"An unhappy person is cruel and callous. And all because good people have mutilated him."
***
Madara moved through the dark caves, his boots crunching on the bones of vile creatures that crawled out of the crevices. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed in the distance. He moved with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows, always alert, always calculating. Weakness disgusted him, and he despised the creatures that dared to cross his path. They were nothing but vermin, unworthy of his time.
He was heading to his current hideout to meet his squad and issue orders. The caves were a labyrinth of despair, but Madara knew every twist and turn. After a few more bends, he came across a stone wall. Without hesitation, he pushed it, and it slid aside with a grating sound. He stepped through and closed it behind him. The entrance was cleverly disguised—a precaution in case the hideout was discovered. If that happened, they could gather their belongings and escape quickly.
Beyond the stone door was not a damp, dreary cave but a beautifully crafted corridor. The floor was adorned with exquisite wood, polished to a gleaming finish. The walls were made of finely cut stone, reinforced with wooden beams that supported a ceiling of black, matte wood. The yellowish glow of lamps hanging on the walls reflected off the polished surfaces, casting an eerie light.
Madara continued down the corridor, his footsteps echoing softly. At the end, he stood before a magnificent oak door with intricately carved handles. He pushed it open and entered the main hall. The room was vast, divided into three levels, all visible from the ground floor.
The first level was a massive hexagonal hall, spanning seventy square meters. Along its sides stood ornate bookshelves, though most were empty. Between the shelves were two more oak doors, identical to the one he had just passed through. The floor was made of black stone, meticulously polished to mirror the room's dim light. Scattered across the floor were numerous weapon racks, though only a few were filled.
A spiral staircase in the corner led to the second level. Here, the walls were also lined with bookshelves, though they were more densely packed. A twenty-three-meter-wide opening in the center provided a view of the first floor. Marble columns supported the second and third levels, ensuring the structure's stability. The second level was furnished with reading tables and chairs, giving it the appearance of a study.
The third level was entirely different. Instead of bookshelves, the walls were lined with racks filled with various treasures and ornaments. Plush velvet chairs, sofas, and tables were arranged throughout the space. But the most striking feature was the ceiling. Instead of stone, it was made of thick glass, revealing a simulated view of the cosmos—a custom-made illusion that Madara had commissioned.
Madara loved luxury, and he had spared no expense to create this beauty. It had cost him immense effort and an even greater amount of stolen wealth. As he ascended to the third level, he noticed one of his Anbu operatives sleeping on a sofa. At first, he considered waking him, but then he changed his mind. Instead, he sat in one of the chairs, leaning back into the soft velvet and closing his eyes. He was truly exhausted.
For fifteen minutes, he sat there, his mind blank, allowing his body and spirit to rest. Then, abruptly, he opened his eyes and stood.
"Wake up," he commanded.
The Anbu operative jolted awake, fear flashing in his eyes as he looked at Madara.
"I'm in a good mood today, so I won't punish you too severely. But if this happens again..." Madara's voice was cold, and the operative nodded frantically.
This particular operative was valuable due to his Aspect, which allowed him to phase through walls. However, his flaw was dangerous—he was forgetful, often losing track of his tasks. Because of this, he was always paired with someone else during missions, lest he forget why he was sent in the first place.
"Is everyone here?" Madara asked.
"Yes," the operative replied.
"Good. I'll be waiting for them in the training room."
The operative nodded and disappeared into the nearest wall. Madara rose from his chair and walked through one of the doors, entering a plain, unfinished corridor. At the end of the corridor was a large cavern—the training room. The walls were scarred with cracks, craters, and burn marks, evidence of countless battles.
Madara walked to the center of the room, clasped his hands behind his back, and closed his eyes. He stood motionless for several minutes, his presence radiating an oppressive aura. Then, suddenly, he opened his eyes and turned to face the entrance.
Five Anbu operatives stood there, fully equipped for combat—three men and two women. Each possessed an Aspect related to stealth, though against Madara, such abilities were useless. He scanned them with a cold, calculating gaze, then smiled faintly.
"Attack," he said.
In an instant, they rushed at him from all sides. Madara raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Hundreds of shuriken materialized and flew in every direction. Then, he blurred into motion, becoming a shadowy streak as he closed in on one of the operatives. The operative barely dodged the shuriken, only to find himself overwhelmed by Madara's relentless strikes.
Suddenly, two operatives attacked from behind, but their blades passed through a clone. Madara reappeared behind the two women, incapacitating them with a single strike. He exhaled a stream of fire, forcing the remaining three to scatter. They regrouped, but Madara was already weaving hand signs. With a sharp motion, he unleashed a storm of lightning, paralyzing two of them instantly.
The last operative, now a ghostly figure, lunged at Madara, but a shadow clone emerged from the darkness and knocked him out. The clone dissipated, leaving Madara standing over five groaning bodies. He began to clap slowly, the sound echoing in the cavern.
"Better this time," he said, his voice cold and mocking. "But still pathetic."
He walked to each operative and healed them just enough to stand. As they struggled to their feet, he turned and walked away, leaving them in pain and humiliation.
"If you continue like this," he said without looking back, "you'll never even dream of defeating me."
***
Hello again, everyone. From now on, after each chapter, you'll see my reflections. Of course, not all of them will be directly related to the book itself, but if you don't want to read them, you don't have to.
This chapter turned out to be quite short, but that doesn't mean it lost any quality.
This time, I'd like to share my thoughts on trust.
What does trust mean to you? Is it the confidence that you won't be betrayed? Faith in people? Or something else entirely?
You can see it however you like, but it only truly exists in our dreams. In reality, trust is just a mutually beneficial deal.
However, for me, it doesn't exist. People have too often said one thing to my face while laughing at me behind my back.
You may disagree, but I don't really care.