"'Intelligent Hard Work'?" Ruri murmured to himself, focusing his mind. "Kakuzu uses that technique often, but its power pales in comparison to his."
He contemplated the deeper divide. "Shinobi and samurai... there's no inherent superiority between them. If shinobi can master the blade, why can't samurai harness chakra? The paths don't conflict; they're merely different expressions of conviction."
Ruri's own perspective on samurai had evolved. Initially dismissive, the System had revealed a profound truth: the slash he used to halt the waterfall, while channeling vast chakra and natural energy, could theoretically be replicated by a pure samurai. Such a feat would require no chakra, only an unshakeable belief in the Way of the Sword. This revelation had not only reshaped his view but also planted the seed of an idea—perhaps kenjutsu had a place in Takigakure's future.
The samurai's decline wasn't due to obsolescence, he reasoned. The era's true master of Bushido simply hadn't yet arisen. Their golden age might yet return.
"Iaido Slash!"
In a blur of motion,Ruri drew his blade with his left hand. This strike prioritized speed above all else, so swift that to any observer, his sword seemed never to have left its scabbard.
"So fast!" Mitsunosuke, possessing a samurai's trained eye, barely tracked the movement, his mind processing it a critical moment later. The others saw nothing at all. Fujiwara Masayoshi remained smugly convinced Ruri was paralyzed with fear.
"Ha! What good is an 'upper-tier' title? He's frozen solid before real ninjutsu!" Fujiwara Masanori's brief flicker of respect evaporated. He now felt confident that his Elite Chūnin skills and powerful jutsu could overcome even a master swordsman.
"Something's wrong..." Fujiwara Masayoshi, the jutsu's user, felt the discrepancy first. His flames of 'Intelligent Hard Work' should have consumed the man's cloak, revealing his features. Instead, they hung suspended in the air before him, utterly still.
As if answering his unspoken doubt, the several-meter-wide inferno simply winked out of existence. In its place, a palpable wave of razor-sharp sword intent washed over the clearing.
"Well, Lord Masayoshi? Has this sample of an upper-tier samurai's skill met your expectations?" Ruri's voice was calm, almost bored. The slash had cost him barely a tenth of his chakra. He suspected even the so-called 'Great Generals' of the Land of Iron could manage as much.
"This... May I ask your name, sir?" The ability to negate a Fire Release technique with a mere sword stroke demanded respect, forcing Masayoshi to set aside his ingrained prejudice.
"Huh?" Ruri was momentarily caught off guard, realizing he'd neglected the basic courtesy of an introduction. He quickly invented an alias: "Miyamoto Musashi."
"Senior Musashi, we should depart. Would you require a carriage for the journey?" Masayoshi asked, his tone now deferential. He paid the name no mind, assuming the subterfuge was due to the mission's illicit nature. As one who had forsaken Bushido himself, he understood the need for discretion.
"He—" Shizuka began, but Mitsunosuke swiftly moved to intercept her, a silent warning in his eyes.
As an upper-tier samurai himself, Mitsunosuke understood the terrifying implication of that single, perfect slash. It spoke of a mastery of sword intent far beyond raw power. Antagonizing such a man, even if he complicated their plans, was a risk they could not afford.
"What is it, little brother?" Ruri turned his masked head towards Shizuka, his voice a low rumble. He deliberately emphasized the words "little brother." "Curious about the Niten Ichi-ryū style? Want to know more?"
"I... I do..." Shizuka heard herself reply, almost against her will. In her heart, she felt a desperate pull. Perhaps such supreme swordsmanship was the only key to her vengeance.
"Be careful what you wish for. To walk that path demands a lifetime's devotion." Leaving the words hanging in the air, Ruri followed Masayoshi into the forest. He didn't know their specific plan, but he was certain of one thing: Seimei was far beyond the ability of these two to defeat.
"An upper-tier samurai? My apologies, Musashi-dono. Masayoshi has always been... impulsive in testing new allies." An elderly man with white hair, leaning heavily on a cane, spoke to Ruri among the trees. This was the group's true leader, Fujiwara Shizume, patriarch of the Fujiwara clan.
"Then we place our trust in you, Musashi-dono, and in you, Mitsunosuke-dono and Shizuka-dono," Shizume continued, a thin smile stretching his wrinkled features. "In addition to the agreed reward from the exchange, I offer a personal bonus of three hundred thousand ryo." He produced a heavy cloth pouch. "A token of sincerity, to ensure your utmost efforts in the trials to come."
Ruri accepted the pouch, his mind working behind the mask. Three hundred thousand was a significant sum. The total mission payout was three million, meaning a million each if split three ways. This unsanctioned side-payment screamed that this was no ordinary merchant escort.
He should know. He had founded the underground exchange. Even with his control now indirect, its most sacred rule remained: no private dealings between client and contractor outside the official reward. Violators earned the permanent and lethal enmity of the network.
The Fujiwara either planned to silence them all afterward—a plan complicated by Ruri's displayed prowess—or, more likely, they believed this mission was a suicide run. The extra money was a final incentive, a bribe to ensure their hired blades fought hard before their inevitable deaths.
After the brief formalities, the caravan moved out. Their story was that they carried priceless goods, their route compromised, making them targets for powerful shinobi bandits.
Ruri found the tale flimsy. No legitimate merchant would ever hire protection from the underground exchange. Its roster was comprised of the very scum—missing-nin, outlaws, cutthroats—who would happily turn on their employers for a slightly better prize. Reputation meant nothing to such men, and the exchange's enforcement capabilities were limited.
"Yet they are transporting something," Ruri mused, his eyes scanning the procession. "What cargo demands such secrecy?" The Fujiwara seemed to be a minor, reclusive clan, offering no obvious answers.
"That's it!" The hushed, urgent whisper carried to his enhanced hearing. It was Shizuka and Mitsunosuke.
"Are you certain, Young Mistress?" Mitsunosuke followed Shizuka's intense gaze to a simple wooden box, placed with apparent carelessness on one of the wagons. If it truly contained what she thought, why display it so openly?
"Without a doubt! The Fujiwara are being clever. They expect thieves, so they hide their treasure in plain sight, hoping it will be overlooked. But I am not fooled. Our clan's secret archives contained illustrations of that very casket. I recognize it!"
Shizuka's voice was tight with conviction, her eyes locked on the box.
"A word of advice," Ruri's voice, low and sudden, came from directly beside Shizuka, making her jump. "If you keep staring with such naked hunger, you'll alert the entire camp. So, what is it that has you so captivated?"
"Ah! You—!" Shizuka recoiled in shock. Mitsunosuke's hand flew to his sword hilt, his body tensing. If this 'Musashi' showed any sign of betraying their secret, he was prepared to fight to the death, right here and now.