Madara slowly opened his eyes, the cold glint of calculation already sharpening his gaze as he awoke. He remembered where he was instantly, his mind already racing through the possibilities of the day. Rising from his chair, he moved to the deck, his steps deliberate and silent, like a predator stalking its prey. The land was visible now, about a kilometer away, but Madara's thoughts were far from the scenery. He was already planning his next move.
A voice called out from behind him, breaking his focus. Turning, he saw a sailor gesturing for him to follow. The man's tone was casual, almost dismissive, but Madara's expression remained impassive. He followed without a word, his mind already dissecting the sailor's demeanor for weaknesses. The corridors of the ship were dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of oil and salt. Madara noted every detail, every potential exit, every possible threat.
They reached a spacious room filled with instruments and glass panels. The captain stood there, his posture relaxed, but Madara saw the tension in his eyes. The man was wary of him, and that was good. Fear was a tool, and Madara wielded it well.
"Well, this is the end of our journey together," the captain said, his tone clipped. "I can't say I enjoyed it much, but you didn't cause me any trouble. My task was to get you here, and I've done that. Government agents will pick you up at the dock. They'll likely put you on a train—traveling by car would be too dangerous. Everything will become clear soon enough."
Madara nodded, his expression unreadable. The captain's words meant nothing to him. He was a pawn, just like everyone else in this world. Power, authority, loyalty—they were all illusions. The only thing that mattered was strength, and Madara would stop at nothing to reclaim his.
A sailor led him off the ship and toward a black car where two men in suits waited. They introduced themselves as Neil and Bardi, agents of the Valor Clan. Madara listened politely, his face a mask of feigned interest, but his mind was already working. These men were weak, their confidence a thin veneer over their incompetence. They thought they were in control, but Madara knew better. He would use them, just as he used everyone else.
The car ride was uneventful, but Madara's senses were on high alert. Neil tried to make small talk, asking about his journey, but Madara spun a web of lies so intricate that even he almost believed them. He spoke of sea monsters and battles, his voice dripping with false enthusiasm. Neil ate it up, his reactions predictable and dull. Madara watched him carefully, noting every twitch, every hesitation. These men were fools, but they were dangerous fools. He would have to be careful.
As the questions grew more personal, Madara's lies grew more elaborate. He spoke of a nightmare filled with bandits and knights, his tone earnest but his eyes cold. He knew they were testing him, probing for weaknesses, but he gave them nothing. His attribute, he claimed, was nothing special—just skill with a sword. They seemed disappointed, and that was exactly what he wanted. Let them underestimate him. It would make his eventual victory all the sweeter.
When they reached the train station, Madara pretended to be tired, his body language carefully crafted to lull them into a false sense of security. He "fell asleep," but his mind remained sharp, his senses attuned to every word they spoke. He learned of the Valor Clan's interest in new recruits, their attempts to brainwash those they deemed useful. Madara's lips curled into a faint smirk. They thought they could control him. They were wrong.
The train ride was uneventful, but Madara's mind was a whirlwind of plans and contingencies. He studied the technology around him, his keen intellect already dissecting its potential. This world was primitive compared to what he had known, but it had its uses. He would learn what he needed, exploit what he could, and discard the rest.
When they finally arrived at the academy gates, Madara allowed himself a small, cold smile. The real challenge was about to begin. He would survive, of course. He always did. But survival was not enough. He would dominate. He would conquer. And he would reclaim the strength that had been stolen from him.
The gates loomed before him, iron and imposing, but Madara felt no fear. He stepped forward, his mind already racing ahead. The academy was just another battlefield, and he was its most dangerous player. Let them come. He would be ready.