Every shinobi has weaknesses: some are frail in body, others lack chakra reserves, and some can't even analyze properly. There are no perfect shinobi, grandson.
"Including you?"
"Including me. I won't say I have obvious weaknesses, but I do have some rather unique ones."
"And what are they?"
"Heh, that's for you to figure out and defeat me."
"Does the clan leader have weaknesses? What I saw made him seem like the strongest shinobi in the world."
"Perhaps the strongest, but he has a noticeable weakness." The old man grinned slyly.
"And what's that?"
"He relies too heavily on seals; his taijutsu is at a mediocre level."
"So, does that mean I could beat him in taijutsu?"
"Well, if you can get within five meters of him, bypassing all his seals and barriers, then yes… in about twenty years. Now get up, assume your stance. Another round awaits us."
"Again?!"
---
In the morning, as the sun just began to rise above the horizon, the old man and I prepared for our journey. I was filled with excitement and anticipation, trembling with an unfamiliar thrill. For the first time, I was heading to the sea, and as I gazed at the water's surface, it mesmerized me. We stood on the dock, and before us loomed our ship, the "Chihaya," which, if I understood correctly, translates to "Silent." For such a massive wooden vessel, it was a rather modest name.
The old man and I reached the nameless port city in three days. I thought we'd venture deeper into the continent, but it turned out we were headed to a land of swamps. The old man said the daimyo of the Land of Swamps was a long-time client of his, and he'd already sent word that we'd arrive within a month. Someone there was ill, and the old man would be paid handsomely for his expertise. Medics of his caliber were few and far between, so only daimyo and aristocrats could afford him. A month was a generous timeframe, but that was the nature of the trade: plan for more time to avoid being late. Reputation mattered.
The old man, dressed in an ancient blue kimono, his hair streaked with gray and face etched with deep wrinkles, closed his eyes, savoring the morning air. His gaze was focused, yet a spark of boundless optimism flickered in his eyes. I wore a light shirt and shorts for comfort during the long journey. My black hair, freshly cut into a short buzz, gleamed in the sunlight, despite Mito's protests. But what could I do? I wasn't keen on sporting a massive mane.
As we boarded, the ship's captain, a tall and muscular man named Issa, greeted us with a wide smile. As the old man had told me, Issa was known for his kindness and mastery of the seas. Soon, the ship left the dock, and the old man and I stood on the deck, watching our homeland slowly fade from view.
The sea was calm, and the "Silent" glided across the water as if it were her second home. The old man and I spent our days gazing at the endless expanse of water. The clear blue sky and ocean waves seemed infinite. In the evenings, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sunsets were breathtakingly vivid: fiery hues of red and orange blended with blues and greens, reflecting on the tranquil waters.
On the fifth day of the journey, the old man and I decided to stretch our legs with a sparring match. The training hall was spacious, with high ceilings and thickly carpeted floors to cushion blows and falls. I was surprised to learn the ship had such a space. But, as the captain explained with a smile, it was for his crew to train even at sea. It suited us too, since channeling chakra and honing control had grown tedious by the second day. On one side of the hall hung a heavy punching bag, while the other had several platforms for exercises. The atmosphere was tense yet brimming with enthusiasm and focus.
We began warming up, stretching, and performing light acrobatics. A shinobi must be ready to fight in any position—on ceilings or walls. The old man said we'd use only taijutsu, no heavy enhancements, and definitely no ninjutsu. Otherwise, we'd burn the ship down and have to run across the water.
The sparring match began. I assumed a fighting stance, ready for the clash. The old man seemed relaxed, but I knew it was a ruse. I didn't use my Sharingan. Closing the distance quickly, I launched a powerful straight punch, but the old man deftly dodged, sliding to the side and ducking under my strike. His reaction was lightning-fast, and he countered with a light but precise jab to my ribs. It felt like a train had hit me.
Recovering, we traded blows, each showcasing our unique skills. I delivered swift punches and powerful kicks, my attacks sharp and precise, like claws. Meanwhile, the old man relied on his flexibility and speed, performing acrobatic feats like flips and splits to evade and counterattack. It was like fighting a circus performer. If someone from my past world saw a man over a hundred and fifty years old dodging like that, their eyes would pop out in shock.
One of the most spectacular moments came when I tried to grapple him. He responded with a flashy backflip, acrobatically circling around me and landing a spinning kick. I was stunned and flew back five meters.
"You okay there?" the old man asked with a sly smile.
"Fine, fine. Let's keep going." I got up and charged at him.
After an hour of intense fighting, I started to tire. But even exhausted, I maintained sharp focus. With the old man, you couldn't let your guard down, or he'd knock you out with one hit. Every strike was calculated, every maneuver executed with precision. My movements were like part of an intricate dance, where a single mistake could be costly. Over the years, fighting and taijutsu had become a core part of my life. I fell into a trance when sparring with the old man. All my opponents, various shinobi, died quickly when I began to "dance" with them in taijutsu. My speed and claws overwhelmed them. With the old man, though, I could fully savor the fight, never knowing where the next strike would come from or if I could withstand it.
Finally, we stopped, panting heavily and exchanging respectful glances. I respected the old man for not even breaking a sweat after an hour of high-speed, three-dimensional combat. He, judging by his look, was proud of having trained me so well. I'd be proud too if I'd turned an ordinary kid into a killing machine. Oh, the times, oh, the morals.
Meeting in the center of the hall, he patted my shoulder, acknowledging my skill and resilience. I was drenched in sweat, my arms heavy as sledgehammers. This sparring session was not only a test of my physical abilities but also a testament to my dedication to the art we'd honed for years.
"I'm glad you've reached this level. I'm truly proud to have a grandson like you." I felt too shy to respond and simply bowed.
"Thank you, Grandpa. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here."
---
A week later, the ship reached our destination. Before us lay a continent washed by the sea, covered in forests and fields. The old man and I ran across the water to the shore to continue our journey on land. The forest was dense and green, with trees so tall their tops vanished into the clouds. Leaves rustled underfoot, each step producing a soft sound. Around us, the sounds of forest life filled the air: birds chirping, branches snapping, and the scurrying of small animals. The ship stopped several hundred meters from the shore, which was deliberate. The old man had asked the captain to do this to prevent any attacks on the ship. Such vessels were rare these days, and he didn't want it sunk.
We ventured deeper into the forest, soaking in the beauty of nature. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a magical play of light and shadow. The old man spotted several rare plants and flowers, which sparked new discoveries and studies. Among them were stunning orchids, their vibrant hues striking in intensity, and towering ferns, each like a work of art. I hadn't known he was so fond of plants, so I listened eagerly to his stories and watched his amazed expression when he found something new.
After several days of traveling through the forests, we emerged onto fields blanketed in colorful flowers. The landscape was enchanting: green meadows dotted with yellow and purple blooms resembled vibrant tapestries. The wind swayed the grass, creating waves of color that mimicked a miniature ocean.
I was in awe of the surrounding beauty and didn't miss the chance to activate my Sharingan, storing these unforgettable sights in my memory, like photos in a phone.
Passing through the Land of Honey and tasting their famous honey in the villages, we continued our journey, finally reaching the Land of Swamps. No one attacked us; we moved too quickly for anyone to notice or stop us. Though I spotted chakra signatures with my Sharingan, they were a tenth of my strength, so I wasn't worried. This mysterious land was known for its unique natural features: dense swamps, picturesque waterfalls, and enigmatic pools.
The first thing we noticed upon entering the country was the thick fog enveloping everything. Visibility was limited, but there was something captivating about it. In the mist, the silhouettes of massive trees loomed, their roots intertwining to form complex labyrinths. In some places, moss draped over tree trunks, creating the illusion of green carpets.
Local samurai quickly spotted us, as they were expecting our arrival. We reached the daimyo's palace swiftly. The timeframe the old man had set was met in just a week and a half. As he said, it was a good journey with no attacks.
The Land of Swamps was also home to many small villages inhabited by kind and welcoming people. We met locals who shared their stories and traditions. Traveling with three samurai was slow; they lacked our endurance. To my surprise, the journey took longer than expected, and we couldn't ditch them. I learned about ancient rituals and festivals celebrated in the region. It wasn't surprising that traditions had formed under the influence of the harsh landscape, but when they tried to make us drink green swamp water, I was a bit taken aback.
Surrounded by ordinary people and taciturn samurai, we arrived at a massive palace, unexpected in such a place.
---
In the daimyo's palace in the Land of Swamps, nestled in a dense forest shrouded in fog and surrounded by marshy waters, a tense atmosphere prevailed. The palace was encircled by tall wooden walls adorned with intricate carvings. The interior was richly decorated with traditional Japanese elements: carpets of the finest fabrics, elegant furniture, and tapestries depicting mythological creatures.
We arrived in this grim and mysterious place to meet Daimyo Yasuko. The old man had briefed me on etiquette and what to avoid, but I didn't grasp the nuances, so I tuned him out. I wasn't interested in how many degrees I should bow or how much I should say. I decided to stay silent. The samurai vanished into the palace corridors as a man approached. A servant, leading the encounter, a tall and dignified man in formal attire, bowed politely and said:
"Honored guests, I am pleased to welcome you to Daimyo Yasuko's palace. Please follow me."
"Of course, Teichi. You know Yasuko wouldn't summon me without reason."
The old man was courteous and bowed slightly, not as deeply as the servant, but still. I'd have to ask him later what all this fuss was about.
We passed through a long corridor lined with precious fabrics and soon entered a spacious hall with a large Japanese carpet. On the opposite side sat a middle-aged woman in an elegant kimono, looking troubled. Beside her, in a crib, lay a frail, pale child. His ashen face and lips spoke of illness.
I hadn't expected the daimyo of an entire country to be a woman.
"Greetings, gentlemen," Yasuko said, rising and trying to mask her anxiety. "Setsuna-san, thank you for coming in such difficult times." She bowed, which was surprising.
Setsuna returned the bow and said:
"I'm glad to assist, Lady Yasuko. My grandson and I are ready to offer all we can. You said your child is ill?" I still didn't understand what was happening or how I could help.
Yasuko nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Yes, my son, Aito, is gravely ill. We've tried every possible remedy, but his condition only worsens. I don't know what to do. Please, save my baby, Setsuna-san."
The old man, after a moment's thought, spoke:
"We could examine the child if you permit. We can try using our skills to help him."
Yasuko, slightly relieved by the glimmer of hope, nodded.
"Please, do everything you can. I don't know how much time we have left."
We approached the crib. The old man carefully examined the child, leaning over him. His hands, glowing green, passed over the boy's body. As he scanned Aito's condition, he said to me:
"Activate your Sharingan and look closely. You know the theory."
"Its nature seems strange," I said after a brief inspection. I'd never seen anything like it: his lungs were enveloped in a black sludge. "It's not just a cold or infection. His lungs are coated in something. Could it be shinobi-related? I don't know what could cause this effect," I speculated. The old man remained silent. The daimyo couldn't hear us. I was stunned by this development and continued examining the child—only his lungs seemed affected.
Turning to the woman after the inspection, I noticed her surprise. First time seeing the Sharingan?
The old man, still observing the child's body, said:
"I've healed him, but it took more effort than expected, which is odd." He turned to her. "Tell me more about what might have caused his illness. Were there any recent events or strange occurrences?" I wasn't sure what he was getting at.
Yasuko thought for a moment before replying:
"Recently, our samurai brought a strange artifact from the forest, or so they said. We didn't know what it was, but strange events began afterward. Could it be related?"
The old man and I exchanged glances, sensing something amiss. Setsuna said:
"It's possible the artifact is the source of the problem. We need to investigate it and determine its connection to your son's illness. Could you show it to us?"
Yasuko exclaimed:
"But it…"
"What?"
"It disappeared after they took it back to show me. I don't know where it went. After Aito fell ill, I ordered the artifact found, but the servants lost it."
"Then bring those who found it."
Yasuko turned to the servant and commanded:
"Teichi, bring me those two."
"Yes, my lady." He bowed and swiftly left the hall.
"Why did you even accept some artifact, and how did you know it was an artifact?" I asked bluntly, ignoring etiquette. She didn't seem to care about protocol and answered:
"It was shaped like a hairpin. I thought it was a gift from my loyal samurai, but it seems someone betrayed my trust. How did I know it was an artifact? It was glowing."
"That simple?" I was surprised by her naivety.
"Yes."
Good grief, how does she even rule?
The servant returned, his face ashen, as if he'd seen a corpse.
"My lady, Naoki and Kentaru are not in the palace, and no one has seen them for a week. I've ordered a search."
"What?!"
She was clearly shocked. I, looking at the old man's back, realized we'd stumbled into some palace intrigue. I hate intrigues.
---