"Are they reliable?" we asked the sannin, our eyes scanning the list of names he'd handed us.

Orochimaru nodded. "They are some of my best."

"Can I see them?"

"Of course." Orochimaru turned, waving his bloody, viscera-stained hand to summon the four ninjas lingering at the edge of the lab.

"This is the Sound Four," Orochimaru gestured. "They're currently my elite bodyguard unit. All five of them are at the level of a Tokubetsu Jonin, but together they can pose a threat to a low-level Kage. With their curse marks activated, even a careless or distracted Kage might fall to them."

"Six arms?" we asked, nodding at the man to the left.

"Kidōmaru. I was experimenting with biological modifications to see if having multiple limbs could allow the parallel use of multiple jutsus."

"Did it work?"

"No." Orochimaru shook his head, disappointment clear. "The human mind can't manage that many chakra processes and jutsu calculations at once. There are some minor benefits to the extra limbs, but not enough to outweigh the drawbacks. You seem unusually interested, Sasuke-kun. Would you like them?"

"Yes."

"It will cost you, though."

"I have a few body modification techniques I can exchange."

"We have a deal."

"The others?"

"Jirōbō is my most successful attempt at low-cost physical enhancement. Tayuya is skilled with genjutsu and summoning. The twins are possibly the most competent overall, but that title should belong to Kimimaro. Unfortunately, his illness makes him unreliable."

"How strong was he before his illness?"

"Low-Kage level."

"If he's that useful, why not just kill him and use Edo Tensei to bring him back? You claim to have mastered the technique."

A heavy silence settled over the lab.

"How did I not think of that?" Orochimaru finally murmured, pensive. "Sasuke... I must say, your approach to problem-solving is quite refreshing."

"What about the other two teams?" we asked, dismissing his praise.

"Ah, yes. Guren's and Arashi's teams. Tayuya, go fetch Guren."

"Y-yes, Lord Orochimaru," the girl stammered.

...

We were reading some of Orochimaru's notes when Tayuya returned with eight shinobi. Among them, we recognized a face.

"Mizuki?"

The silver-haired man narrowed his eyes at us. "Sasuke? What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you that. Last I heard, there was a seventy-thousand ryō bounty on your head. How are you still alive?"

Mizuki's expression turned uncomfortable. "Working for Lord Orochimaru has its benefits."

"You seem well acquainted," Orochimaru said, glancing between us.

"He taught at the academy," we replied. "Considering he couldn't handle even Naruto back then, I'm surprised he's still alive with such a bounty on his head."

Orochimaru's gaze lingered on Mizuki before he dismissed him. "Anyway, this is the other team. They're individually more capable than the Sound Four, but their teamwork needs improvement. Still, they compensate with sheer numbers."

Our gaze swept over the group.

"This one must be Guren," we said, nodding toward a woman. "The crystal user?"

"Yes," Orochimaru confirmed.

"Let me see those crystals of yours," we said to her. One of her eyebrows arched before the air around where we stood moments ago crystallized.

"Impressive." Our Sharingan surfaced as we examined the manifested pillar, running a hand along its smooth surface. "This nature transformation... the molecules are too aligned to be Earth Release. But it does look like Earth Release, so it's safe to assume earth is a major component. Rearranging molecules with that precision needs a medium—probably water. Wind would be too chaotic. Once aligned, the lattice has to be locked in place—likely by a sudden infusion of energy to excite the medium and force it out. Fire, maybe."

We pulled on our chakra, moulding earth and water into mud before flashing it with fire. A yellowish mass formed in our palm.

"Is that—"

"No," we interrupted. "The medium was not excited enough to escape the lattice without toppling it on its way out. This is an amorphous solid. Not a crystal." We looked at the confused stares in the crowd. "Glass."

We tried again, moulding earth and water before flashing it with lightning. A green mass formed in our palm.

"Earth, water, and lightning?" we asked, meeting Guren's stunned gaze.

"Heh, you actually managed it?" Orochimaru chuckled.

We glanced at the crystal, adjusting the molecular lattice to cycle through several colours before settling on a pinkish tone like Guren's. The glass in our other palm turned clear. We toyed with the materials before hitting them with lightning again, watching as the crystal's organized structure broke under the energy while the glass remained intact—more durable than standard Earth Release.

We dispelled the shadow clone we allowed Gurne to trap in the crystal pillar, absorbing its experience as we turned to the others. None of them interested us, so we catalogued them quickly.

"I want to see the last team."

----------------------------------------

Team Arashi was the least impressive of the three groups. Not useless, but not particularly special.

"We need more shinobi if we want to take Konoha," we said as we followed Orochimaru up a flight of stairs.

"More?"

"Obviously. The fact you can't summon the other two Hokages suggests Konoha is using their own jutsu to summon the dead. Even on a small scale, that threatens our plans."

The sannin paused, deep in thought. "If that's the case," he said finally, "I have an old associate you could seek out. En Oyashiro. He's a discreet man with a unique set of skills. For the right price, he'd likely be able to provide a solution."

"Can you reach him quickly?"

"My summons can. We could do what you did with Kabuto—use a teleportation seal."

We nodded. "Where is he?"

The sannin smiled. "Sasuke-kun, have you ever heard of the Coliseum?"

----------------------------------------

The coliseum rose from the earth like some testament to human hubris, a declaration of opulence and extravagance. Marble walls adorned with intricate carvings loomed over the landscape, a grand facade mocking the humble earth with an arrogant flair. It stood in stark contrast to the natural beauty of the island, its towering arches and imposing pillars casting shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity under the waning sun.

"Where is En Oyashiro?" we asked, our gaze lingering on the structure before shifting to Orochimaru.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Where indeed," the sannin murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He raised his hands in a calming gesture as he caught the dull look in our eyes. "Relax, Sasuke-kun. I can't say for certain where he is right now, but this is the only place you'll have any luck finding him. Though he may not appear unless there's something to pique his interest. Let's go in."

We stared at Orochimaru, silent for a moment longer, then flickered toward the building with our blood clone in tow.

Inside, the coliseum was a vast, circular arena. The marble floor had been swept clear, ready for the coming violence. The stands draped in rich fabrics, silken banners swaying in the night breeze. Lavish seats were arranged for the guests to recline, their eager eyes fixed on the spectacle below. Spotlights pivoted and turned, casting phantom shapes across the masses, an anticipation hanging in the air that made the whole place feel alive. A murmur rose and fell, hoots and whistles and the feverish din of fans. Then a man stepped forward, the host, and the noise grew louder.

"Are you all enjoying yourselves?" the host called into his mouthpiece, his voice rising above the crescendo. The crowd roared back at him, and he laughed, his joy almost infectious. "Ah, yes! Of course you are! The last match was stupendous! Glory to the victor! Despair for the fallen! Now, let us begin the next match!"

"YEAH!!!" the crowd screamed.

"As you all know," the host went on, "the rules are simple. Knockout. Winner takes all—including, of course, the loser!"

"The wealthy patrons pit their shinobi against others," Orochimaru explained, standing beside us. "The losing shinobi becomes the property of the winner."

We turned our gaze back to the arena.

"And now," the host's voice rang out, "today's semi-final match!"

The crowd erupted, a deafening wave of sound. We grimaced. We disliked noise.

"In the blue corner, representing President Mifune of the Silverfish Corporation, Watanabe, the Silver Surfer!" The host paused for the cheers before pointing to the opposite side. "And in the red corner, representing Shin Oguri, The Severed... Sota!"

Two figures emerged. Watanabe carried a writhing silver mass, a sinuous metal rope coiled between his legs. Across from him, Sota stood like a monument, a dark-skinned giant. They eyed each other, unflinching.

"Ready? FIGHT!"

"Orochimaru," we muttered, glancing at him from the corner of our eye, "you know I don't have time for these distractions. Where is En Oyashiro?"

Orochimaru smiled without answering.

We turned back to the fight. The giant had his hand around the throat of his opponent, slowly choking the life from him. The silver mass writhed uselessly.

"Tap out! Tap out! Watanabe has tapped out! We have our winner!"

We barely registered the noise of the crowd, our eyes sweeping over the stands. "What does he look like?"

"Beige hair, a moustache, a goatee, violet eyes," Orochimaru replied. "Usually wears baggy light brown tunics and large, diamond-shaped sunglasses... But you won't find him, Sasuke-kun. En Oyashiro is a hard man to pin down. The best way to see him is to offer something he wants."

"For our next match, we have two special contenders—"

We turned back to Orochimaru. "What do you mean?"

Orochimaru's lips curled, his eyes flicking to the stage.

"In the blue ring, representing the enigmatic En Oyashiro—Miura The Swift!"

We frowned, intuition flaring. "It seems he's taken the bait," Orochimaru said, a smile on his face.

We didn't like that smile.

"And his opponent, representing the infamous Lord Orochimaru—a rare specimen never before seen in these parts—Sasukeeee UCHIHA!"

The crowd hesitated, an uncertain silence hanging in the air. Then, with a sudden frenzy, the coliseum roared to life, spotlights searching and finding us.

Ignoring the noise, we turned slowly to Orochimaru. "What. Have. You. Done?"

"I—" He didn’t finish. His eyes widened, glancing down at the blade lodged in his side, our blood clone looming behind him, the spotlight casting a long shadow.

Our gaze turned to the arena, to the slave on the sands below, then up to the crowd—a mad, shouting mob. We closed our eyes, taking a long, slow breath.

"The next time you sully my image like this," we warned, "pitting my noble self against mere slaves in this manner, I will end you."

Orochimaru coughed, blood on his lips, his smile unbroken. "Try not to kill him, Sasuke-kun. We need every warm body we can get for your plan to work."

We didn’t reply, vanishing into the arena. Our senses scanned the crowd. Cluttered. No sign of him.

No avoiding it, then.

"FIGHT!"

----------------------------------------

Oyashiro stood behind the curtains, peering through a gap to observe the figure in the arena below. Sasuke Uchiha, the rumoured Evil Flame, stood poised for battle. The second son of Fugaku Uchiha, the brother of the kinslayer, Clan Killer Itachi. Sasuke of the Sharingan. Child Kage. Lord Madara’s Incarnate. The titles bestowed upon him were endless, and to Oyashiro, all vaguely amusing.

The boy's reputation had grown into mythic proportions. Fire Release, Water Release, Taijutsu, Fuinjutsu, Ninjutsu, Genjutsu—it was said he had mastered them all. Oyashiro couldn't help but doubt. The power to hold his own against a Kage, all in a thirteen-year-old body, still wet behind the ears? It was a story, nothing more. But stories had a way of bending reality.

He turned his eyes to Miura in the arena. This was the test, to see if the boy was more than stories. Miura was not the strongest among Oyashiro's collection, nor the toughest. His talent lay in speed. Pure, ungodly speed. They called him Miura the Swift for a reason.

Down in the arena, Sasuke moved first, tired of waiting. His impatience betrayed him, but his speed was similarly absurd. He was a blur barely perceivable by the human senses, in his wake a thunderclap of supersonically displaced air collapsing back into itself. The arena shuddered. Ear-splitting, bone-rattling was the detonation that followed as the Uchiha’s fist expunged where Miura stood nanoseconds prior.

Oyashiro watched through his Ketsuryūgan, seeing reality, for a moment, stall. It behaved elastically, like a rubber band, gathering energy around the Uchiha who stood as the epicentre, before violently snapping back. The shockwave rippled across the coliseum with such force as to lift some off their seats.

Sasuke knelt at the centre of the destruction, a bone-white armoured gauntlet half-buried in the fractured stone floor. Oyashiro squinted at the shimmering aura around Sasuke. Chakra enhancement. A precise control, just as rumoured. Enough chakra in his body to amplify his strength without tearing himself apart. It was impressive, but it wouldn't be enough against Miura.

Miura stood at the far end of the arena, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with horror. He hadn’t expected that. Oyashiro chuckled. The boy didn’t have the composure for this level of combat. Sasuke rose slowly, turning to face him.

“You're fast,” Sasuke said, his voice calm, assessing. “Still very green, though.”

With that, he formed a one-handed Ram seal, and the ground beneath Miura shuddered. The arena rippled like water. Miura’s eyes went wide.

“What’s happ—?”

“Earth Style: Earthflow Mire Mirage,” Sasuke interrupted, his voice flat.

The Genjutsu dispersed, revealing Miura, knee-deep in a sandy mire. He struggled, but the chakra-infused dust held on, pulling him under inch by inch.

Sasuke walked toward Miura, his stride unhurried, brushing dust from his sleeves. Oyashiro watched, intrigued.

“You will forfeit this match,” Sasuke said when he reached Miura. “But before that, tell me—how did you move so fast?”

Miura glared, saying nothing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sasuke smiled slightly, pressing the dull point of a kunai against Miura's neck, his brow arched in silent question. Miura’s eyes flicked desperately to the host, but the man stood frozen, unwilling to intervene.

“I-I have a Kekkei Genkai,” Miura stammered, his voice breaking.

Sasuke nodded, withdrawing the kunai. “Forfeit the match,” he ordered, turning away.

“Don't forget to tell your master I will be expecting him, Miura.”

----------------------------------------

“Oh, hello!”

We ignored the arms dealer, our gaze panning around the room he had chosen for the meeting. The chakra signatures embedded in the walls told us that our friend was a cautious fellow. Shinobi lying in wait.

We turned our attention back to the man. “I am En Oyashiro,” he said, extending a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

We glanced at the offered hand, the memory of Tobirama’s insidious jutsu flaring in our mind. The Hokage’s technique had been resolved, but luck could only stretch so far. Unnecessary risks weren’t part of the plan. We let the hand hang in the air as we walked past, inspecting a painting on the wall behind him.

Oyashiro looked down at his hand, his expression vacant, before turning and offering the ignored handshake to the Sannin.

“It’s been a long time, Mr. Orochimaru.”

The Sannin ignored the hand as well. “It has,” Orochimaru replied, his voice thin. “And as you can tell, I am not here for leisure.”

“Ah… what do you need?”

“Mercenaries. Potent ones.”

“When and how many?”

“As many as you can discreetly provide within the week.”

Oyashiro pursed his lips, musing. “Such short notice,” he said. “Anything I should be worried about?”

Orochimaru smiled, but his gaze was hollow. “None whatsoever.”

The two held each other's eyes, the air thickening. We turned back to the arms dealer. “Are we going to have a problem?” The blood clone near the door shifted almost imperceptibly.

Two heartbeats passed, then Oyashiro burst out in laughter. “Of course not!” He made a dismissive gesture as if to wave away the tension.

We let our gaze linger for a moment before turning back to the paintings on the wall.

“So?” Orochimaru pressed.

“I have about thirty Jonin-ranked shinobi on standby.”

“We’ll take those. Anything else?”

Oyashiro paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. “If you’re willing to transfer Miura’s ownership back to me, I can consider leasing three more Kekkei Genkai wielders in exchange?”

“Deal—”

“That’s not enough,” we cut in, our tone as cold as the steel in our chest.

Oyashiro hesitated. “…That’s my entire stock,” he said, carefully.

“We are willing to pay for referrals,” we replied, our voice unmoved by his hesitancy. Oyashiro’s eyes turned thoughtful.

“On such short notice, reaching most of my contacts would be difficult,” he said. “However, I have someone in mind who may be available.”

“Who?”

“Kazuma, aka Furido. Former member of the Twelve Shinobi Guardians. He runs a tight crew of high-quality operatives. The weakest in his four-man crew straddles the line between Jonin and Low-kage. The others are firmly in the Low-kage range.”

“How soon can you reach him?” Orochimaru asked.

“Last I heard, he was somewhere in the Land of Steam. Let’s say three days?”