Water Country, Water Capital, Palace of the Water Daimyo.
"Scandalous! Absurd! Ridiculous!"
A middle-aged man of average height, with some wrinkles on his face and unusually small black eyes, was waving his fan repeatedly, almost as if he were beating the air to vent his fury.
Faced with such an outburst, the ministers around him could only exchange tired and bewildered glances.
Didn't they have a decent relationship with the Land of Lightning?
In fact, all the daimyos had certain untouchable rules passed down through generations, and they had prospered together under them.
For example, if a ninja village became too powerful and could threaten their rule, they would unleash a war to regulate its numbers.
The last Great Ninja War was basically their joint idea and scheme!
The ninja villages reduced their numbers and licked their wounds—it was well done.
For example, if a ninja village was too weak, they would invest more while exercising greater influence and control, trying to extract more direct benefits from it.
The Fire Daimyo even tried to establish the Twelve Guardians, though it ultimately failed—it was an interesting idea.
For example, it's fine to compete a little and take a piece of someone else's benefits, but not too often, not too much, and above all—nothing permanent!
Just look at the world map.
How would these small lands avoid being annexed by the Five Great Nations if it weren't for these ancient, tacit rules?
The most powerful daimyos could redraw the map in a year if they wanted—but why?
Everyone eats well, celebrates well, has happiness and prosperity assured.
Adding small plots to a great garden doesn't make a difference.
So why did the Lightning Daimyo suddenly go mad?
Whether spies, informants, or bribed personnel, everyone confirmed there was no problem with the Lightning Daimyo. He was still the same guy—same habits, same tastes…
The only difference was that after his "revelatory dream," he stopped celebrating excessively.
What is life without one or twenty excesses a week?
Of course, they thought about "accelerating the succession," but…
"Is the information correct?" the daimyo asked once more.
No—their ears kept hearing the same answer!
"Absolutely!" assured a minister, his face pale. "All of them, every possible heir to the Land of Lightning's throne, have decided to become monks!"
No wonder the daimyo was so agitated. Who the hell could believe such news?
It was normal, almost predictable, for one or three princes—especially the younger ones, who knew they had no chance of ascending the throne—to take this path. It could even be called a tradition.
But even the firstborn princes?!
Aren't they supposed to be the most ambitious sharks?
Even he had to watch his older sons—they had been trying to take his position for years!
And that's how it should be!
He had been like that in his time!
"This makes no sense," the Water Daimyo ran a hand over his face, wondering if the "relaxing" herbs he had consumed were making him slightly delirious. "Fine, let's suppose it's true. And the princesses? They can't have left."
Princesses were meant to confer prestige and arrange political marriages, although there were also those who became priestesses in the great temples. The allowed number was extremely low, more to preserve the bloodline in case of misfortune than for any other reason.
If his memory served him, the Lightning Daimyo had eight daughters, so at most two of them (the youngest) were or were destined to be priestesses. That left six princesses, of whom the two eldest were already betrothed to Lightning nobles to stabilize political and commercial alliances.
Four were still unbetrothed; perhaps they could take this approach to smooth things over.
"Uh… I don't think they're an option, my lord."
"They established betrothals without my knowledge?" the daimyo frowned.
That shouldn't happen—marriages among nobles were one of the few things a daimyo had to be good at. The information was always up to date; something like this couldn't have been overlooked.
"They fled the daimyo's palace, my lord. No one knows where they are."
The minister was drenched in sweat—why did he have to be the one to report today of all days?
"…They fled?" repeated the daimyo. "All of them? At the same time?"
The minister nodded.
"All the princesses ran away with some commoner who deceived them, and the Lightning Daimyo did nothing?!" The fan in the Water Daimyo's hand snapped under the force of his grip.
Uh oh—the daimyo was using the tone of: Do you think I'm an idiot, or did a mule kick me in the head at birth?
"To be precise, they fled together, my lord," corrected the minister, knowing that inaccurate information could make things worse. "No commoners were involved."
"They… fled together?" The daimyo's face showed complete bewilderment.
He couldn't understand.
If no commoner deceived their innocent hearts, how did this happen?
"My lord," the minister gave a look as if heading to the execution field—because he probably would end up there that afternoon—"the runaway princesses… never showed any, uh, interest in potential partners or, well, in men," he said as tactfully as possible. "And there are rumors that they are very close. There is evidence they fled together as couples, so…"
Silence fell over the hall like a heavy blanket; the implications of those last details were too great for those present.
First, a daimyo breaks the tacit rules that have been in effect for decades.
And now this… this… monstrosity?
The deliberation took hours to reach two definitive conclusions.
First: The Land of Lightning must have been cursed with madness, probably some strange ninjutsu from an enemy country. They had to figure out who and how to prevent it from happening to them.
Second: The Water Country would go to war with the Land of Lightning!
The question was: Should they involve third parties, like the Land of Fire?