The victory at the Serpent's Run was a thunderclap that echoed across the continents, but within the quiet of the Uzushio dojo, Uzumaki Putin heard a different, more subtle sound: the straining of his own limits. The Tidal Warhead was a magnificent weapon, a testament to fuinjutsu and industrial synthesis. But as he stood observing the First Cohort practice their Shōken, he saw a plateau. Their power was immense, their discipline absolute, but it was… external. It was a force they *applied*, not a power they *were*.
The thought was a nagging splinter in his mind. His past-life memories offered glimpses of stories where martial artists cultivated not just their bodies, but something *within*. Internal energy. Qi. Chakra, in this world, was the obvious parallel, but the shinobi world used it as a fuel for techniques, a battery to be expended. The concept of refining it, densifying it, making it a part of the very fabric of one's being was… underdeveloped.
This was the imbalance the user had perceived. Technology and fuinjutsu had surged ahead, a tidal wave of progress. The body, the vessel, had to catch up. His martial art needed its next great leap, not in technique, but in philosophy. It was time to forge the internal crucible.
He spent his next full State session, now a formidable two hours, not on seals or schematics, but on introspection. He turned his Heaven-Defying Comprehension inward, analyzing the flow of his own chakra with a microscopic lens. He observed its generation in the cells, its circulation through the pathways, its coalescence in the core. The shinobi world called this the Chakra Coil System and left it at that. But Putin saw more. He saw inefficiency. He saw waste. He saw vast, untapped potential.
The foundational exercises of Uzushio Ryu—the Earth-Stance, the Tidal Breath, the Coiled Fist—were about control and output. They were the grammar of his martial language. Now, he needed the vocabulary for the poetry of internal power.
He emerged from the State with a headache that felt like a hot nail driven between his eyes, but with the first seeds of a new system.
He called it the **Internal Forging Method**.
He gathered the First Cohort, his most trusted disciples, in the dojo's innermost chamber. They stood at attention, their grey uniforms crisp, their eyes burning with loyalty and curiosity.
"You have mastered the external forms," Putin began, his voice echoing in the silent hall. "You can root yourselves to the earth, strike with the force of a tidal wave, and harden your skin to iron. But this power has a ceiling, because you are still using chakra as a tool. From today, you will learn to stop using chakra. You will learn to *become* it."
He saw the confusion on their faces. Daiki's brow was furrowed. Akane looked intrigued. Ren was already tilting his head, analyzing the statement.
"The first stage of the Internal Forging Method is **Chakra Densification**," Putin announced. "We will not increase the volume of your chakra reserves. We will increase their quality."
He taught them the first exercise: the **Spiral Compression Breath**. It was a radical deviation from the expansive, rhythmic Tidal Breath. This was implosive. On the inhale, they were to draw chakra not just into their core, but to spin it, to compress it upon itself, creating a vortex of energy in their lower abdomen—a concept he termed the **Dantian**, borrowing the term from his fragmented memories. On the exhale, they were not to release it, but to hold the compression, to let the densely packed chakra radiate a refining heat throughout their bodies.
The first attempts were disastrous. Daiki, trying to force the compression with his usual brute force, gave himself a nosebleed and nearly passed out. Others simply couldn't grasp the concept, their chakra refusing to be tamed in such a way.
"It is not about force," Putin instructed, moving among them. "It is about intent. It is about visualization. You are not a container being filled. You are a star being born, collapsing in on itself to shine brighter. Feel the pressure. Welcome the heat. This is the forge."
He worked with them individually, his own refined chakra control allowing him to guide theirs. For Akane, who had an innate sensitivity, he described it as "weaving light into a denser thread." For Ren, he framed it as "solving an equation where the variables are your own energy pathways."
Progress was agonizingly slow. This was not like learning a new punch; it was a fundamental rewiring of their relationship with their own life force. But Putin was patient. This was a long-term investment. A shinobi with densified chakra would not just have more powerful techniques; their every movement would be faster, their reflexes sharper, their endurance monumental. A single punch, infused with densified chakra, could potentially rival a low-level jutsu without any hand signs.
While his disciples struggled with internal cultivation, Putin turned his political mind to the problem of scale. The First Cohort was an elite. The Second Cohort was promising. But to truly make Uzushio Ryu the backbone of the clan's power, it needed to be institutionalized at every level.
He drafted the **Comprehensive Martial Progression Framework**. It was a detailed, merit-based system that defined clear stages of advancement, each with standardized tests and rewards.
* **Stage 1: Initiate (Academy Students)** - Mastery of Earth-Stance and Tidal Breath.
* **Stage 2: Disciple (Genin)** - Proficiency in Shōken, Kensō, and Gale-Step. Introduction to Spiral Compression Breath.
* **Stage 3: Adept (Chunin)** - Mastery of Tide-Palm Strikes and basic Internal Forging. Ability to maintain Chakra Densification for one minute in combat.
* **Stage 4: Master (Jōnin)** - Full integration of Internal Forging into all techniques. Development of a personal kata or application.
* **Stage 5: Grandmaster (Council/Elder Level)** - Pioneering new developments within Uzushio Ryu. The level Putin himself was approaching.
Each stage came with tangible benefits: increased rations, access to better housing, priority for their children's education, and, most importantly, social prestige. The framework created a clear path for advancement, channeling the ambition of the youth directly into the strengthening of the state. It was a perfect synthesis of Soviet-style meritocracy and the hierarchical structure of a Murim sect.
The implementation was not without friction. The old guard, those who had grown powerful through traditional fuinjutsu or political connections, saw their influence waning. A young adept who could shatter a boulder with his fist was now more respected than an elder who could spend a week drawing a complex but impractical seal.
Elder Hashima became the focal point of this resentment. He watched from the sidelines as the dojo's influence expanded, as the term "Master" began to carry more weight than "Elder." His fuinjutsu purists were being sidelined, their art increasingly treated as a supplemental engineering discipline rather than the soul of the clan.
He confronted Putin in the Council chamber after the Framework was formally ratified. "You are creating a military caste!" Hashima accused, his voice trembling with rage. "You elevate these brawlers, these… these *fists*… above the artists who have safeguarded our clan for generations! You are tearing the social fabric of the Uzumaki apart!"
Putin regarded him with icy calm. "The social fabric was a patchwork of nostalgia and inefficiency, Elder. I am weaving a new one, of steel and silk. The artist who can reinforce a steel beam with a seal is valued. The artist who draws beautiful but useless patterns is not. This is not a caste system. It is a meritocracy. In the new Uzushio, value is determined by contribution, not by birthright or antiquated skills."
"And what is my contribution to be in this new order?" Hashima spat. "To oversee the quality of seals used to build more of your brutish ships?"
"Your contribution is your choice," Putin said, his voice dropping, becoming dangerous. "You can lead your followers into the new era, applying your profound knowledge to the challenges of the present. Or you can remain a monument to the past, and be left behind. But know this: any active effort to sabotage this Framework, to undermine the training, to withhold resources… will be treated not as dissent, but as treason. And we remember the price of treason."
The threat hung in the air, cold and sharp as a drawn blade. Hashima paled, the memory of his cousin's very public execution flashing in his eyes. He saw no bluff in the Shura's gaze, only a statement of fact. He turned and left the chamber, a broken old man, his resistance crushed not by force, but by the inexorable tide of progress.
The path was clear. The Internal Forging Method would create a core of unimaginably powerful warriors. The Comprehensive Framework would ensure that power was systematized and scaled across the entire clan. The martial heart of Uzushio was being forged in the fires of discipline and internal refinement.
Weeks turned into a month. Then, a breakthrough. Akane, during a sparring session with Daiki, was being overpowered by his raw strength. Driven into a corner, she stopped trying to match his force. She closed her eyes for a split second, and Putin, watching from the sidelines, felt it—a sudden, intense compression of chakra within her. When Daiki's powerful Shōken came at her, she didn't block it with Kensō. She simply met it with her own palm, a basic Tide-Palm defense.
The impact was not a loud crack, but a deep, resonant *thump*, like a great drum being struck. Daiki was thrown backward, his fist numb and aching, his own chakra recoiling as if he had struck a mountain. Akane stood, her palm slightly red, but otherwise unharmed. She had successfully, instinctively, utilized densified chakra not in an attack, but in a perfect, immovable defense.
She opened her eyes, staring at her hand in wonder. "I… I didn't stop it," she whispered. "I… absorbed it. I was the wall."
A slow smile spread across Putin's face. The first spark of the Internal Forging had ignited. The balance was being restored. The fortress now had a heart that beat with the rhythm of a refining crucible, and with every beat, it grew stronger, denser, and more formidable. The world feared their technology, but soon, they would have to fear the men and women who wielded it.