kabuto.

When the war with Iwagakure began to wind down, both Kabuto and Nonō—no longer useful—became liabilities.

The solution? Force them to kill each other. And if that didn't work, have Orochimaru finish the job.

It was already cruel to force someone to kill the person they loved most. But what was even crueler was that, because of subtle manipulations, when Nonō died in Kabuto's arms… he didn't even recognize her.

The clan heads, the village elders—even Hiruzen Sarutobi himself—were visibly shaken.

Hiruzen had always known Danzo's methods were shady, but he hadn't realized the depth of his cruelty.

He didn't speak, but in that moment, even the Hokage felt that Kabuto's later rebellion was… justified.

If even Hiruzen thought so, the others could only follow suit.

Even hardened warriors who had killed on countless battlefields felt something twist inside them.

Kabuto's suffering was different.

It wasn't about death or pain. It was about having your one precious bond destroyed, manipulated until even your identity collapsed. It was a tragedy so complete it felt almost unreal.

Only someone like Kakashi—who had lost his parents as a child, then his friends, his mentor, and more—could compare.

But Kakashi still had people left. Kabuto… had nothing.

None of the ninja present were particularly empathetic people. Most had only come to understand how Kabuto became so dangerous, or to witness Orochimaru's latest drama.

But instead, they found themselves weighed down by a story they couldn't ignore.

Danzo's actions made it clear: Kabuto wasn't an exception. He was a pattern. There were likely many others just like him—tools used and discarded in Root's endless pursuit of control.

By logic, this kind of behavior should be purged. But reality said otherwise.

Root wasn't just a branch—it had grown deep, tangled roots into the very foundation of the village. Pulling it out would require major upheaval.

And though Konoha was stable now, it wasn't strong enough to survive that kind of surgery.

Which meant… Root's crimes would be quietly tolerated. Again.

Jiraiya finally understood what Kabuto meant when he said, "Even with Orochimaru's support, the village could never give me justice."

It was true. If Orochimaru tried to seek justice for Kabuto, he'd be standing against the entire system.

Those in the sun couldn't afford to expand the light. So they turned a blind eye… and enjoyed the protection that came from darkness.

"If only I hadn't come to this meeting..."

That thought echoed silently through the heads of every clan leader present.

It was like eating fatty intestines.

You're fine as long as you don't know where they come from. But once you've seen the process—once you've watched the filth—it's impossible to enjoy the taste again.

And Danzo… was the one who served it to them.

Not only had they eaten it before, they would eat it again.

So now, as they all looked at Danzo—the man who had fed them this ugliness and then dared to stand there preaching righteousness—the disgust in their eyes was barely hidden.

"I have a clear conscience," Danzo said stiffly. "Everything I did was for the village. At the time, we were at war and short on manpower. Dealing with two potentially compromised spies that way was the most logical decision."

Everyone knew Danzo was technically correct.

But this had long stopped being a matter of right or wrong.

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