FIRE CAPITAL,
LAND OF FIRE...
We arrived in the capital of the Land of Fire after a quite, long journey of two days. They were still giving him the unwelcomed cold vibes while Sato have a smug look about himself. The Land of Fire is a humongous country. It's capital even more magnificent and wealthy than Konohagakure. Jiraiya doesn't remember it being ever shown in the anime or manga. It was a new experience though he does remember everything from his memories. It was weird kind of experience, experiencing both a familiarity with the place as well as non-native vibe.
The Fire Capital is the grand political and economic heart of the Land of Fire, standing entirely separate from the military fortress of Konohagakure. As the nation's sovereign seat, it serves as the permanent residence of the Fire Daimyō, the true monarch and political ruler of the Land of Fire. He controls the country's finances, laws, and foreign policy alongside his council of advisors and ministers unlike Land of Lightning and Land of Water where the Kage is the supreme authority while the Daimyō is just a puppet.
Architecturally, the Capital is a masterpiece of traditional Japanese high-society opulence. Its skyline is dominated by the Daimyō's Palace, a sprawling, luxurious fortress characterized by majestic golden rooftops, intricate woodwork, manicured gardens, and massive defensive walls. Surrounding the palace is a sprawling, highly urbanized castle town featuring paved streets, grand estates for the nobility, and bustling upscale market districts that drive the nation's wealth.
Unlike the hidden ninja village, which is populated by shinobi, the Capital's demographic consists primarily of wealthy nobles, politicians, and high-tier merchants. Consequently, the atmosphere is deeply rooted in high-society culture, bureaucracy, and diplomacy rather than military training.
While the city represents the ultimate political power in the Land of Fire, it maintains a delicate separation of powers with Konohagakure. The Daimyō controls the nation's budget and officially appoints the Hokage, but relies heavily on the Konohagakure's ninja for military defence and law enforcement. For personal protection, the Fire Capital relies on an elite guards, most famously the Twelve Guardian Shinobis who secure the palace and the Daimyō from external threats and assassinations. Ultimately, the Fire Capital stands as a symbol of peace, luxury, and aristocratic power, acting as the civilized anchor to the Land of Fire's formidable military might.
The Peerage System of Land of Fire is derived from the Madoka Clan. They were the rulers of the area around the Fire Capital and frequently used the Senju Clan to expand their territory during the chaotic era of Warring States. It is a system of titles, governed by strict patrilineal primogeniture, meaning land and titles passed entirely to the eldest son to prevent the fragmentation of clan estates. Structurally, the system is organized into these distinct ranks in descending order of precedence: Daimyō, Hokage, Taikun(Crown Prince), Shugo(Governor), Konoha Go-Ikenban, Shugodai(Deputy Governor), Sannin/Hokage Candidates, Guardian Shinobi Twelve(Royal Bodyguards), Noble Clan Heads, Karo(Chief Administrator), Clan Heads, Castle Administrator and the baseline rank of Village Chief.
The Daimyō was nominally the sovereign ruler of all of lands of the Land of Fire, it is a hereditary title.
The Hokage was the absolute ruler of Konohagakure, it is not a hereditary title.
The Taikun was the heir to the Daimyō and ruled alongside Daimyō. He had absolute authority over his assigned land. He is chosen from among the various Princes of the Land of Fire.
The Shugo is the governor ruling the province with absolute authority on behalf of the Daimyō. It is not a hereditary title. They are a total of Five in numbers, the highest authority alongside the Daimyō in the Land of Fire. The Shugo is chosen from the existing Shugodais, their appointment and dismissal is decided entirely by the Daimyō as such they have no fixed terms.
The Konoha Go-Ikenban are highly respected Shinobis chosen by Hokage to help govern the village. It is not hereditary.
The Land of Fire is divided into Seven Large Provinces: Fire Capital, Konohagakure and Five Shugo prefectures. Each of these Provinces are then divided into several counties. Some counties are governed by the appointed official, some by Noble Clan Heads and some are ruled by Shugodai, the deputy governor. The counties ruled by Shugodais are hereditary lands belonging to their clans with the Daimyō possessing nominal control over it. The Daimyō can choose the Shugodais, if necessary but only from within the proprietor clan of the County. It is a hereditary title. A county can be as big as consisting of multiple cities and villages to as small as consisting of one city and many villages. The smaller counties are the result of Shugodais selling their lands to others for money or the other Shugodais annexing parts of it. One cannot devour an entire County under the rule of Madoka Clan and completely exterminate the ruling Shugodai Clan. This assurance is one of the primary reasons why many voluntarily chose to join the Land of Fire unlike the other lands whose hidden villages has to use excessive force and bloodshed to unite the country.
Sannin(Future)/Hokage Candidates are respected individuals, valued for their God-like power.
Guardian Shinobi Twelve were the Royal Bodyguards of the Daimyō. They protect the Royal Fire Palace and possess significant influence in the Royal Fire Court, as they also the manage the security details of the court officials. They are twelve in numbers and it is not a hereditary title.
The Noble Clan Heads are the leaders of the clans which possessed significant land holdings and voluntarily recognised the Madoka Clan as the Lord of the soon to form Land of Fire before the Senju and Uchiha, financed by the Madoka Clan, joined forces to set up Konohagakure. They are four in total, namely the Senju, Uchiha, Hyūga and Sarutobi Clans. Later more Clans attained the Noble status through their contribution in the Shinobi World Wars. It is a hereditary title decided solely by the Konoha Council and Hokage, respected by the Nobility of the Land of Fire.
The Senju and the Uchiha both possessed such land holdings. The Uchiha lost their land holdings when Madara deserted Konohagakure and the Uchiha refused to follow him. Hurt by the betrayal, Madara sold everything to punish his clan, amassing a huge fortune and went on a journey guided by Black Zetsu. It was used for his research, to build underground structures and fund the search of the Nine-Tails. While the Senju gradually lost it, slowly. Most was seized by loan sharks from Tsunade to settle her debts caused due her incessant gambling, drinking and frequent rampages.
The Karo is the chief administrator assigned to rule over the cities and towns. It is not a noble title neither a hereditary title.
The Clan Head is the Head of Clan who has small land holdings and significant standing in the village. Not a noble title but a hereditary title, respected by the village.
The Castle Administrator is the official appointed by Shugo or Shugodais to maintain law and order in the cities or towns. They have absolute authority over the Castle housing the garrison, recruited from the locals, mostly people with good weapon handling skills. It is not a noble title either and can or cannot be a hereditary title.
The Village Chief is the official chosen by the village and approved by the Karo. It is not a noble title and can or cannot be a hereditary title.
CENTRAL MARKET,
FIRE CAPITAL,
LAND OF FIRE...
Jiraiya soon reached the bustling central market of the city alongside the group. The morning sun had barely cleared the high, jagged peaks of the surrounding mountains when Jiraiya and the entourage of his farming clan rolled their heavy wooden carts through the massive iron gates of the Fire Capital's central market. The journey from the outer valley had taken three hours of gruelling travel along rutted dirt roads, but the carts were sturdy, built from the resilient timber of their homeland. They groaned under the immense weight of a spectacular harvest: baskets bursting with plump mountain yams, heavy crates of golden barley, and massive, tightly bound bundles of fragrant, sun-dried wheat. It was a yield they had sweat over for months, battling unpredictable weather and exhausting dawn-to-dusk labour. Yet, the atmosphere greeting them as they entered the grand pavilion was far from celebratory.
Instead of the bustling warmth and vibrant commerce everyone expected from the empire's beating heart, the central market felt ice-cold full of greedy eyes as if they will devour them.
As the iron-rimmed wheels of their carts crunched sharply against the pristine white cobblestones of the central market, the ambient chatter of the crowd abruptly dipped. The sudden, suffocating silence rippled outward from their point of entry. Local merchants, meticulously arranging their polished porcelain, imported silks, and delicate glass trinkets, froze mid-motion to stare. Whispers passed like a foul, icy breeze through the rows of high-end stalls. The capital folks looked down on others, they had an air of superiority about themselves over rest of the population of the Land of Fire.
Jiraiya never cared, he always kept his head held high, his broad, calloused shoulders squared beneath his coarse linen cloak, but he could feel the weight of hundreds of judgmental eyes tapping against their group. He couldn't ignore the way affluent city dwellers, dressed in flowing robes of dyed satin and fine embroidery, pointedly stepped off the main path, pulling their garments tight to avoid brushing against his clan's dusty, earth-stained clothing.
"Look at them," a silk-robed merchant murmured to a heavily armoured district guard, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Bringing their filth and dirt right into the central market. As if the lower trade rings aren't good enough for their kind. The city shouldn't allow these outer-ring peasants to hawk their raw goods next to respectable establishments."
A younger cousin of Jiraiya's, a boy named Taji who was experiencing the capital for the very first time, flinched at the cruel words. His hands trembled, causing him to drop a heavy crate of yams a little too hard onto their assigned wooden display table. The sharp thud resonated across the quieted square, drawing immediate, judgmental glares from a passing group of noblewomen. The women pressed scented, lace-trimmed handkerchiefs to their noses, casting looks of pure disgust at the dirt-flecked crates, as if the smell of honest, fertile soil was a biological affront to their refined senses.
Apparently, the merchant they usually sold their harvest to at a price between twice and thrice the price offered in Konohagakure has went to Land of Tea for business. His shop was closed and the group decided to wait for his return but Jiraiya has goaded Kenji into making Sato sell all of this harvest at the price usually offered by his source hence they rented this shop while Sato visited his contacts for selling the harvest at a price more than offered by his merchant friend. Sato usually helped the clan in purchase of seeds, fertilisers, tools, etc at a discounted price. He never participated in selling the harvest. The group put their harvest on display while Sato disappeared into the crowds looking for merchants who could buy it at a very good price. Kenji was furious at Jiraiya. How dare he look down on Sato! His people were unaware that the capital merchants are more ruthless than the Konoha merchants if you don't have contacts.
Jiraiya stepped forward, his large, weathered hand coming down firmly but gently on his cousin's trembling shoulder. The sheer physical presence of the clan's young leader was enough to give Taji pause. Jiraiya looked around the market, his sharp, dark eyes taking in the sneers, the curled lips, and the deliberate, empty circle the city folk were maintaining around their designated stall. They were being treated like hostile outsiders in their own nation's capital, tolerated only because the lavish kitchens of the empire's nobility ultimately required the very food their broken, bleeding hands pulled from the ground.
"Keep your chin up, Taji," Jiraiya said quietly, his deep voice carrying a low, steady resonance that anchored the nervous, rising energy of his kin. "Do not let their lack of grease on their hands make you ashamed of the dirt on yours. Their gold spends just as well as anyone else's, and their bellies get just as empty when winter sets in. Arrange the yams upfront, where the sunlight catches them. Let the undeniable quality of labour do the talking."
The others nodded silently, their faces etched with the deep lines of a lifetime of hard work and societal disregard. They began to unload the carts with practiced, efficient movements, refusing to look at the hostile faces surrounding them. The contrast between the two groups was stark. Jiraiya's clan wore simple, durable fabrics dyed in muted earth tones of deep browns, forest greens, and faded greys. Their skin was tanned dark by the unforgiving sun, and their hands were thick with protective calluses. The capital citizens, by comparison, were pale, swathed in vibrant pastels and glittering jewellery, moving with an air of delicate fragility that looked entirely alien to people who lived by the turning of the seasons.
As the morning wore on, the market filled to capacity, turning into a roaring sea of voices and movement. Yet, the invisible wall around the farming clan's stall remained firmly intact. Prospective buyers would stroll down the aisle, their eyes drawn by the brilliant, luminous red of the yam: a rare delicacy known for its sweet, warming properties, only to notice the simple clothing of the sellers. Inevitably, their expressions would harden, and they would quickly look away, steering their companions toward the more established, city-owned vendors who sold identical, though visibly less fresh, produce at similar prices.
Jiraiya stood at the front of the stall, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched a wealthy estate butler examine a basket of yams at a neighbouring stall run by a capital-born merchant named Kazuki. Kazuki's berries were slightly withered, lacking the vibrant, internal glow that characterized a perfectly timed harvest, yet the butler was eagerly counting out silver coins for them.
"You're wasting your master's coin, friend," Jiraiya called out, his tone polite but entirely devoid of the subservient grovelling the capital elite expected.
The butler paused, turning a cold, aristocratic gaze toward Jiraiya. Kazuki, the rival merchant, immediately bristled, his face flushing red as he slammed a fist onto his counter. "Mind your manners, farmer!" Then he looked at his forehead protector, stammered but continued, "Speak when you are spoken to, and do not dare insult my inventory or my patrons!"
Jiraiya didn't rise to the anger. Instead, he reached into his own basket, pulling out a single, flawless yam that practically radiated a warm, ambient light in the morning shade. He held it out on his open palm. "I mean no insult to his business. I am simply making an observation of fact. Look at the skin of my yams, it is fresh, glowing, and plump like picked just yesterday evening at the peak of their sweetness. Yours were picked ages ago and kept in a damp cellar to stop the rot. If the Lord of the House tastes a bitter yam in his breakfast, it will be the butler's head on the chopping block, not the merchant's."
The butler looked from Kazuki's dull yam to the magnificent specimen resting in Jiraiya's palm. For a fleeting second, practical greed and professional duty warred with his ingrained prejudice. He stepped toward Jiraiya's stall, his eyes tracking the vibrant fruit.
"Don't listen to this mud-walker, Chief Butler!" Kazuki hissed, leaning over his counter. "Who knows what kind of foul, dirty fertilizer they use out in those wilderness wastes? They probably water their crops with river sludge. My goods are certified by the Capital Guild of Commerce. They are clean, fit for noble blood."
The butler stopped dead in his tracks. The mention of "wilderness wastes" and "cleanliness" struck a chord of deep-seated capital paranoia. He sneered, pulling his hand back as if Jiraiya's offering was poisoned. "A valid point, Kazuki. I would rather buy honest, city-vetted food than risk feeding my master something grown by illiterate provincials." He turned his back completely on Jiraiya, tossing his pouch of silver to Kazuki. "Give me three baskets of yours. And ensure they are washed thoroughly. I want none of the outer-ring stench lingering on them."
Kazuki smirked triumphantly, casting a mocking, superior look at Jiraiya as he scooped up the silver. "A wise choice, my lord. Go back to your fields, country bumpkins. The capital is a place of refinement, not a trough for cattle."
Taji gripped the edge of a wooden crate so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Jiraiya-sama," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of intense anger and deep humiliation. "We should just leave. They hate us. They won't buy a single thing from us, even if it means they starve. Let's take the harvest to the lower markets. The ordinary people will buy it. What is supposed to be a dirty fertilizer? They don't even know the basics of farming yet judge us solely on our looks and clothing. We only need to earn enough to cover the expenses of staying here until Kenji and Sato finalise the deal. Let's move somewhere else."
"No," Jiraiya said, his voice dropping into the kind that commanded absolute obedience. His eyes remained locked on the bustling crowd, refusing to let the bitter sting of rejection show on his face. "The lower markets cannot afford the prices we paid to rent this shop. If we sell only to the poor, we will not make enough to cover our expenses. The city council engineered it this way: they place outsider stalls in the high market to collect higher entry fees, knowing the elite will shun us. If we retreat now, we lose everything we worked for. We stay. We stand our ground."
The hours crawled by like a slow-moving poison. The oppressive heat of the midday sun began to beat down on the open square, making the air thick and stifling. Despite the harsh conditions, the clan stood tall, their posture unbroken, though the lack of sales was beginning to weigh heavily on their spirits. The unwelcomed vibes didn't diminish; they merely evolved from active mockery to a cold, coordinated strategy of total avoidance. It was as if a decree had been passed down through the crowd: Ignore the farmers, and they will go away.
Then, the heavy sound of synchronized, iron-shod boots marching against the cobblestones echoed through the market aisle. The crowd parted quickly, a collective hush falling over the shoppers as a squad of six Central Market Guards, led by a portly, arrogant captain named Captain Koji, approached the clan's stall. Koji's armour was polished to a mirror sheen, entirely decorative and untouched by real combat, and his hand rested heavily on the pommel of a silver-hilted broadsword.
"Alright, clear the way," Koji barked, his eyes scanning the clan's vibrant display with an expression of intense distaste. He stopped directly in front of Jiraiya, looking up at the taller man with a sneer. He did not care even if the commoner was a shinobi, "You there. The headman of this ragtag operation. Produce your trade permits and your capital transit visas. Immediately."
Jiraiya reached calmly into his linen vest and pulled out a neatly folded parchment, stamped with the official wax seal of the regional governor. He handed it to the captain without a word.
Koji snatched the document, snapped it open, and ran a cynical eye over the elegant calligraphy. He frowned, clearly annoyed that the paperwork was entirely in order. He had likely been tipped off by Kazuki or one of the other wealthy city merchants to find a reason to eject the newcomers.
"The paperwork claims you are registered as a basic agricultural collective," Koji said, tapping the parchment against his gloved hand. "But look at this setup. You are occupying three full tables in the premium sector. This space is strictly reserved for luxury vendors and accredited guild members. Your presence here is disrupting the flow of high-end commerce and causing a public nuisance."
"We paid the required entry fee of forty silver pieces at the eastern toll gate, Captain," Jiraiya replied smoothly, his voice calm, polite, and completely unyielding. "The toll master himself assigned us to these specific coordinates. If there has been an administrative error, it lies with your own capital gatekeepers, not with my clan."
"Are you accusing the capital administration of incompetence, commoner?" Koji's voice rose, deliberately drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd. Several guards shifted their weight, their hands moving closer to their weapons. The atmosphere grew incredibly tense, the air thick with the anticipation of a violent altercation.
"I am simply stating the facts of our transaction," Jiraiya said, his dark eyes narrowing just a fraction. A dangerous, subtle pressure began to emanate from his posture—the aura of somebody who spent his life wrestling wild beasts away from his crops and defending his lands from bandits and rogue ninjas. He was no simple, helpless farmer; he was a warrior of the soil, and Koji, despite his fancy armour, could suddenly feel the terrifying depth of the shinobi standing before him. The captain took a involuntary half-step back, his throat going completely dry.
"Be that as it may," Koji stammered slightly, trying desperately to recover his lost composure in front of his men and the watching crowd. "We have received numerous complaints from respectable citizens regarding the... the unsanitary presentation of your goods. Look at the dirt on these crates! It's a health hazard to the capital populace. I am exercising my authority to order an immediate health audit. Until the audit is complete, your stall is suspended. Pack your things and move to the holding pens outside the market walls."
"A health hazard?" Jiraiya scoffed softly, picking up a yam. He rubbed the rich, black soil off its skin with his thumb, revealing a flawless, golden surface underneath. "This is the very earth that gives life to this empire. There is no rot here. No blight. It is purer than the water running through your city's stone pipes."
"I don't care about your speeches!" Koji snapped, his face turning an embarrassed shade of purple as he realized he was losing the psychological battle. "Pack it up, or my men will confiscate the entirety of your inventory for destruction!"
The guards stepped forward, their hands actively drawing their batons. Taji and the Genins shrank back, terrified of losing the entire year's livelihood to the corrupt whims of the city guard. Jiraiya's fists clenched tightly at his sides. He knew that resorting to violence here would doom his clan forever, marking them as outlaws. Yet, letting them steal the food that kept his family alive during the winter was an equally impossible outcome. He prepared himself to move, his muscles coiling like a spring. He has Hiruzen to fall back on.
"Hold your hand, Captain Koji!" The voice was not loud, but it possessed a clear, aristocratic authority that immediately cut through the tense standoff. The crowd turned instantly toward the source, a path clearing rapidly for a grand, ornate palanquin carried by four muscular servants. Sato's sharp, intelligent eyes scanned the scene, immediately taking in the defensive stance of the guards, the smug satisfaction on the faces of the rival merchants, and the proud, unbroken posture of Jiraiya. He smirked. This man was a brute that means easy to deal with. Though he had to bleed a lot of money but once he acquired the land, he will sell it and earn ten-times the money spent. The new town is going to be made there with that land being in the center of the town, it is too valuable to be wasted on these country bumpkins.
At the same time, Jiraiya realized the reason why no one was purchasing the mountain yams. Why the officers suddenly came to his stall. Playing the hero, eh? He smiled. What a scheming fellow! A snake, just like the slimy politicians.
Captain Koji said, his arrogant demeanor evaporating instantly as he dropped into a deep, sweeping bow. "Magistrate! I apologize for the disturbance, your Excellency. We were just in the process of clearing out these disruptive provincials. They have created a public nuisance and brought unverified, unsanitary goods into the sacred central square."
The Magistrate ignored the captain completely, looked at Sato then walked with him in measured steps until he stood directly before Jiraiya. Kenji accompanyed them with a smug look. The Magistrate looked down at the baskets of Yams, his expression unreadable. He reached out, lifting a single yam from the top of the pile.
Kazuki smiled gleefully from his stall, fully expecting the magistrate to order the farmers to the dungeons for daring to display their inferior wares to royalty.
The Magistrate intensely looked at the yam and felt the quality. A moment of absolute, breathless silence descended upon the entire central market. Even the birds seemed to stop chirping as the high official examined it.
"Captain Koji," the Magistrate said, his voice cutting through the silence like a silver bell.
"Yes, your Excellency! Shall I have them arrested immediately?" Koji asked eagerly.
"If you lay a single finger on these people, or their goods, I will have you stripped of your rank and reassigned to the forest border patrol by sunset," he said calmly, turning her gaze back to Sato.
Koji froze, his mouth hanging open in sheer shock. Kazuki's jaw dropped so low it looked as if it might detach entirely from his face.
"These yams," the magistrate continued, gesturing to the baskets, "are the finest examples of agricultural artistry I have witnessed in my forty years in this capital. They are entirely unblemished, harvested at the absolute correct time, and bursting with nutrients. To call them a health hazard is not only a lie, Captain, it is an act of treason against the culinary heritage of the Land of Fire." He finished his dramatic speech. He and Sato were partners, they were soon going to acquire the Ogata clan land at cheap dirt price and sell it to authorities for a fortune. Sacrificing a little money for the big prize is worth it afterall he is going to get the lion share of it.
He turned to his personal attendant, who stepped forward with a large, leather ledger and a heavy iron strongbox. "I am purchasing the entirety of this clan's Mountain Yams, Barley and wheat harvest. I have checked the quality. It is excellent. This is the price we agreed with Sato and Kenji."
The magistrate gestured to his attendant, who immediately counted out heavy, glittering imperial silver Ryo coins and placed them into Kenji's calloused hand who stored it in the Iron box. The clinking of the silver pieces echoed across the silent square like a triumphant melody.
The other members looked in astonishment at the amount. Good thing! Jiraiya accompanied them. They need the security. Although they don't like him that doesn't mean they don't acknowledge his power.
Jiraiya looked at the magistrate, a slow, knowing smile finally breaking across his rugged face. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of mutual respect towards the magistrate and Sato.
Sato was puzzled. Jiraiya didn't look like the type to yield so quickly then again the allure of money is just that kind of thing. It completely destroys a person's judgment.
"Thank you, Magistrate!" Sato replied, a small smirk playing on his lips. Kenji also smirked. They got double the price Jiraiya's merchant friend used to pay them which is four times what they used to earn by selling to Konoha merchants. They did the right thing by trusting Sato. They don't need Jiraiya anymore. The Clan will dance in joy when they learn of the money. Kenji held the heavy iron strongbox full of silver Ryos. The concept of banking hasn't been established yet. The Banking do exist but on a very small scale in some counties. It is in its infancy stage.
The magistrate turned back to his palanquin, pausing just before he entered. He cast a long, cold look at Captain Koji and the surrounding capital merchants. "Let it be known to the Commerce Guild: any further harassment to non-local farmers will be viewed as harrasment and an attempt to create monopoly. Good day."
As the magistrate's palanquin was carried away, the atmosphere in the market underwent a sudden, dizzying transformation. The icy wall of prejudice didn't completely vanish, but it was shattered by the undeniable weight of royal approval and sheer political power. The very citizens who had been pressing handkerchiefs to their noses just an hour ago now looked at them with indifference.
Soon the staff from the Magistrate's residence arrived and started packing all of the goods, emptying their carts.
Kenji turned to his cousin Taji, whose eyes were wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. He handed the iron box full of silver Ryo coins to the boy, his expression calm and steady as always.
"You see, Taji?" Kenji said softly, as they exited the market place, "We don't need Jiraiya at all. We can do better even without him." Kenji declared and then started talking to Jiraiya, "We appreciate all the help you did to us Jiraiya but we don't need your help anymore. The Ogatas can take care of themselves on it's own."
Jiraiya ignored him completely and hummed in a jolly tone. That is a lot of money. The harvest was double than the last time he had sold it here and now four times the usual price. Sato and the Magistrate are such good persons. The Ogatas also didn't had to waste their time filling all the time consuming paperworks since the magistrate is involved. They can return to their place to rest and then resume their journey back home.
RIVERFRONT,
EAST SECTOR,
FIRE CAPITAL,
LAND OF FIRE...
The triumph of the high market faded faster than the morning dew in the dry season. While the imperial silver Ryo coins sat heavily in the clan's iron lockbox, the reality of the Fire Capital was that money bought space, but it did not buy acceptance, their expressions sour and exhausted. The initial thrill of the silver had worn off, replaced by the grinding reality of urban life. Everything in the capital cost money, water from the public wells, firewood for their hearths, even visiting the club requires registration fee. They decided to depart tommorow. Sato hasn't returned Kenji noticed but then thought of all his connections and didn't think much about it.
This land was purchased by Jiraiya for his clan using a significant portion of his savings, to secure a deed of this large walled plot of land in the city's Lower East Sector near the riverfront. It wasn't grand but an old, abandoned, large storage house with cracked stone floors and a crumbling perimeter wall but to Jiraiya, it was a vital bridge. Jiraiya's team had received this land as a fee for doing a C-rank mission for the owner. He purchased it by paying the money to Orochimaru and Tsunade. Hiruzen didn't take any money but just gifted it to him. The land meant the clan would no longer have to sleep in their wooden carts outside the city gates during their visit to sell the harvest to avoid paying the exorbitant fees to the inns of the central square and storehouses. They would have a permanent storehouse, a foothold in the capital to sell directly to his merchant friend without any worry. The storage house and the surrounding area was mess, mostly destroyed during a flood. Jiraiya had repaired some of the rooms, making it liveable again. But the recently constructed dam on the river to stop the floods has skyrocketed the price of these previously dilapidated lands, attracting the eyes of the vultures.
In a dimly lit tavern just a few streets away from the clan's property, the air was thick with the smell of cheap ale and stale tobacco. A group of people including Sato, sat around a long wooden table. At the head of their table sat Master Maro, a wealthy, round-faced merchant draped in rich, amber-colored silks that looked entirely out of place in the dingy tavern. Maro smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling with practiced warmth as he poured more wine into Sato's cup. He was the investor who is eventually going to buy the land to build two lavish mansion and sell it to the highest bidder. Ever since the dam was built, the river facing mansion is in high demand among the nobility.
"How much longer it is going to take Sato," Maro said, sighing heavily as he leaned forward, resting his chubby, ring-adorned hands on the table. "It is already half a year since you promised me that land. I am offering you ten times the price for that land and yet you haven't shown any results. Lord Tonga has promised my son the rank of Karo if I deliver one of these riverfront mansion to him."
Sato, his vision slightly blurred by the wine, frowned. "The Jiraiya who bought the land has returned back to the clan. The Ogatas want to keep the storage yard as it makes them independent of the Commerce Guild. So it isn't easy. Give me some more time. I am almost there."
"More time?" Maro frowned, "Sato that land is dirt poor and if they want a place to store, stay and sell their harvest, I am ready to give them a place. They can have permission for lifetime to use it. Just ask them to sell it to me. I can even give you some money."
"Really?" a glint of light passed through Sato's eyes.
"Yeah!"