05 - MADARA GOLDEN AGE (fic)
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Previous chapters on the table of content or AO3
Madara POV, Warring States Era, Uchiha-centric, graphic violence, mostly canon compliant, seinen style, madaracore
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“His excellency, Prince Genji.”
I immediately sit down on one knee. I have just enough time to briefly scan the room before a large strand of hair obstructs my view. Relying on my senses, I feel fifty-six strong samurai chakra’s signatures to my right, and forty-seven to my left. They’re all sitting seiza-style, perfectly aligned like pieces of shogi ready to be played with. In front of me, the prince is surrounded by four of his retainers. The dimensions are quite spectacular for a dojo: ten meters in ceiling height, sixty meters in depth, all made with the finest wood, and the morning light is beaming from the large window panes. The acoustics of the room are designed to make whispering between people almost impossible. Several meters ahead of me, I hear the prince’s garments slightly creasing when he stands up. He closes his folding fan with a sharp snap and walks towards me. One of his advisors begins to introduce me.
“The Uchiha clan's leader, Lord Madara, has just arrived to show his humble respect to your Excellency. Last season, his leadership has been noticed in active combat. Aside from their usual act of sabotage, the Uchiha have shown very distinctive offensive attacks. They were already renowned for their massive use of firepower. But now they combine this skill with speed. They can redeploy their forces with extreme rapidity, leaving their opponents unprepared to counter-attack or retreat. Those actions have weakened your enemies' strongholds, and they’ve been defeated in many strategic points, which allowed you to push forward your army’s expansion next year, now that your southern frontier is secured. This shinobi sect has demonstrated without a doubt his loyalty to your cause and a severe approach towards the dissidents.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
I hear the clomping of his heavy steps echoing against the walls. When he reaches me, he kneels too and uses his closed fan to raise my chin. A tessen... a war fan made of heavy plates of iron, unpleasant and cold against my skin.
“Proud men don’t like having to look up, do they?” he says, plunging his sparkly green eyes into mine [...]
read the whole chapter on A03