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Chapter 134n
🕑 Added 2025-08-19 15:23:09 +0000 UTCChapter 134n
2-in-1-chapter
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Since direct resistance was impossible, Kimimaro decided to try another way to escape his current predicament and return to Lord Orochimaru’s side as soon as possible. The plan he came up with was to build a favorable relationship with Uchiha Shisui, and then, when Shisui let his guard down, he would quietly slip away.
It would be easy to dismiss such a plan as laughable, but for a child who had never received any proper education, this was already the most reliable strategy he could imagine.
“So that’s how it is. Then wait a moment—once I finish eating, we’ll head out.”
Shisui felt no particular malice toward the boy before him. After reading Kimimaro’s memories, he understood that the child was not a lunatic, but one who had been abused by his own clan from a young age and later deceived and led astray by Orochimaru.
In those memories, he had also glimpsed mention of a “vessel.” Though the details were vague, combined with what was known of Orochimaru’s spiritual instability from delving into forbidden arts, Shisui could deduce the true nature of the jutsu Orochimaru was studying: a forbidden technique that allowed one’s soul to be transferred into another’s body.
That was a jutsu of the gravest taboo, forbidden even among taboos, a path deeper than any other into corruption.
Realizing this, Shisui resolved to take Kimimaro away. Killing him outright was something Shisui could not bring himself to do. Though Kimimaro had killed before, it was not meaningless slaughter of innocents; every death had been of shinobi, carried out at the behest of his clan or under Orochimaru’s orders. In Shisui’s eyes, the fault did not lie with Kimimaro.
It was this accursed world that forced people to live in such ways.
For that reason, Shisui could not strike Kimimaro down. Yet to let him go, to allow him to return to Orochimaru’s side only to one day be possessed by him—that was no better. Bringing him back and leaving the matter to Rēn was the wiser course. With Rēn’s methods, settling a child like Kimimaro should not be an issue.
Such were the calculations turning over in Shisui’s mind, though the ultimate outcome would remain to be seen.
“Head out? Where are we going?” Kimimaro asked.
“Kirigakure,” Shisui replied, his words muffled by the rice cake he was eating.
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Crack!
The moment that silver-white lightning vanished, a thunderclap boomed across the heavens, deafening in its fury, as if the gods themselves had taken offense. After a morning of heavy, oppressive clouds, the sky broke open in torrents, and rain poured down in sheets. The raindrops, the size of soybeans, struck the skin with a stinging pain.
A boy in ill-fitting, tattered clothing braved the downpour and returned to his dwelling.
It was an abandoned house on the edge of the village. Its roof had collapsed, leaving only one small corner with enough shelter from the rain. That was his “bed”—nothing more than a pile of old cotton padding and cardboard.
“So cold!”
The little boy wrapped his ragged clothes tighter around himself and burrowed into the heap of bedding, trying to slow the loss of his body heat.
Just then, his fingers brushed against something cold and slick. A child as brave as he was immediately understood what it was: a snake, likely taking refuge from the rain as he had.
Ordinary children might have screamed in terror at the thought of such a creature, but he felt no such fear. If it was venomous, then escape was already impossible. If it wasn’t, then it could serve as his lunch. The storm had kept him from finding anything to eat; his stomach was still empty.
Reaching in, he grasped the little snake firmly and pulled it out from the bedding.
“So beautiful!”
He stared at the snow-white snake in his hand, his wide, dark eyes filled with wonder. Its flawless appearance made him hesitate. His stomach was empty, but not yet to the point of collapse. Hunger alone was not enough to make him devour such a creature.
Besides, his own name was “Haku.”
After a moment of indecision, he could not bring himself to eat the lovely creature. Instead, he set it gently on the bedding beside him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the little white snake seemed weak and languid, lying motionless save for the occasional twitch of its tail. He might have thought it dead, if not for those faint signs of life.
He guessed the snake must be hungry. Unfortunately, his own stomach was already groaning with emptiness, singing its hollow complaint. He had no food to spare for it.
His attention remained on the slight movement of its tail, and so he failed to notice the golden, slit-pupiled eyes that peered at him from beneath its half-lowered lids. Those eyes regarded him with a curious gleam, sensing chakra within his body—and not just any chakra, but chakra of remarkable quality and quantity.
“It seems my luck is not so bad after all.”
In the form of the little white snake, Orochimaru was in high spirits. Not only had he confirmed the power of the Uchiha clan’s Sharingan, but after losing Kimimaro, an excellent vessel, he had stumbled across another potential vessel—one that looked exceedingly promising.
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After two consecutive weeks of heated debate, the upper ranks of Kirigakure finally managed to reach a reluctant consensus. They decided to provide manpower as compensation in the name of supporting their allies, rather than paying in money or supplies. Kirigakure was truly impoverished at this point; the storehouses were so empty that even rats would starve inside. The only asset that still held value was its shinobi.
Of course, in another sense, Kirigakure still possessed considerable depth. If they were willing to part with secret techniques or forbidden jutsu, Konoha certainly would not refuse. But the Mist leadership was not foolish enough to hollow out their foundation. Shinobi could die, but as long as the village was not completely wiped out, isolated Kirigakure could simply close its doors, focus on producing the next generation, and gradually restore its strength.
In every past shinobi world war, they had entered voluntarily, never once dragged in passively. Their geographical isolation ensured that no other nation would bother them so long as they kept to themselves. As long as they refrained from provoking conflict, they could enjoy peace.
“At last, it’s decided.”
When the meeting ended, Yagura Karatachi collapsed onto the sofa, drained as though he had just endured an entire war. And in a sense, that was true. The battle had lasted two weeks, yet the decision to compensate with manpower instead of resources had been made within three days. The remaining eleven were consumed in bitter disputes over how to divide up the sacrifice of this so-called “manpower.”
Everyone knew that once war broke out between Konoha and Kumogakure or Iwagakure, nine times out of ten these manpower contributions would be thrown onto the battlefield under Konoha’s command. Naturally, no clan leader wished for their people to die in a war that had nothing to do with clan interests. Their quarrels were inevitable.
Even with the Mizukage and Master Genji presiding, it was only today that they finally reached a barely acceptable outcome.
“It’s hardly any different from the original plan. What were they even arguing about for so long?” Yagura muttered bitterly from the sofa. If he had known the end result would be like this, he might as well have used the authority of the Mizukage to settle it outright from the beginning.
“Meaningless quarrels are often the unavoidable road to a resolution.”
On the opposite sofa sat Master Genji, both hands resting atop his serpent-headed cane, eyes narrowed to two thin slits. “Lord Mizukage, are you planning next to negotiate with that Uchiha clan head?”
“That’s right.”
Yagura abandoned his complaints, exhaling with a heavy sigh. “Just the thought of meeting that man makes my stomach ache.” His palm pressed against his abdomen; every time he imagined facing Uchiha Rēn, sharp pain twisted through his gut. The medical ninja who examined him found nothing seriously wrong, only advising him to relax and not place such heavy pressure on himself.
But how could he feel no pressure?
As the “failed Mizukage,” the burden he carried was crushing. If not for the fact that Konoha’s shinobi were still present in the village, he would already have resigned. It was only their presence that compelled him, for the sake of the village’s dignity, to remain in that seat a little longer.
As for the question of succession, Mei Terumī was slightly young and, being a woman, lacked the same battlefield reputation as Konoha’s Fourth Hokage. Yet unlike the Fourth Hokage, she stood firmly supported by two of Kirigakure’s great kekkei genkai clans. She was no rootless commoner shinobi.
“Lord Mizukage, this time, would you allow me to accompany you?”
“Master Genji?”
Yagura looked at him in surprise.
The Konoha shinobi had been in Kirigakure for two weeks already, yet until now Master Genji had kept his distance, never once seeking contact with any of them.
“Master Genji, what are you planning to do?”
“I want to take this opportunity to see that Uchiha clan head for myself, to learn what kind of man he truly is. And besides… Ao underwent his surgery last night.”
“Surgery?”
Yagura immediately understood.
“I see. In that case, Master Genji, please come with me to meet the head of the Uchiha clan.”
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When Yagura Karatachi and his entourage arrived at the Konoha delegation’s residence, they encountered a small accident. A group of children were playing ninja games nearby, and an unsharpened shuriken nearly struck Genji. Fortunately, Hōzuki Mangetsu reacted quickly and swatted it aside. With his Hydrification Technique, he naturally came to no harm.
But Gombei, who was always at Genji’s side to protect him, was furious and prepared to punish the children on the spot, only for Yagura Karatachi to stop him.
“Lord Mizukage, they almost injured Genji,” Gombei said angrily, glaring at Yagura with visible displeasure for intervening.
“Quarreling with a group of children will only make Genji appear petty,” Yagura replied. Yet his gaze drifted toward a girl who had leapt down from the wall, and a look of helplessness crossed his face. It was she who had thrown the shuriken that had collided midair, changing direction in such a way that even the bodyguards had almost failed to block it.
That kind of shuriken-throwing technique, much like Fire Style, was considered one of the Uchiha clan’s signature arts.
In principle, shuriken-jutsu and Fire Style were not difficult techniques. But in the hands of the Uchiha, they underwent a complete transformation. Everyone knew that their ferocious Fire Style could overwhelm even Water Style. And alongside it, the uncanny shuriken manipulation enhanced by the Sharingan had earned a fearsome reputation as well.
“Grandpa, I’m sorry, I almost hit you.”
Fujika ran forward quickly, bowing her head and apologizing loudly.
Behind her trailed Naruto and several other children.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Genji replied kindly with a smile. He waved his hand lightly, and even the still-fuming Gombei fell quiet at once.
“You lot—throwing shuriken around is dangerous. If you want to play ninja games, go somewhere without people,” Yagura scolded. Aside from Fujika and Naruto, there were seven or eight other village children, one of whom stood out sharply: a white-haired boy with violet eyes.
“Suigetsu, why are you here too?”
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