Chapter 81: The Merchant, the Demon, and the Sinking Ship
Kakashi's visible eye narrowed at Ren's casual mention of the blade. "You're talking about the Kubikiribōchō. The Executioner's Blade. A sword that regenerates itself using the iron from the blood of its victims. It's not a trophy; it's a cursed tool."
Ren's grin remained undimmed. "Cursed, regenerative, forty meters of sharpened symbolism—call it what you want. It's efficient. And I appreciate efficiency."
"Efficiency won't stop Zabuza from filleting you," Kakashi countered, his voice dropping into a low, serious register he rarely used outside of combat. "This isn't the Academy. This isn't even the Forest of Death. The Land of Waves is his chosen battlefield—all water and mist. His silent killing technique turns the environment into a weapon. Even I would be at a disadvantage."
Ren shrugged, a fluid, dismissive motion. "We don't know until we try. And besides, it's not Zabuza I'm most interested in."
That gave Kakashi pause. "What?"
"It's Gato." Ren's tone shifted, becoming pragmatic, almost mercantile. "A self-proclaimed shipping magnate with a private army, a monopoly on a nation's economy, and a reputation for ruthless acquisition. Think of the liquid assets. The cash reserves. The untraceable cash reserves."
He let the implication hang in the salty air. It wasn't about justice for the Land of Waves. It was about procurement. A funding opportunity.
Naruto, missing the subtext entirely, slammed a fist into his palm. "Yeah! That bastard Gato! He's evil! We gotta take him down for the people!"
Sasuke, understanding the subtext perfectly, gave a faint, approving snort. "Finally, a practical reason. Holding off Zabuza while securing the real objective... that's a viable tactic."
The two rivals, for a fleeting moment, were aligned—one by righteous fury, the other by cold logic, both spurred by Ren's calculated avarice.
[Minato Namikaze: See? My son has a strong moral compass! He wants to help the people!]
[Tobirama Senju: Your son is responding to the word 'bastard,' Minato. Ren is responding to the words 'liquid assets.' These are not the same motivation.]
[Uchiha Fugaku: At least my son understands strategy. He sees the mission's core: remove the funding, the threat collapses. It's what a proper clan head would do.]
[Uchiha Madara: A proper clan head wouldn't have gotten his clan massacred, Fugaku.]
[Uchiha Fugaku: ...Grandfather, must you?]
[Tobirama Senju: Enough. This 'Zabuza.' This 'Demon.' How potent is he, truly? The Seven Ninja Swordsmen—is that a substantive title, or Kirigakure propaganda?]
[Yagura Karatachi: It is substantive, Second Hokage. The Seven are elite hunters, each wielding a unique blade tailored to their kekkei genkai or fighting style. Together, they are a strategic asset capable of decapitating a small nation's leadership in a single night.]
A note of pride, faint but discernible, colored Yagura's text.
[Tobirama Senju: Impressive logistical potential. A swift-strike force.]
[Jūzō Biwa: Snort. Was impressive. Until four of them got kicked to death.]
The chat stuttered.
[Yagura Karatachi: ...]
[Tobirama Senju: Elaborate.]
[Jūzō Biwa: I was the first generation. Wielded that fancy Executioner's Blade before the brat Zabuza was even born. And yeah, four of my so-called 'elite' successors—Ranmaru, Jinpachi, those idiots—got taken out by a single Konoha Jonin in green spandex. One kick each. Poof.]
[Tobirama Senju: The green-spandexed one? Might Dai's son?]
[Might Dai: THAT'S MY BOY! THE POWER OF YOUTH BURNS ETERNAL!]
[Jūzō Biwa: Yeah, yeah. The 'Beautiful Green Beast' or whatever. Point is, titles are one thing. Survival is another.]
[Kushimaru Kuriarare: Jūzō, you spineless worm! You were the first to retreat!]
[Jinpachi Munashi: He's always been all talk!]
[Jūzō Biwa: Retreating from an unstoppable, seven-gates-opened typhoon of youth is called tactical wisdom! You're just salty because you got folded like laundry!]
The chat dissolved into a chaotic, posthumous argument among the deceased swordsmen, providing a bizarre, comedic backdrop to the tense living-world standoff.
Tazuna watched the exchange between the Konoha shinobi, tears (some genuine, some strategically amplified) welling in his eyes. He bowed deeply, his voice cracking with performative gratitude. "Thank you! On behalf of my eight-year-old grandson, Inari, and his mother—my beautiful, widowed daughter-in-law Tsunami—I thank you! You are the heroes of the Land of Waves!"
He laid it on thick, but a sliver of real desperation underpinned the act. He'd seen Ren's methods. Provoking this particular group was off the table. Pitiful supplication was the only card left.
Kakashi let out a long, weary sigh that spoke of capitulation to the inevitable. "Fine. We proceed. But the rules change. This is now a combat insertion into hostile territory. You will follow orders instantly and without question. One moment of hesitation, one act of bravado, and you will get someone killed. Likely yourselves. Understood?"
Three nods met his gaze—Naruto's eager, Sasuke's tense, Ren's utterly calm.
"Good. Then let's move. We need to cross before the fog thickens further."
The journey to the coast was uneventful, a silent march through increasingly damp and salty air. They found a ferry crossing—less a dock and more a crumbling wooden jetty—and after Tazuna engaged in some intense, whispered haggling that involved many gestures toward his supposed poverty, they secured passage on a vessel.
'Vessel' was a generous term.
The boat was a patchwork monstrosity of warped planks, rusty nails, and tar that looked like it had been applied by a blind badger. It sat low in the water, groaning softly as if in pain.
Naruto peered over the side, dubious. "Uh... is this thing... sea-worthy?"
The boatman, a wiry man with eyes that never settled on one thing for long, clapped Naruto on the back. "Worry not, young master! The waters to the Land of Waves are calm as a sleeping babe! You could cross on a log! This is luxury!"
They boarded. The boat sank another few inches into the murky water.
Thirty minutes into the journey, Naruto was ankle-deep in sloshing seawater. "Hey! It's leaking! A lot!"
The boatman waved a dismissive hand. "A little seepage! Character! We're almost there!"
Ten minutes later, the water was at Naruto's waist. Sakura was standing on a bench, looking alarmed. Sasuke had his Sharingan active, scanning the horizon for anything other than endless grey water. Kakashi was reading his orange book, seemingly unconcerned, though Ren noticed he was holding it perfectly dry above the waterline.
The boatman, now bailing frantically with a rusty tin can, offered a strained smile. "No worries! Everyone just... find a nice piece of wood to hold onto! We're basically there!"
The boat gave a final, tragic groan and listed heavily to one side.
Ren looked from the panicking boatman to the distant, fog-shrouded shore, then to Kakashi, who finally tucked his book away.
"Alright," Ren said, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Change of plans. We're walking."
He formed a single hand seal. A platform of solid earth, smooth as polished stone, erupted from the water beneath their feet, lifting them and their sinking raft clear of the waves. It stretched forward, a makeshift bridge forming path toward the shore.
The boatman stared, jaw slack, tin can forgotten. "You... you ninjas..."
"Just find your wood," Ren said, not unkindly, as the earthen path carried them smoothly toward the Land of Waves. "We'll handle the rest."
As the fog closed around them, swallowing the sinking wreck behind, Ren felt the familiar prickle of being watched. Not from the Pure Land this time.
From the mist itself.
The Demon was already here.