Because the teleportation arrays could only be set by Uchiha Soren himself for now, Konoha naturally had several, while other nations usually had only one in their capital—maybe two or three more depending on size. Beyond that Soren simply had no interest, and Zero-Tails' chakra supply wouldn't support it.
For the moment the teleporters were a luxury for the wealthy. Konoha's combat shinobi teleported for free on official missions; everyone else paid. Zero-Tails kept a small reserve of chakra for emergency transport, while the ordinary road network served the common people just fine. Later the Academy would develop chakra-driven trains and vehicles with the Land of Snow, flying craft with the Sky Country, and even powered ships with the Sea Nations. The future shinobi world was shaping up to be a chakra-fueled society.
Konoha's Science Academy was already studying the Four-Tails chakra captured from Iwagakure. For the time being, the only place without teleport coverage was the Black Horn Domain—the nearest nation with gates to it was the small Moon Shinobi Village, which had grown enormously wealthy overnight.
"Prepare to teleport. Keep within the array's boundary," a young civil-shinobi called out, a genin's chakra humming under his tidy uniform. He pressed a red button and a blue glow swallowed a caravan of travelers, spitting them out a thousand li away at Crescent Isle, the Moon Village capital.
The sea breeze hit them at once—salty and warm. Spring sunlight sifted through thick trees and painted the boardwalk in dancing shadows. The way to the beach was serene; the route toward the Black Horn Domain, noisy and dangerous.
"Move it! Iwa's attacking the Black Horn again!" someone shouted.
"We'll show that former great village what a little underdog alliance can do!" another yelled back.
Groups traded insults on the street—Rain Village versus Water Village, merchants versus mercenaries. Outside the Black Horn Domain, killing on the street was banned; even the angriest hotheads kept their tempers in check. Any bloodshed left traces, and Konoha's endless secret arts would find them; once marked, the chase never ended. The contrast was stark: outside, music and trade; inside the Domain, rivers of blood.
It was a balance of yin and yang—the world had folded itself into a careful, vicious equilibrium.
Near the Moon Village teleport station, Konoha had set up a checkpoint. Uniformed operatives were scanning arms with a metal detector, measuring chakra levels to ensure no Kage-class shinobi slipped in. A small invisible sigil—three scythes spinning like a kaleidoscope—flared as each traveler passed.
Soren watched the scene and smiled. In three years Hikaru's ocular technique, the Eight Thousand Spears, had been deeply developed under Soren's direction. Every shinobi entering the Black Horn Domain was now branded with the Eight Thousand Spears mark. The plan was to roll those seals out across the entire shinobi world.
The mark carried Soren's eye power and chakra. When marked shinobi killed each other, no matter who fell, their Ascension Points grew—far more effectively than embedding eye power in a sword ever could. That's why Konoha cracked down on wild clashes outside the Domain: ascension points were Soren's reverse scale—every death cost him. The Eight Thousand Spears imprint also siphoned the dead shinobi's chakra and spirit back into Hikaru.
It was a monstrous, almost bug-like ability. Soren sometimes wondered if Hikaru might eclipse even him, rising to Six-Path levels—perhaps not as a Ten-Tails jinchūriki but as a Six-Path-caliber warrior. Hikaru's Mangekyō eyes were already absorbing remnants of Madara's Eternal Sharingan and slowly refining into something like an Eternal eye. The terrifying thing was that the process was still accelerating.
The single largest improvement, however, belonged to Genkaori. The purified lifeforce of the Glair mines had reinforced her like a living tailed beast—each of her movements felt like an earthquake. Soren once summoned a giant toad, Bunta, nearly twenty meters tall, and still Bunta could not withstand a single punch from Genkaori; she could kill ordinary high-shadow shinobi with a single blow. By raw power she now exceeded the Third Raikage Ai who had once fallen before Soren's blade.
Then there was Uzumaki Minako, perfected as a Seven-Tails jinchūriki and gradually approaching the threshold of true Kage strength. Jiruri, who had come along for a stroll, had improved more modestly—barely skirting the lower edge of strong-kage power.
Jiruri's day clothes were modern and casual: a white camisole that showed off a smooth collarbone, jean shorts cut to flatter long legs, and violet hair tossed loosely by the breeze. When she sighed and half-pouted she looked like the kind of woman who could make generals forget themselves—Soren glanced at her and smirked.
"Come on, An-kun, let's go," she said. "The Security Bureau still has work to do."
Soren scooped her up in a princess carry, hearing the small gasp near his ear. "You lost to Genkaori and Hikaru—do you sulk over that?" he teased.
Jiruri hid her face, tapping his chest with a tiny, indignant fist. "At home I'm stronger than Juno now!" she mumbled.
Soren's smile twisted. "Don't let Juno hear that, or she'll start training to become a Two-Tails Cat jinchūriki."
Jiruri's expression fell into mock horror. "Even Juno could surpass me? Has this world gone mad?" She clung to him, sulking, then brightened when he comforted her. Soren explained she had absorbed some Two-Tails chakra, creating a new bloodline fusion—Flame-Release fused with Yin Release—which had leapt many veteran jōnin straight past the Kage threshold. Jiruri could be proud.
Soren had taught her sage techniques too, though her aptitude was limited; she hadn't mastered Sage Mode. Hikaru's chakra was simply too abundant—any natural energy he drew was a drop in the ocean and could not be balanced into sage form. Genkaori's lifeforce, however, rejected foreign energies; sage chakra never took in her. Only Minako showed promise; she kept a few of her clones on duty while continuing her training in Mount Myōboku and had signed a summoning contract with the toads.
"Don't stress," Soren murmured, kissing Jiruri's forehead. "If you don't fuse another attribute, the Science Academy is already studying genes—Madara and Hashirama's, Senju and Uchiha—lifting the Mangekyō may become routine. We'll have Hashirama's sage body and Wood Release one day."
Jiruri nibbled his ear. "We've been married three years—when are you going to give me a child?" she teased.
Soren sighed, weighing things in his mind. He wanted the perfect child—one born after he reached Six-Path levels, a child with an impossibly strong start. There were practical reasons too: Minako was persistently seductive, and the thought of her bearing an Uchiha heir who looked like him raised complications. He had to be careful—particularly with Jiruri and Genkaori at his side. If Jiruri's dojutsu erupted too early, things could get messy. Genkaori's iron fists were no joke either.
"Wait until I reach Six-Paths. Then I'll let you have a child a year," Soren promised, and Jiruri squealed.
They walked along the private beach—gifted by the Moon Village—where Soren stripped down and dived into the warm waves with Jiruri. They dove under the surface, exploring wrecked hulks, schools of rainbow fish, playful dolphins, and the occasional breaching blue whale. Laughter floated to the surface.
Back in Konoha, Hikaru sat in her office—the principal of the Konoha High Division Shinobi Academy—lost in a book. The girl Soren had brought back from sealing had grown into a cold, stunning beauty: long lashes like butterfly wings, lake-deep eyes, hair like black silk, a light blue dress that fluttered with each subtle movement. A pale blue bracelet with a cat charm—Soren's birthday gift two years ago—dangled at her wrist.
"Hikari-nee!" someone barreled in.
Hikaru slammed the book closed, shoving it into a cabinet as five of Soren's trainees trooped in—now nine years old, taller but still the same five mischief makers. The Academy uniform had been redesigned into a new battle suit: deep blue-black, close-cut jackets over black undershirts, wide belts that could hold scrolls and tools (and double as weaponry), tight pants, and black boots. Headbands were replaced by chest emblems.
Tsunade barreled in with heavy-booted steps, grinning; the children fell quiet at Hikaru's icy glare.
"How many times do I have to tell you to knock?" Hikaru snapped, but her blush betrayed her.
"Hikari-nee!" Tsunade chirped, and one of the five—Orochimaru—stepped up. "Hikari, we want to graduate and go to the Black Horn Domain!"
Hikaru was firm. "No. Not yet."
"But the rules say you can graduate once you reach chūnin strength after three years!" Orochimaru protested. "We're ready."
"You remember the Will of Fire I told you about?" Hikaru asked, voice colder. "If you go into the Black Horn now, what will the older generation think when they see children this age on the battlefield? Do you want to stain the Will of Fire with children's blood?"
Their protests died in their throats. Jiraiya mumbled that staying in the Academy felt pointless, but Hikaru narrowed her eyes.
"You're itchy for training," she said, eyebrow lifted. "Fine—then I'll train you properly."
A tense, guilty silence followed, then the children shuffled out. Hikaru returned to her book, face still flushed, and the sunlight pooled on the page as if to spotlight her secret: even the stoic Hikaru harbored private fantasies about the man she'd sworn to serve.
She snuffed out a flaring blush and, with a decisive motion, burned the romance novel she'd been hiding—a childish rebellion against fantasies that distracted her from duty. Her dojutsu pinged, sensing Soren and Jiruri on Crescent Isle. Beaches, hot springs, forests—so many places she wanted to visit with him. She smiled, determined.
Outside the office, the five kids argued about their futures. Some—like Orochimaru and Jiraiya—dreamed of leaving the Academy and forging names. Others, like the quiet Hemoru, mumbled he'd rather join the Science Academy.
"Even if we graduate," Hemoru said, "I don't want to be a frontline fighter forever. I want to study."
"Same," Orochimaru agreed. "After proving ourselves in the Black Horn, I'll go to the Academy."
Jiraiya sneered at academics. "I'll travel the shinobi world—I'll make sure everyone remembers the name Jiraiya!"
Their childish ambitions spilled into the corridor as they disappeared—new saplings of the future Soren was forging.
Read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon -> patreon.com/lucarioTL