Kimimaro soon found Reika waiting at the mouth of the cavern, arms folded, face sharp as ever, but full of confusion due to everything that had happened during the last few hours.
He saw her expression and wasted no time.
He was a bit busy previously, so he had no time to explain properly to her his full plans.
"We will stay here from now on. However, this cult will no longer be a shrine to meaningless sacrifice and sheer madness," he began.
"It will become something else. Not a death cult, but a power cult. One that worships the strong above all else."
"Bloodline holders like us will stand at the center, and the rest will orbit around us. That is the only order worth building."
Reika frowned, her brows knitting. "So you just want to play god over a band of lunatics?"
Her tone was cool, dismissive, but there was no hiding the flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
"Not god," Kimimaro corrected, voice even.
"Center. Anchor. The world already worships false things, villages, daimyō, and Kage. We don't chase their recognition. We make them recognize us through sheer force and power."
"No more pleading to be acknowledged. They will kneel, because we'll hold what they want."
"They will crawl because they fear us."
She inhaled sharply, lips pressing thin.
For a moment, her expression cracked, as memories of villagers whispering about Ice Release with fear and hatred flooded her mind.
"You make it sound easy," she said at last, voice quieter.
"As if those same great villages also won't crush us the moment they see us rise."
Kimimaro's smirk widened, a dry edge in his tone. "They can only crush what hides beneath them. We won't be beneath them. That's the difference."
Reika's gaze darted away.
Her fingers tightened on her sleeves, betraying the tension under her mask.
"Kekkei Genkai holders on top…" she murmured, almost to herself.
"Not begging for scraps. Not running."
He said nothing, only watched her, patient and unyielding.
Finally, she snapped her eyes back to his, her usual proud tone returning.
"Hmph. Don't think I'll just start chanting your praises because you say it so boldly. But…"
Her jaw flexed, reluctant words spilling anyway.
"If what you want is to turn this world upside down, then I'll see it through. For my clan. For my mother. And for myself. For my revenge."
Kimimaro chuckled lowly, the sound almost amused. "Good. That's all I require, for now."
Reika felt her chest tighten strangely at the way he said it. He wasn't asking her, not really.
He was deciding for her.
And instead of sparking only anger, it stirred something else inside her, something she didn't want to name.
Kimimaro's words carried on for a while longer, smooth and deliberate.
He explained how they would turn the tables, how they would no longer be tools, but the ones using tools.
From the hunted to the hunters.
From the forgotten to the center around which others revolved.
Reika's responses came in a few words, but her silence was not dismissal.
Her pride and grief made her cautious, yet there was a quiet fire in her eyes as she listened.
She wanted to believe.
She wanted revenge, and perhaps, without realizing it, she wanted a place to belong again.
By the time the sun began to dip, their talks came to a natural pause.
Kimimaro didn't press further.
He had sown the seeds he needed.
He walked beyond the hidden entrance.
The late afternoon air was clean, tinged with the scent of grass and earth.
He settled under a tree on a rise overlooking the valley, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. His back was straight, his breathing steady.
He let the world fade until there was only his pulse and the disciplined flow of chakra.
A whole day's worth of maneuvering, of prying at new allies, of reshaping a dying cult, distilled now into silence.
Kimimaro welcomed it.
He emptied himself of thought until only discipline remained.
For others, meditation was rest.
For him, it was sharpening the blade.
And as the last light of day sank into dusk, his expression stayed calm, but deep within, he smiled.
The first foundations had been laid.
The silence was heavy, but not empty.
At that time, noticing him finishing, Ashina's presence stirred again from the pendant at his chest, voice as calm and sharp as ever.
"I have found something," the old patriarch said, tone carrying the weight of hidden vaults.
"Old Uzumaki formation work. Once, we made even peasants into warriors through coordination seals. That same principle could make this fodder less useless. Layer them into these ritual frameworks, and even the weak will strike with teeth they don't deserve."
Kimimaro's eyes narrowed, the thought already taking root.
Ashina didn't stop there. "More than that, I can weave a passive seal. A draw, subtle and safe. From you. From the girls. Slow siphoning of chakra, and safe. Fed into the chalice, converted into ritual essence. With it, you could grant power to your first choice without a single bloodletting. Their loyalty bought in advance, their faith sharpened by proof. Then, with that seed, you'll have the strength to hunt shinobi sacrifices for real expansion."
Kimimaro chuckled under his breath, head tilting back slightly.
"Even when chained to a pendant, you still think like a warlord."
Praise slipped from his lips without hesitation, though his tone was edged with amusement.
"A true Uzumaki indeed. Just one glance at these scraps, and you tear out possibilities I didn't even imagine. No wonder Konoha feared your clan more than any other."
His grin widened faintly as the plan settled in his mind.
With Ashina's sealcraft and his own vision, the cult would not crawl in shadows like vermin anymore.
It would grow teeth.
And once it tasted bloodline chakra, there would be no stopping it.
"Good," Kimimaro whispered.
"Then we start with this joint foundation."
"You sharpen the tools, and I'll shape the hands to wield them."
The pendant pulsed faintly, and for the first time, Kimimaro thought he heard the faintest trace of satisfaction from the old ghost.
...
For the next few days, Kimimaro pushed Saya relentlessly.
Every hour, every breath she took inside that hideout was bent toward his new order, restructuring the cult, gathering reports, calling in strays, preparing the remnants of what was left for the "first meeting" where he would stand before them as leader.
Barely a hundred members, battered, half-broken fanatics, but still some foundation to build from.
Kimimaro made sure she was the one doing most of the legwork.
He wanted her hands dirty, her energy spent, her pride bruised with every order she followed.
And he never missed a chance to playfully tease her while she worked, smirking at her glares, remarking dryly when her voice cracked, needling her whenever she faltered.
The humiliation was deliberate. The unease it stirred in her was exactly what he wanted to cultivate.
Even then, he never dropped his guard.
Every few hours, without fail, he slapped another seal onto her back.
Keeping her suppressed was easier by extending the bindings rather than starting from scratch, but even so, his stock of tags dwindled dangerously.
He could feel the pouch getting lighter, the paper stacks thinner, but it didn't matter.
He'd keep her chained until the very moment she stood beside him at that gathering, and then her "authority" would automatically collapse into dust.
The 'flock' would no longer see her as their mistress; they would only see Kimimaro.
So, at that point, her best bet would be just continuing to work for him, as now, even without any control.
To him, it felt almost comical.
Like barging into a neighbor's house, claiming and rearranging the furniture for his own taste, giving orders to the family, and watching as the owner herself handed him the broom and polished the floor for him.
Except here, Saya wasn't just the neighbor; she was a girl.
That small difference changed everything.
On some deep, subconscious level, she would not see this as theft.
She would begin to see it as a transformation, her cult still hers, but now under the shadow of the man she had to rely on.
A shift from possession to dependence.
She wouldn't lose everything, not truly, because she could tell herself it was still "hers" through him.
Kimimaro knew this wouldn't work with another man.
If the cult had been led by some older brute, he'd have killed him outright or never dared to leave him breathing.
But with Saya?
With her sadism and pride bending into shame and reluctant reliance?
She was far easier prey.
Easy enough, he thought coldly, that he could one day "conquer" her fully and leave his imprint not only as leader, but as the 'man', despite his 'age', she could no longer shake off.
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A/N: If the current pace feels too slow for you, then it might be better to wait until more chapters have piled up and read them all at once, instead of going chapter by chapter and getting frustrated.
Everything will eventually be uploaded here for free. But if you're impatient, you can always check out the advanced chapters.
As for my writing style and plans, I can't really change that.
The story will naturally speed up later when it makes sense for the plot, but right now it just isn't possible to push it any faster.
I'll do my best to still upload more for now, that's really the most I can promise.