Magistrate Morimura stared blankly at the two corpses lying in the open. His arms went cold, his legs felt weak, and his head buzzed. His balance faltered, and he nearly collapsed.
Someone nearby reached out and caught him just in time.
"Thank you, Wolf," he muttered instinctively, his voice trembling.
"My Lord, I am not the Wolf."
Morimura turned, blinking in confusion at the unfamiliar samurai's face.
Reality struck him.
The Wolf was dead.
Biwa Juzo and Black Hoe Thunderfang—both dead too.
Magistrate Morimura's face turned ashen. He raised a trembling finger and pointed at Logan.
"H-How could you… how dare you?!"
These were the Seven Ninja Swordsmen—the strongest elite warriors in Kirigakure. Killing one was a scandal. Killing two was a declaration of war.
Sure, Logan killing the Pufferfish Ghost on Mount Xigua had sparked some controversy, especially since it exposed human trafficking.
But this… this was different.
Logan had stormed the county governor's mansion and executed two of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen. This wasn't just vigilantism. It was treason.
And for someone like Morimura, who lived and thrived within the tight webs of bureaucracy, it was also a professional disaster. If such high-ranking individuals died under his jurisdiction, he too would be implicated. His career might be over.
Suddenly, his spiraling thoughts were interrupted.
A shadow loomed over him.
Boom.
The Destruction Blade slammed into the ground just inches from his feet. The earth cracked under the force. Several samurai standing guard around Morimura dropped their weapons and fell backward in fright.
The Magistrate's eyes followed the feet that stepped into view—boots streaked with blood and dust. Before he could lift his gaze, a hand grabbed his hair and yanked him upward.
"Aaaaagh—!"
Morimura screamed like a pig being slaughtered.
Despite years of luxury, or perhaps because of them, the man still had a powerful set of lungs. His cries echoed through the entire county, drawing eyes from behind windows and partially opened doors.
People peeked from behind curtains, jaws agape, as they saw their once all-powerful magistrate being dragged by the hair like a common mutt.
The ground was still soaked from the earlier vortex. In the newly cleared space, Logan tossed Morimura into the center and struck him with Ripple energy through the tip of his boot.
Morimura collapsed to his knees, forced down by the pressure. His head bowed uncontrollably, his remaining eye wide with fear. Sweat trickled down his face in thin lines.
The position he knelt in...
It was unmistakable.
The posture of a man about to commit seppuku. Waiting for the executioner's blade.
At that moment, the sound of hurried footsteps approached. Dozens of torches bobbed through the night, casting flickering shadows.
Reinforcements had arrived.
Around 200 samurai poured into the plaza, weapons at the ready, with a rotund, red-faced accountant at the front.
"Stop!" the accountant shouted, eyes wide and desperate. "You can't kill him!"
Morimura seized the opportunity. "Yes, yes, listen to him! You can't kill me!"
"Why not?" Logan asked flatly.
His eyes fell to the bodies of Biwa Juzo and Raiga.
"If I killed those two," he said coldly, "why would I hesitate with him?"
"This isn't the same!" the accountant cried, rushing closer.
"Killing Kirigakure's ninja—no matter how famous—is not the same as killing a government official appointed by the Daimyo!"
He came to a stop just a few steps from Logan, breathing heavily.
"If you kill those two Swordsmen, you become an enemy of Kirigakure. But if you kill Magistrate Morimura… you become an enemy of the Land of Water itself!"
Logan narrowed his eyes.
"Kirigakure is just a village—a tool," the accountant continued. "The Daimyo wields that tool. He can dissolve the Hidden Mist tomorrow and rename it Hidden Water Village if he wants. The Daimyo doesn't care about the village."
"But Magistrate Morimura?" He lowered his voice. "He's one of the Daimyo's most loyal assets. Even in this barren land, he delivers tributes regularly. The treasury stays full."
"If a man like that dies, the Daimyo will take it personally."
"And that," he said, "is a war you don't want."
Morimura took the cue, shouting, "Yes! Listen to reason! If you spare me, I'll give you half the gold and silver in the warehouse! No—all of it! Everything I've saved! You'll never want for anything again!"
He panted heavily, throat dry, his heartbeat deafening in his ears.
Logan tilted his head, his expression unreadable.
"Are you finished?" he asked softly.
The hundred samurai held their torches high. The firelight cast dancing shadows across Logan's face, revealing nothing—and everything.
The accountant swallowed hard.
He had spent his entire life calculating numbers and reading people. But now, he couldn't read Logan at all.
He opened his mouth to speak again—
Splurt.
A thick, warm liquid sprayed across his face. It seeped into his mouth, coating his tongue in the unmistakable taste of blood.
Morimura's blood.
Plop.
The head rolled onto the ground.
Behind windows and doors, the villagers gasped softly. No one screamed. No one ran. They just watched in stunned silence.
The tyrant who had ruled their lives with cruelty and taxes—was dead.
A sudden wind swept through the square, making the torches flicker violently.
But not one samurai reached for his sword.
Biwa Juzo and Raiga were still warm in the dirt.
Who among them would claim to be stronger than the Seven Ninja Swordsmen?
The blade in Logan's hands looked like it could split mountains. Compared to it, their own weapons felt like children's toys.
Morimura's severed head rolled to the accountant's feet.
The old man bent to pick it up—but his knees buckled. He collapsed, arms wrapping around the lifeless head. Tears streamed down his face.
"Kill me, too!" he sobbed. "If you've gone this far, why stop? Do it, Logan!"
But as he peeked at Logan from the corner of his eye, it was clear—
This was no real plea.
This was survival instinct. Reverse psychology. One last gamble.
Logan walked past him slowly.
"I'll spare you," he said. "But hold onto that head. Give it to the next magistrate."
"W-what message should I give him?" the accountant asked hoarsely.
Logan stopped in the doorway.
"Take care of yourself."
The accountant watched as Logan vanished into the shadows.
Those four words echoed in his chest.
Take care of yourself?
Did Magistrate Morimura really deserve to die?
Yes, he'd enforced cruel laws and stolen from the people. But…
Was he greedy? Or just a cog in a bigger machine?
Most of the money went to the Daimyo.
To those in power, the common folk were just cattle—farming tools to extract wealth.
But Logan?
Logan had treated people like people.
The accountant sank to his knees, bowing deeply toward the direction Logan had gone.
"Thank you for sparing my life, sir. Thank you…"
---
Later that night, Terumi Mei found Logan in the warehouse of the county governor's residence.
He was walking out casually with a small cloth bag in one hand—candied fruit. He popped one in his mouth and tossed another to the horse tied outside.
Terumi Mei's eyes scanned him up and down. She couldn't believe it.
He hadn't taken a single valuable item. Just candied fruit.
"You're not going to take anything?" she asked, baffled.
Logan smiled. "Told you—I don't need money."
He looked at her knowingly. "You need it more than I do."
Terumi Mei fell silent.
Sasuke had warned her.
While she was observing Logan, he was observing her right back.
The man standing before her was far more insightful than she had expected.
She hesitated.
What she wanted to say—what she planned to do—couldn't be spoken lightly. Sharing it might doom him.
He was already burdened with enough enemies.
She stood there, silent and conflicted.
Then Logan held out something.
A single piece of candied fruit.
She took it, biting into the sweet, sugary surface.
Somehow, her heart felt a little lighter.
"I want to do something big," she began. "I think…"
Logan interrupted gently, meeting her gaze.
"You want to destroy the unjust. Punish the wicked."
"You want to kill the Fourth Mizukage, Yagura, and end the reign of the Blood Mist Village."
"Am I right?"
Terumi Mei's thoughts stopped.
All her years of training, of planning, of secrecy—they all vanished in that moment.
She could only ask one thing:
"How do you know?!"
pàtreøn (Gk31)