The Travel.

Madara arrived within an hour and a half into Italy.

The wind carried the scent of the Tyrrhenian Sea — salt, brine, and something faintly metallic.

He stepped off the rocky cliffs of the Italian coastline, his shinobi sandals touching dry earth.

Ahead stretched rolling hills, golden under the dimming sun, dotted with olive groves and old cypress trees standing tall like silent guardians.

In the distance was the silhouette of a walled city atop a hill — Volterra.

Madara, with his usual cold expression, murmured, "Let's see what they can show me… and maybe even dance a little, shall we?"

Before him stretched miles of untamed countryside — golden and green — dotted with herds of sheep, Roman buildings, some ruined, and small stone farmhouses.

He smelled woodsmoke, wild rosemary, and the faint stench of unwashed humanity. Beneath it all, a quiet pulse of something old lingered.

Down narrow dirt roads moved ox-drawn carts and barefoot peasants. Their cloaks were ragged, their eyes low as they whispered Latin prayers at his passing — not because they knew who or what he was, but because something inside them did.

The Church ruled here. Crosses hung from every doorway, shrines to saints and bleeding-eyed Virgins adorned the streets.

But there were no birds, no dogs barking, no laughter after dusk.

Even in this age, the vampires of Volterra had made their presence felt.

After several days of calm, unhurried travel through Tuscany's wilderness, Madara saw it: perched atop a hill of burnt red earth, Volterra rose like a memory of Rome.

Its outer walls were cracked but proud, built by hands long dead, the stones scorched in places, ivy creeping through the cracks like veins.

No banners flew. No guards patrolled the gates — only a single archway marked with ancient Latin scripture:

"MORS IN TENUITATE VIVIT."("Death lives in subtlety.")

Madara walked into a town where no bells rang, unlike Japan's cities where priests preached. Shadows were still, streets narrow, crooked, uneven.

Buildings bore Roman bones but Gothic shadows, as though something had warped their shapes.

Torches flickered on walls, casting little warmth.

Humans lived here in quiet obedience — eyes down, doors bolted, candles always lit.

They feared something in the city's heart — a towering structure built partly above, mostly below ground, into ancient Etruscan catacombs.

Madara felt multiple concentrated presences.

The iron sky hung low as he passed the arched gate.

His sandals clicked softly over smooth cobblestone. Doors were closed. Windows shuttered despite the early dusk. No candlelight, no children.

A hunched priest shuffled past, clutching a wooden cross like armor, muttering, "Dio ci protegga…" — God protect us.

Madara didn't glance at him. His cold, unreadable eyes studied the city center: the Citadel, a towering keep of stone built atop far older foundations.

From beneath it, he could sense it — power. Old. Hollow. Hungry.

And, conveniently for him, he didn't have to seek them out.

They came to him.

The moment Madara reached the empty square in Volterra's center, the air shifted — a pressure, a stillness that did not affect him but rather amused him

Then movement.

Figures emerged from shadows — not peasants, not humans.

Eight vampires cloaked in black robes.

Not Volturi elites, but their Guardians.

Sentinels loyal to the throne.

Their skin shimmered faintly under the clouded moon — pale as bone, eyes burning with old blood.

One tall woman with silver hair hissed at him, eyes filled with hidden hunger and disgust.

"You are not welcome here… Human," she said.

Madara stood still, arms at his side, and replied, "Then try to remove me."

Another vampire, broad-shouldered with a cruel smirk, sneered, "We were told a red-armored yokai from Japan approached — but it was just a human after all and.. you smell tasty for just human,better then most" as he licked his lips

Madara didn't react to the taunt. "I hoped for less talk."

They attacked.

The first vampire moved with supernatural speed,charging like a blur.

Madara pivoted mid-step, elbowing the vampire's ribs, crushing them inward. The creature flew back, crashing into a marble pillar folding like paper.

Others lunged from multiple angles.

Madara danced between them like smoke and ghost,chakra flowing through his main limbs,his Sharingan spinning red beneath the moon

He caught a dagger aimed for his back and hurled it back with such force it pierced a vampire's forehead like a stake the body dropped,twitching but not dead.

Two flanked him.

One tried to paralyze him with a psychic gaze — a possible gift.

Madara had walked through Genjutsu before and mental tricks were dust against his mind and skill.

He stepped into the illusion — and shattered it.

The vampire screamed as blood poured from his eyes,his own power recoiling violently.

"Quite better than before at some point but still weak," Madara said

The silver-haired woman blurred to his blind side and stabbed his shoulder — because he let her.

she hissed as the blade "unexpectedly" snapped.

Madara glanced at her. "I see. Nothing else to show? So-called Guardians or Enforcers — which is it?"

He flicked his finger at her forehead with enough strength to knock her back, crushing stones and buildings in her path.

she struggled to rise.

"Say, vampire," Madara said with curiosity. "Can you recover from this? I assume you can, right?"

She began regenerating — as did her comrades.

But defeating them once was enough.

He drew in a deep breath.

"Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu."

A massive sphere of chakra-infused flame erupted from his mouth, incinerating the vampires instantly.

Twilight vampires were resistant to some fire but chakra-fueled flames were a different matter.

They burned like dry paper.

Two vampires screamed as their flesh seared and blackened.

one crawled away hissing prayers in Latin.

Madara let him go on purpose.

"Tell your leaders," he said. "I'm still… evaluating."

From a high tower in the Citadel, Aro, the mind-reader and eldest of the Volturi, watched quietly.

He mused aloud, "Curious… is he?"

Caius growled behind him, "He's a threat. Let me deal with him."

"No, don't be racional and arrogant now.. Did you not see his power? and.." Aro said, raising a finger. "Not yet. He's… not here to destroy. He wants to understand. And we…" He turned, eyes gleaming crimson, "…may need him more than he needs us."

The square was broken.

Six of the vampires were dead or too damaged to rise from the chakra-infused fire or chakra infused crushing blows.

Madara stood in the rubble, his crimson armor shredded since the japan and his eyes calm.

I suppose someone could fix my armor like blacksmith… he thought.

one of the last survivors of two of the eight battered but alive snarled as he prepared to charge but madara just glanced at him to his eyes and used his genjutsu as its not worth his time to finish him

Without a word Madara turned and walked down a side street.

He had no fear and Only interest of this World