The pitch-black night sky, heavy as ink, pressed down on the soaked earth of the Land of Rain. Two figures cut through the downpour like phantoms riding the wind, their shadows flashing across puddle-filled ruts before being swallowed by the relentless rain.
Up ahead, Orochimaru raced forward. His broad cloak flapped violently in the wind, and his pale face once again revealed that twisted, familiar smile.
"Ryo-kun, you seem awfully concerned about that little girl from the Uzumaki clan."
His voice was low yet sharp, slicing through the sound of rain and landing directly in Ryo's ears.
Ryo's brow twitched, his foot smashing through a puddle. There it was again—"Ryo-kun." Every time Orochimaru said it, it felt like a cold snake coiling around his neck. His tone, slick and unnatural, made Ryo's scalp prickle. The gaze behind those golden vertical pupils always carried something ominous.
He forced down the irritation, focusing on the mission. If not for that, he might have drawn his blade and ended this so-called partnership right there.
"How much intel do we have on the Eight-Tails' jinchūriki in Kumo?" His voice turned cold as he matched Orochimaru's pace. This was a matter of survival. He needed accurate intel.
Orochimaru ran smoothly beside him, not turning his head. He pulled out a scroll and tossed it over. "Here. Information on the sleeper agents. He'll open a path into Kumogakure. As for what happens after we're in..."
His lips curled. His tongue flicked briefly across them, snake-like. "That's when the real performance begins."
He exhaled, voice dripping with meaning. "Shame... the long-buried pawn can't be used."
Ryo caught the scroll, sneering inwardly. What a load of crap. Once the infiltration gets exposed, Kumo will dig through its underbelly and torch everything. The value of a spy lies in burning bright when the stakes are highest. Once you take that path, getting crushed is inevitable. A pawn that stays buried forever is one that's already useless.
That phony regret in Orochimaru's voice only made Ryo more alert. His mind sharpened, bordering on paranoia.
Suddenly.
"Tell me, Ryo-kun... how do you view the meaning of life?"
Orochimaru's voice cut in like a blade, completely shifting topics. The rain kept hammering down, but that question rang louder than thunder.
Ryo stopped. He twisted his body mid-air, landing on a hard rock slab by the roadside. He needed distance. Breathing room. Space from this man.
Orochimaru halted as well, standing motionless in the rain. His golden eyes locked onto Ryo, cold and still.
Ryo pulled out the scroll, along with his rations and water bottle. With a thud, he sat down, clearly signaling a short rest. He didn't drop his guard, eyes fixed on Orochimaru through the rain.
"Probably... just living," Ryo replied, tearing open his food packet. His tone was flat, but his voice was crisp against the rain. Ask a thousand people, get a thousand answers. And the one before him... this man sought eternal life.
Ryo didn't have such lofty ambitions. All he wanted was to survive, to protect those he cared about. Just to stay alive. That alone was enough.
"Living?" Orochimaru repeated, intrigued. "Why living?"
He seemed genuinely interested in the answer, as if trying to dissect the thought process behind it.
"That's not something one expects from a child your age..." he murmured, voice trailing as he recalled something. "...That kid's answer... was truly heartwarming."
Ryo's heart skipped a beat. Something was off. Nawaki was all youthful spirit, not introspection. Then who... or what... triggered Orochimaru's obsession with this question?
Those golden eyes gleamed with a terrifying light. Warning bells blared in Ryo's mind.
He drank a mouthful of icy water, forcing his thoughts into order. His voice stayed steady. "Because life only has meaning while it beats. Once you're dead, everything resets to zero."
He stared at Orochimaru, trying to read his expression.
Silence.
Orochimaru didn't move. His pale face stayed frozen under the storm, like a statue.
Ryo chewed quietly. Every nerve on edge.
Then suddenly.
"Mmm... haha..."
A low chuckle slipped from Orochimaru's throat, breaking the tension.
"Interesting. A very interesting perspective, Ryo-kun."
That sentence seemed to trigger something. His laughter stopped. He suddenly pulled out a blank scroll and a fine-tipped pen, then started writing rapidly under the downpour.
"..."
Ryo's eyes widened. Insane. Completely deranged.
This just confirmed it—Orochimaru was a late-stage psychopath. That obsession with "life"... yeah, he was already drafting another forbidden experiment.
The blackened version of Orochimaru in the original timeline didn't just betray people. He betrayed family, killed teachers, stole eyes, experimented on bodies. He was a walking catastrophe.
And now this?
Genius? No. In this shinobi world, war often breeds minds that leap past genius and straight into madness.
Eventually, Orochimaru finished, storing away the scroll with care. His usual smile returned. The kind that made Ryo's scalp itch.
"Shall we continue?" he asked.
"Let's go," Ryo answered sharply, leaping off the rock and back into the rain. He wanted to finish this mission and cut ties with this guy, fast.
Their path was set.
They left the Land of Rain, passed through the scarred terrain of the Land of Fire, crossed the once-peaceful but now ruined Land of Hot Water, and finally arrived at the border of the Land of the Moon. War hadn't faded. Along the way, they saw refugees, scorched earth, and broken villages.
By nightfall, they found shelter in the remains of an old warehouse. The scent of old blood had long faded.
Ryo handled the logistics, setting up a fire and clearing space. Orochimaru disappeared into the shadows but returned not long after, a half-wild deer slung over his shoulder.
Flames danced. The smell of roasting meat cut through the cold. Ryo cleaned and butchered the deer with precision, seasoning the cuts with a secret blend before grilling them. The aroma wafted, warm and rich.
"Ryo-kun's cooking... is quite impressive," Orochimaru said, accepting a grilled leg with a rare note of genuine appreciation. "No wonder even Tsunade once broke protocol to take you as her student."
Ryo gnawed on the meat, gaze flickering toward the Land of Rain.
"I wonder how much longer that war will last," he muttered.
Orochimaru sliced his piece delicately. "Until every participating village bleeds out its last drop of strength. Until even they can no longer endure the cost. War is merely an efficient method of transferring internal pressure."
Ryo glanced sideways at him. "Sharp," he admitted silently. Set aside morality, Orochimaru's view of the shinobi world was chillingly accurate.
Their rest ended in quiet vigilance. As dawn approached, mountain shadows rose before them. The air grew thin and sharp. Clouds pressed low and heavy, and lightning snaked through them like silver serpents.
BOOM.
A thunderclap shook the sky. A mountain cliff exploded. Rocks rained down. This was the infamous thunderstorm of the Land of Lightning—wild, violent, and utterly destructive.
Walking across this storm-touched land, Ryo instantly understood why Kumo shinobi leaned toward Lightning Release. Generations had grown up inhaling charged air, lulled to sleep by rolling thunder. It became second nature.
He remembered a dumb joke from his past life. "Elemental specialization theory": Mist ninjas do water, Iwa does earth, Suna does wind, Kumo does lightning. And Konoha?
A random mix of everything. After the First Hokage, Mokuton all but vanished. Konoha's true hallmark was having too many "ridiculous" bloodline clans to count.
As they neared Kumogakure's outer territory, Ryo's alertness sharpened.
Orochimaru found a crevice and solemnly unsealed a scroll. "Ryo-kun, we need a change. Our faces are too recognizable. Inside Kumo, freedom of movement will be impossible."
Ryo nodded. Standard infiltration procedure.
But when Orochimaru opened the scroll and dumped the contents, Ryo's expression turned complex.
Wigs. All green.
Fresh green. Forest green. Dark green. Every shade imaginable.
His mind blanked. Was Orochimaru... a green wig collector?
Then came the black box. Inside, a putrid mixture of herbal paste and rancid grease.
Ryo almost retched. It got worse. Orochimaru picked up the darkest green wig and dipped his hand into the black goo, preparing to apply both to Ryo.
Ryo's body stiffened. A visceral sense of revulsion surged.
"Enough!!"
He leapt back several meters, face horrified. "You want me to wear that? Forget it!" He pointed at the green wig like it was a cursed object. "And that black stuff? One touch, and I swear I'm taking you down with me!"
Green wig. Black ointment. That combo? He'd rather die.
Orochimaru paused, confused by the outburst. He sniffed the wig, glanced at the paste, still unsure what the problem was.
"Ryo-kun, your intel is likely already on the desks of the Four Kage. If you don't disguise completely..."
"No way," Ryo cut in. "I'll do it myself. Don't worry. I'll stay in contact."
Orochimaru stared at him for a moment. Seeing the refusal was genuine, he finally gave up.
"In that case..." he said slowly.
What followed was a visual nightmare for Ryo.
Orochimaru calmly put on the dark green wig, its strands fluttering in the wind. Then, without hesitation, he scooped a large portion of the some ointment and applied it to his face, neck, and arms. Rubbing, smearing... transforming.
"Well then... see you in the Cloud Village," Orochimaru said cheerfully. His voice rasped, full of old-age disguise.
Before Ryo could retch again, that horrifying green silhouette vanished into the mountain pass.
"I... damn..." Ryo stood there, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. "Never... ever... not even as a corpse..."
(To be continued.)
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◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.
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