Chapter 22 — No One Can Resist the Allure of an Ideal
"Hey," Kakuzu drawled, irritation seeping into his voice, "why don't we just storm the Grass Village and flatten the place? Pay me enough, and I'll make sure it's done right."
After a brutal skirmish with the Grass-nin, Oda Nobunaga had ordered the camp to move — a tactical withdrawal rather than a rout. Not that he was afraid of the Grass Village… though, admittedly, a touch of caution factored in.
Sound Village had only just been founded. Every division, every chain of command, was still under construction. Strategically, they could look down on the Grass, but tactically — it was wise to tread carefully. After all, the Grass Village had a long history, far older than Sound. It had survived every Shinobi World War without being erased from the map; that alone meant it wasn't to be underestimated.
But Kakuzu, still stewing over his unpaid heroics, was fuming. He'd broken his own rule in the heat of the moment — saved Nobunaga without taking a single ryō — and now it burned at him like an ulcer. Watching the young daimyō calmly direct the march, Kakuzu grumbled as he caught up to him.
"Trust me. It's just Grass. Give me the money, and I'll get your dignity back. Better than running away with your tail between your legs, isn't it?"
"Mr. Kakuzu," Nobunaga replied with that composed smile of his, "your assistance back there was invaluable. I'm truly grateful."
Of course, Nobunaga wasn't naive. He had no doubts Kakuzu could annihilate the Grass Village — for the right price, the man would even take on the self-proclaimed god of Ame, Pain, himself.
But…
Nobunaga's gaze lingered on Kakuzu, his expression layered with quiet meaning. Their earlier conversation — their clash of ideals — had clearly planted a seed.
Hadn't he seen it? When danger came, Kakuzu broke his own creed.
He had acted without pay.
For Nobunaga, that was a victory far greater than any battle.
The two other figures trailing behind — Kimimaro and Jūgo — had also taken their first steps forward. Nobunaga's eyes flicked briefly to them at the back of the column, a subtle satisfaction glinting in his gaze.
He'd always believed that if one swung the hoe long enough, any wall could be dug through. With persistence and conviction, even the most closed hearts could be reshaped by the light of belief.
One day soon, he knew, Sound Village would be a gathering place of visionaries — a chorus of voices bound by one harmony.
After all, he was a man of the Blue Star — and those from that world never truly gave up on ideals, especially the one dream that transcended humanity itself: a world built on peace and purpose.
Kakuzu, meanwhile, grew increasingly sullen. Nobunaga made no mention of hiring him to strike back at the Grass Village. The miserly shinobi muttered to himself for miles, counting imaginary coins on his fingers, visibly depressed by the thought of lost profits.
By the time he realized their travel route had changed, it was already too late. A bead of sweat ran down his temple as he hurried to Nobunaga's side.
"Wait — weren't we heading for the Land of Snow?" he asked, voice sharp.
"Why the hell are we going toward the Land of Rain?"
Oda Nobunaga smiled faintly and gestured for his attendants to unfold the map.
Without hesitation, one aide pulled the scroll from his pack, while another knelt, bowing low to offer his broad back as a table.
The finely drawn map spread out across the man's back, its creases smoothing under Nobunaga's hand. Pointing to a route marked in red ink, the daimyō began to explain:
> "I never underestimate anyone," he said calmly. "Now that we've clashed with the Grass Village, their most likely move—given their intellect—is to blockade every conventional retreat."
"That means the northern paths — toward the Lands of Waterfalls, Earth, and even back to our own Fields — will be their focus of defense."
"Conversely, heading south into the Land of Rain will be our best escape. They'll overlook it, assuming we wouldn't dare. From there, we can pass through Rain and emerge again in the Land of Earth or Birds."
"It's our cleanest break."
Kakuzu frowned, his voice dry. "But the Land of Rain has sealed its borders."
He wasn't wrong — Nobunaga's plan was sound in theory, and even Kakuzu could appreciate the tactical logic. But Nobunaga had miscalculated one crucial detail, something Kakuzu knew all too well.
The Land of Rain wasn't simply isolated. It was controlled.
Under the dominion of the Akatsuki — under Pain — the country had cut off all outsiders. Any who entered without permission were executed without hesitation. Shinobi, civilians, even traders — all vanished within its rain-swept borders.
To enter was to court death.
For all his bluster, Kakuzu found he couldn't stomach the thought of watching Nobunaga die on one of Pain's spikes.
"I'm aware," Nobunaga said, as if anticipating the concern. "The 'Demi-God of the Shinobi,' Hanzō of the Salamander, closed the Land of Rain to protect it. He took… extreme measures, yes — but born from love for his people."
His smile deepened, calm yet radiant. Nobunaga's gaze flicked toward Kakuzu, and for a moment there was genuine admiration in his eyes.
Look at that, he thought. Even this man — this miserly killer who worships money — has begun to worry for me.
That's the power of an ideal.
> "The Second Great Ninja War began because Lord Hanzō saw the suffering of small nations," Nobunaga continued. "He tried to force the great powers to recognize that we — the weak — are not their pawns or buffer states."
"He failed, yes. But failure does not erase conviction. I believe he truly loved his land and its people."
"And for that reason, the Land of Rain and the Land of Fields share common ground. For peace to truly take root in this world, we must unite all who can be united. That is — and will always be — the foundation of my nation's policy."
He spoke as if he didn't know what the Land of Rain had become — as if it were still a sovereign country, not a kingdom drowned beneath Pain's will.
But in truth, Nobunaga knew exactly what he was doing.
The clash with the Grass-nin, the deliberate tension — it was all premeditated. He needed a legitimate reason to "pass through" the Land of Rain.
And on paper, his reasoning was flawless — enough to deflect the scrutiny of Pain, or the shadowy hand that moved behind even the Akatsuki.
When power was insufficient, one must hide it beneath diplomacy and patience. Nobunaga believed in that deeply.
After all, it wasn't the first to strike who won — but the one who smiled last.
"Still…" Kakuzu hesitated. He wanted to tell him the truth — to warn him about the Land of Rain's reality — but he couldn't. Not from his position. Not when he himself still wore Pain's leash.
Before he could decide, a shout broke his thoughts.
"Lord Nobunaga! The lady — she can't hold on any longer!"
A medical-nin came running from the rear of the convoy, pale-faced and breathless. Nobunaga's eyes widened; he hurried toward the commotion.
There, lying in a blanket of dull red hair, was Uzumaki Shion — her breathing shallow, her body frail beyond saving.
Her time was measured in minutes now.
He sighed. Of course. The woman's body had already been ravaged by the cruel experiments of the Grass-nin. The hurried march had only hastened her decline. That she'd lasted this long was a miracle in itself.
"No way to save her?" Nobunaga asked quietly, his voice low as he glanced toward the sobbing Karin, clutching her mother's hand.
The medic's expression darkened. "Forgive me, my lord. Not with what we have. Perhaps only Lady Tsunade of the Senju could help someone in this condition."
The man's voice trembled with regret. He wanted to save her — they all did — but he could only shake his head.
"I see…"
Nobunaga's tone was heavy. His gaze slid briefly toward Jūgo, who stood silently in the distance, then he crouched beside Shion and took her hand — a thin, trembling hand, dry as parchment.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's my failing. Your clan has already suffered so much pain… so much loss."
"B—but…"
Before he could finish, Karin threw herself into his arms, sobbing. Beside her, Shion tried to speak, her lips moving soundlessly — trying to entrust her daughter to him with the last flicker of life she had left.
Tears glimmered in Nobunaga's eyes. The air grew thick, heavy with grief. Even the soldiers around them felt it — a quiet ache that spread from one heart to the next.
It was the kind of silence that only death — and ideals too late to save — could bring.