Oops, I’m Kimimaro? Guess I’ll Be the Final Villain!

At present, the cult's numbers were no longer small or diminished like before a year ago.

Roughly a thousand sat in the low to mid chūnin range, bodies hardened by ritual abuse and attrition more than refined skill.

A few thousand more filled auxiliary roles, logistics, scavenging, guarding, ritual prep, genin-level fighters, and non-combatants who still knew how to stab something if ordered.

Then there were the real assets.

Around a hundred high chūnin to low jōnin equivalents, the ones who had survived long enough to be worth investing into, conditioning complete enough to endure deeper curse frameworks without breaking outright.

Konoha, it turned out, had been a very generous supplier, and his cult felt fully reinvigorated.

Kimimaro found that faintly amusing.

Watching them fight was like looking at a distorted reflection of his own clan's past.

The Kaguya had relied on brute vitality, monstrous durability, and a willingness to trade injury for injury until the other side collapsed first.

These people did the same.

Only worse.

No technique. No spacing. No restraint.

Just forward motion, reckless commitment, and the certainty that pain meant nothing as long as the enemy hurt more.

A uniquely stupid fighting style.

Even more deranged than the Kaguya's had been.

Which was precisely why formations mattered so much.

Coordination was the only thing resembling shinobi refinement they possessed.

If that could even be called refinement.

Without it, they were just durable corpses waiting to fall over.

With it, they became something dangerous.

Not elegant.

Not precise.

But relentless.

And relentless, when properly guided, killed just as well as genius.

On top of that, there was another advantage, one far less obvious at first glance, that turned these apparent lunatics into something far more valuable.

Kimimaro hadn't found it alone.

Ashina's guidance had been decisive here.

So had Reika's quiet, tireless work, her Uzumaki stamina put to brutal use through an army of shadow clones that never seemed to thin.

In the background, steadily, obsessively, she had been producing fūinjutsu on a scale most villages would envy.

Not flashy seals.

Practical ones.

Each Jashinist could now be equipped with suppression seals, meant for sudden insertion, jumping onto targets or locations that never expected resistance to appear from that direction.

Communication talismans allowed large-scale coordination without shouting, signals traveling instantly across formations that would otherwise dissolve into chaos.

Barrier seals provided momentary protection, not enough to make them safe, but enough to let them close the distance without being erased on approach.

There were even offensive suppression tags, crude but effective, designed to disrupt chakra flow on contact, pairing perfectly with their reckless, full-body rushes.

They didn't need finesse.

They just needed openings.

And these seals created them.

When Kimimaro factored in group coordination, curse frameworks, and this external equipment layered on top, the picture shifted dramatically.

This wasn't just a cult anymore.

In raw operational capability, they now rivaled smaller hidden villages outright.

Perhaps only Amegakure still held some edge, and even then, the gap was narrowing.

After all, Akatsuki existed.

But so did his Blessed.

Kimimaro found that quietly satisfying.

Saya frowned slightly while watching him, then her expression shifted as something clicked.

She had noticed it too.

Lately, his attention lingered longer than it used to.

Not just on drills or body counts, not on rituals or punishment.

On patterns. Movement. Logistics. Scale.

This wasn't maintenance. It was preparation.

She turned even more toward him slowly, eyes narrowing with exaggerated suspicion, then pouted outright, lips pressing together in a way that was far too deliberate to be sincere.

"You've been awfully invested in our 'poor little cult' lately," she said, voice light and teasing, almost sing-song. "Even more than you during this year."

"More than usual. That means you're plotting something."

She still leaned a little closer, tilting her head.

"So?" she prodded coyly. "Care to finally confess? Or do I have to guess?"

Kimimaro actually smirked this time.

Not the thin, distant curve he usually allowed himself, but something real.

"You caught me," he said calmly. "It's because soon it will finally be time."

Her brows knit. "Time for what?"

"For us to stop pretending this is the end goal and get to our new 'home'."

She blinked. "The Land of Hot Water isn't our home?"

"It is," Kimimaro replied, shaking his head once.

"But only as a launchpad. A place to grow quietly. To shed attention. To build without pressure."

He looked past her, toward the stone walls, toward everything they'd turned this place into.

"But staying small now would be a waste."

Saya stared at him for a moment.

Then her eyes widened.

Her surprise was plain, rippling through her face, down to the way her shoulders tensed and her chest rose subtly beneath the loose blood-red mantle, long pale-blonde hair swaying as she straightened with sudden focus.

"You mean…" she started, then stopped herself, excitement creeping in. "A great village?"

"Kirigakure, more precisely," Kimimaro corrected. "Next."

Her grin spread, sharp and delighted. "You're serious."

"Entirely."

Then she laughed softly. "That mess?"

"Exactly," Kimimaro said. "Instability is coming. Soon. Internal fractures. Power vacuums. Perfect timing."

He spoke as if reciting a solved equation.

"With our current strength, and with several of our identities already tied to that country, slipping into position won't be difficult. The Konoha invasion gave us everything we needed to recover and grow beyond expectations."

"A year later," Saya murmured, catching on fast, "we spend it."

"Yes."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in thought. "But, most of the cult can't take Kirigakure head-on. The weaker members would just get burned for nothing."

"They don't need to," Kimimaro replied. "They're not for conquest. They're for control."

She looked at him sharply. "Explain."

"Kirigakure survives because of one island," he said. "The largest. The most populated. Where the central noble authority actually lives. The current daimyō. Its biggest support."

Her eyes narrowed with understanding.

"If that island bends," she said slowly, "the rest follows."

"Exactly. Taking the village without securing the daimyō would be pointless," Kimimaro said.

"Authority would fracture. Resistance would linger. Especially in Kiri."

"And nobles are predictable," Saya added, smile returning. "They listen."

"Or they end up on an altar," Kimimaro said evenly.

That earned a low, pleased laugh from her.

"The Land of Water has always been fractured," he continued. "Bloody. Afraid. We'll finish what it never resolved after uniting Kirigakure."

"And inside Kirigakure?" she asked.

"I'll place a hundred of our best there permanently," he said. "Not openly. From the shadows. The Village of Bloody Mist has always respected fear."

He paused, then added, "Not stupid brutality. Disciplined fear."

She hummed thoughtfully. "A hundred isn't much."

"It doesn't need to be," Kimimaro replied. "Look at what Orochimaru did to Konoha with only a few hundred carefully positioned shinobi from Sound and Sand."

Her grin sharpened. "And Kiri isn't Konoha."

"No," he agreed. "It's weaker. The weakest, or second weakest, of the great villages."

She looked almost giddy now. "With you… and us…"

"It'll be easier than it sounds," Kimimaro said.

However, internally, his thoughts had already moved past Kirigakure itself.

"The real opposition won't come from the village," Kimimaro thought calmly.

Not from its shinobi.

Those were problems of leverage, fear, and timing.

No, the real resistance could lay elsewhere.

Obito.

Akatsuki.

"Good," he thought, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly.

"A summit without resistance isn't worth climbing."

Saya's smile also didn't fade.

If anything, it grew steadier.

"Well," she said lightly, rolling her shoulders. "Guess we should get ready to move house."

Kimimaro met her gaze, unblinking. "This time," he said, "we don't just survive history."

"We take it."