The moment Shanks finished speaking, a ripple of cheer spread through the group. Smiles broke out on every face. Laughter and pride mingled in the air, the warmth of shared accomplishment enveloping them like a fire on a cold night. Their elder brother's praise meant everything—it was hard-earned and sincere.
But then Shanks raised his voice again, this time quieter, heavier.
"And I hope you all continue like this," he said. "Though I doubt I need to remind any of you... we all carry the same conviction. A common purpose."
His gaze swept over them, and slowly, the mood shifted. The smiles faded. Eyes narrowed, jaws tightened.
"Our goal," Shanks continued, "is revenge. Revenge against Kirigakure... and against every other ninja village that joined in the siege of Uzushiogakure. They didn't just destroy our home. They hunted us, slaughtered our kin, and forced us to live like ghosts, hiding in the shadows of this forest."
The children stood in silence, their expressions solemn. The embers of old grief flickered in their eyes—grief that had long since transformed into quiet, burning resolve.
No one spoke. They didn't need to. They all remembered. They all carried that night in their hearts.
Shanks gave a firm nod, then said, "I'll be returning to the Land of Hot Water. I've already accepted the payment from its Daimyo, and in return, he's given his word: our clan will be given priority. Any task their ninja or guards cannot handle, they will bring to us. Not to the Great Villages. To the Uzumaki."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"This will be vital for our clan's survival—and for rebuilding our strength. It means money, reputation, and eventually... standing."
The children nodded in agreement. They understood. This wasn't just about revenge—it was about rebuilding their legacy. The first steps toward reclaiming the name Uzumaki with pride and power.
Shanks, never one to delay once a decision was made, prepared to leave without hesitation. And so, early the next morning, just as the mist was rising off the valley floor, he departed.
By evening, he had reached the same village in the Land of Hot Water where his journey had first begun weeks ago. It looked different now—more alive. The fear that had once loomed like a fog over its people had lifted.
There, Shanks was reunited with Suzuki—the merchant he had once saved.
Suzuki's eyes widened the moment he saw the familiar red-haired man with one arm. The same man who had, not long ago, stood between him and certain death at the hands of Kirigakure shinobi. He remembered clearly the promise Shanks had made that night: "Return to your village. I'll deal with them. If you believe me."
It had felt like madness to trust a lone stranger with such a claim. But Suzuki had gambled on that promise—and won.
When he returned home, he discovered that every last Kirigakure ninja who had taken control of his village had been wiped out. The villagers spoke in hushed tones about a red-haired warrior with one arm who had brought them salvation.
There was no doubt in Suzuki's mind. It had been Shanks.
At Suzuki's insistence, Shanks stayed the night in his home. The villagers, once suspicious and fearful, now welcomed him with quiet reverence. To them, he was not just a wandering swordsman—he was their saviour.
The next morning, as the sun rose over the misty hills of the Land of Hot Water, Shanks set out once again—this time bound for the capital. Riding atop Frosty, his majestic white tiger summon, the journey felt swift and commanding. Frosty moved with the silent grace and power of a predator, his large frame cutting through the landscape with ease. Together, they crossed valleys, forests, and rivers, drawing cautious stares from travelers and villagers alike who dared not approach the fearsome beast or the red-haired warrior astride it.
By nightfall, Shanks reached the capital.
The city's lights shimmered beneath the twilight sky, its streets buzzing with activity. Guards at the gates recognized him immediately and allowed him entry without delay. Without wasting time, Shanks made his way to the grand Daimyo Mansion.
Inside, the Daimyo had already been informed of his arrival and personally awaited him in the formal meeting hall.
When Shanks entered, the Daimyo rose from his seat, relief evident on his face.
"Thank goodness nothing happened to you," the Daimyo said, his voice laced with genuine concern. "That night... the chaos outside the capital—the battle between you and three of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen—it was terrifying. The noise alone shook the entire city. I feared the worst. I thought perhaps you had been gravely injured... or worse."
Shanks stepped forward and bowed slightly, his expression calm. "Thank you, Lord Daimyo, for your concern," he said. "I managed to survive the attacks from both groups. I was away these past days, not because of duty but because I needed time to recover. I had to prioritize my safety before anything else. I hope that's understandable."
The Daimyo nodded thoughtfully. He understood all too well.
Shanks was not one of his sworn retainers. He was not a ninja from the Land of Hot Water or a loyal vassal of the court. He was a mercenary—albeit an incredibly powerful one—hired under a mutually beneficial agreement. The Daimyo had paid him a large sum to act as a high-ranking operative and unofficial guardian of the capital. And in return, Shanks had delivered results beyond expectation.
But neither man placed blind trust in the other. Their relationship was one of respect... and careful boundaries.
"Yes, I understand completely," the Daimyo replied, his tone measured. "You're not bound to me by oath or village. You're a Shinobi I've entrusted with dangerous responsibilities. I know I cannot expect you to report your every move. That would be... unrealistic."
There was a brief pause, a flicker of tension easing between them.
"But," the Daimyo continued, his expression sharpening slightly, "there is something I need to inform you about. It may concern you."
Shanks met his gaze, his posture attentive. "I'm listening, Lord Daimyo. Please—go ahead and speak."
The Daimyo took a breath and then spoke with deliberate seriousness.
"That night," he began, "about four days ago—when you fought against not only three of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen but also that unidentified group of masked shinobi—I dispatched my personal guard unit to the battlefield once the chaos had died down."
He paused, as if choosing his words carefully.
"They recovered something of great value—the twin-bladed sword wielded by one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen. His body was found as well, still clutching the weapon. Just today, an official emissary from Kirigakure arrived here in the capital. They came specifically to retrieve both the sword and the corpse of their fallen comrade."
Shanks remained still, listening intently.
The Daimyo continued, "You were not here at the time, and I had no information about your condition—whether you were alive, injured, or dead. The emissary from Kirigakure assured me that if I returned both the sword and the body peacefully, they would refrain from making any hostile movements toward the Land of Hot Water for at least one full year."
He looked at Shanks with a mixture of apology and pragmatism.
"Given the situation—and lacking your counsel—I accepted their terms. I believed it to be a wise political decision, one that would buy us valuable time. However, I also realize that the twin-blade was your rightful trophy. You earned it through blood and battle, and I do not wish to diminish that."
He bowed his head slightly.
"For this, I offer my sincere apologies. And to compensate you, I am prepared to pay you twenty million ryō. It is the least I can do to honor your contribution and the risk you took that night."
There was a moment of silence between them.
Shanks didn't respond immediately. His gaze drifted downward as he considered the Daimyo's words, then slowly returned to meet the nobleman's eyes.
"Truthfully," Shanks said, his tone calm and even, "when I left the battlefield without claiming the twin sword, I was deeply disappointed. As a swordsman, to defeat such a formidable opponent and leave behind a weapon of that caliber... it stung."
He gave a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I would've cherished having that blade in my collection. That said, I'm also a realist—and I'm not blind to the value of such a weapon on the market. Chances are, I would have sold it myself eventually. I do need the money, after all."
His expression softened a bit.
"So in a way, this works out. I'm glad your guards were able to retrieve the sword. And I appreciate your offer—it's fair, and it shows respect. I accept the compensation. Thank you, Lord Daimyo."
The tension eased from the room, the weight of the decision now settled between two men who understood both the cost of battle... and the price of diplomacy.
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