"How's this armor? The craftsmanship of the Fuma Clan is truly impressive."
Fuma Goro was busy dealing with some poor sap when Uchiha Nanami, clad in a full suit of armor, approached Genma.
Given the high intensity and frequency of battles in this era, shinobi typically wore armor, with most opting for metal plating. Up until now, Genma and his group had been fighting without any protection, not out of choice but due to poverty and a lack of resources.
Now, with skilled blacksmiths at their disposal and the backing of Kikyo Castle, they finally had the means to upgrade their equipment.
Genma took the metal armor, feeling its substantial weight, and gave an involuntary nod of approval.
"It's well made… except for the color."
"What's wrong with the color?"
Genma just shook his head, saying nothing more.
The armor had been custom-made for him, fitting perfectly in size. The only flaw was its color—a vibrant blue, complete with a glossy lacquered finish that gleamed under the light.
It didn't look like practical battle gear; it resembled a decorative art piece.
If given a choice, Genma would've preferred a more subdued color—black, gray, or the natural sheen of metal. This blue was anything but discreet and would make him stand out like a sore thumb on the battlefield.
Still, the armor was already made, and its functionality was undeniable. He couldn't very well demand a redo just because of the color. Crafting custom armor wasn't easy, and he wasn't about to waste their effort over a personal preference.
Next, Genma began dismantling the armor piece by piece.
The leg guards and skirt armor? Unnecessary. Added protection wasn't worth sacrificing mobility.
The shoulder guards? Also unnecessary. For Genma, an injury to his arms wasn't life-threatening.
But when he removed the backplate, Uchiha Nanami finally spoke up, unable to hold back.
"You're taking off the backplate too? A piercing strike to the back could be fatal."
Genma considered it briefly but stuck to his decision and removed it.
"Ahem, under normal circumstances, I'm the one sneaking up on others. No one's getting the chance to stab me in the back."
"…"
Nanami felt like something was off about that logic, but on second thought, it kind of made sense.
So, what remained in Genma's hands was a single piece of armor—a chestplate that curved from his waist up to his neck. With its glossy blue finish, it looked suspiciously like a turtle shell.
After securing the chestplate with straps, Genma tested his movements. To his satisfaction, his agility was completely unaffected.
The Fuma Clan's craftsmanship was indeed top-notch.
Another thing Genma appreciated was the lack of any flashy symbols or clan crests on the chestplate. If he encountered enemies, they wouldn't be able to identify his origins from his appearance alone.
But just as he was thinking this, Nanami suddenly pulled out a forehead protector, its center engraved with a unique emblem.
"I designed this symbol for our group. Everyone thinks it's great. What do you think?"
Nanami asked with clear anticipation.
Truth be told, Genma had never considered adopting a unified symbol. His philosophy had always been to slip into the village quietly and strike without fanfare. Why would he willingly reveal his identity?
But in a world where every group had their crest, going without one screamed "rogue ninja."
Genma eyed the forehead protector, his expression a touch peculiar.
"It's… nice, but…"
"Any issues?"
The symbol Nanami had designed was striking: one half depicted the veins of a leaf, the other half the shape of flames. It was undeniably well-crafted, reflecting their organization's journey from "ashes" to "ember." It also aligned perfectly with their current direction.
Genma even thought about creating a slogan for the Ember Organization—something like, "Where leaves fall, the fire burns eternal." Not bad, right?
"No, it's great. No issues at all. Flawless."
Genma gave an awkward smile before adding, "But I think under normal circumstances, we shouldn't wear forehead protectors with identifying marks. We're not some proud, tradition-bound ninja clan. On the battlefield, it's better to keep our origins hidden."
"You're right. Honestly, we'd only need to wear these when dealing openly with other clans that have clear affiliations."
Nanami thought it over and nodded in agreement with Genma's reasoning.
Genma let out a quiet sigh of relief. Good—he hadn't dampened her enthusiasm.
Nanami had just joined the group and was eager to contribute. Genma couldn't just shoot down her efforts over minor details.
As he packed away the rest of the armor, Genma reflected on how different things were now. Their organization had come a long way—here they were, fussing over aesthetics and symbols.
Meanwhile, Fuma Goro led the ninja to a private chamber. Once the visitor was seated, Goro launched into his professional sales pitch.
"The secret technique we're offering today is called 'Cursed Grudge Threads.'"
Given that Genma's version was essentially a knockoff—and considering the psychological trauma he'd endured while cultivating the threads—he'd decided to rename the technique "Cursed Grudge Threads" for sale.
With that, Goro handed over a small booklet, filled with vivid illustrations and text detailing the immense power of the Cursed Grudge Threads.
Vitality, damage absorption, offensive capabilities, five hearts, five elemental techniques…
The technique was so overwhelmingly powerful that the ninja began to suspect he was hallucinating.
If someone possessed a technique this strong, why would they sell it? Anyone with an IQ higher than a maggot's wouldn't do something so foolish.
Yet here was this clan leader, doing exactly that.
Even if it was a trap, the ninja couldn't help but clutch the booklet tightly.
"If I wanted to acquire this technique, what would it cost me?"
Goro, unaware that he'd just been demoted to the level of a fly larva in the ninja's mind, continued, "The transaction is simple. First, we require 360 small gold coins from the Garden City mint."
"Second, you'd need to provide us with a valuable ninjutsu—either a medical ninjutsu, a high-level elemental technique, or another secret technique. It just needs to be of comparable value."
Three hundred sixty small gold coins—roughly five and a half kilograms of gold—was a steep price, no question. But for a technique this powerful, its worth couldn't be measured in mere gold.
It wasn't overpriced; if anything, it was suspiciously cheap.
That's why the additional requirement of exchanging a ninjutsu or secret technique felt entirely reasonable.
"That's it?"
If the technique was real and these were the only conditions, the ninja felt like he'd stumbled upon a fool and a bargain.
"That's it… Oh, and one more thing: lives."
"Lives?"
"To put it simply, we're not selling the method to cultivate the Cursed Grudge Threads. We're selling a living sample of the technique."
"As long as the sample is transplanted into another ninja, and that ninja can withstand the backlash, they'll become a top-tier powerhouse."
"What's the success rate?"
The ninja zeroed in on the critical question.
"Probably… very low." Goro paused, then rephrased with brutal honesty. "It'll take a pile of bodies to make it work."
As expected, there were no fools in this world, and pies didn't fall from the sky. The ninja realized he was being strung along. He stood abruptly, placed the booklet on the table, and prepared to leave.
How much money and how many techniques would it take to produce one powerhouse? Probability might as well not exist!
But Goro pressed on, unfazed. "Our trade policy is clear: success means payment, failure means a refund. But once it's sold, we take no responsibility for the lives lost."
The ninja, mid-step, froze.
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