A new future!
Sure enough, next to the urn marked with the scratched Konoha forehead protector—the one that represented Rogue Kiyohara—a ripple spread, and a second urn appeared.
This new urn had a dark metallic sheen, and on the lid was an emblem of a sharp katana.
"A katana?"
Kiyohara couldn't help thinking of a certain sword-obsessed hero.
He shook his head and tapped the urn with his mind.
"You there?" he asked tentatively.
Even though it was another version of himself, different worlds, experiences, and timelines could easily produce very different personalities.
"It seems… I'm dead, then."
A new phantom emerged from the urn.
This spirit looked to be in his early twenties, posture straight as a pine.
His face resembled Kiyohara's by seven or eight parts, but the lines were sharper, his brow carrying a hardened determination that looked like nothing could shake him.
"You must be the past me," the new Kiyohara said, quickly grasping the situation—that the Willbook had sent him to another "him."
"Yeah, I'm your past self. You practice swordsmanship?" Kiyohara asked, curious.
In the shinobi world, "sword" and "blade" weren't really differentiated. It could be called kenjutsu or battojutsu depending on who was talking.
"You could put it that way," the Swordsman Kiyohara nodded.
"As a civilian with naturally low chakra, I apprenticed under Maruboshi Kosuke-sensei and learned Leaf-Style: Willow…"
His voice had a clear, ringing quality—metal striking stone—very different from Rogue Kiyohara's weary tone.
"Later, I died at the hands of a Mist shinobi named Ao. His Byakugan perfectly read my muscle movements. He was… troublesome to face."
"I see…"
Kiyohara listened quietly.
He quickly realized that this future version's chakra reserves were about the same as his had been before using any enhancers.
So this Kiyohara had gone another way—pouring everything into swordsmanship, using every scrap of chakra as efficiently as possible.
Many sword arts still consumed chakra, but they relied more on technique than raw output.
"So, what are your last wishes?" Kiyohara asked.
No bloodline limit this time, which was a bit disappointing.
But inheriting this Swordsman swordsman's skill would still be a huge win.
When ninja ran out of chakra, all they had left were their blades and fists.
And Maruboshi Kosuke might have been a "forever genin" on paper, but he had the power to crush your average jōnin. The title was just something he didn't bother to claim.
If this future self had studied under him, he'd definitely learned a lot of valuable things—exactly what a "have-nothing" Kiyohara needed most.
"I only have two wishes. First, avenge me," the swordsman Kiyohara said.
That bastard dared to kill me?
Ao of the Mist had basically signed his own death warrant.
"Alright, I'll take your revenge," Kiyohara nodded.
At this point, Ao hadn't yet transplanted a Byakugan, nowhere near his later strength.
Killing the one who killed you—nothing more natural.
"And the second?" Kiyohara asked.
"I want you to forge a ninja sword that can conduct chakra and amplify my sword techniques. One big reason I lost was that my blade broke," the swordsman said.
"…"
Kiyohara nodded.
Locked in.
Compared to Rogue Kiyohara's wishes, these were actually easier.
Becoming a chūnin had required surviving Kannabi Bridge—not exactly low-pressure.
These wishes, though, were things he was already working toward.
He'd gotten chakra metal from Kakkō; all he needed now was enough cash and a smith to forge the sword.
The other wish wasn't too bad either. Right now Ao was just a civilian shinobi like him.
In the original, he showed up so much largely because he was the first non-Hyūga to transplant a Byakugan and wielded it fairly well.
Kiyohara felt that, if things went smoothly, he might settle this within a month.
Mist was preparing a push anyway.
The quicker he fulfilled these wishes, the faster he'd be able to fuse more futures.
And that made him even more excited about rolling a future version of himself with a bloodline limit.
First, a small goal: finish it in the next month or two.
If all else failed, he could let swordsman Kiyohara fight in his stead.
In some ways, this version might be even more dangerous than Rogue Kiyohara.
Because he fought with pure technique.
"But, past me… your body is way too weak," the Swordsman Kiyohara said, floating nearby with a faint frown, criticizing outright.
"Think about it: in a drawn-out fight, once your chakra is gone, or you run into an enemy who can disrupt or absorb chakra, the only things you'll have left are a tempered body and killing skills hammered in over years," he said.
Faced with this stern, demanding "future self," Kiyohara could only focus up and answer seriously:
"I understand. So where do we start?"
"The foundation of swordsmanship lies in grip, footwork, and power generation. First, find something that can stand in for a blade—then practice basic swings, cuts, chops, and thrusts," the swordsman said.
Kiyohara scanned the riverbank and quickly spotted a straight, smooth branch that the water had shaped—decent thickness and length.
He picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and prepared to carve it into a practice wooden sword with his kunai—
"Wrong," the swordsman's voice cut in.
His spectral arm lifted, pointing at something half-hidden in the grass.
It wasn't wood.
It was a black-gray stone rod, about a meter and a half long and as thick as two fists—clearly broken off from some larger rock.
Its weight alone meant you'd need both hands just to manage it.
"Use that. Swing it. More power," the swordsman said.
"With that?" Kiyohara stared, thinking he'd misheard.
He pointed at the thing that looked more suited to pounding earth or serving as a mini bridge pillar.
For a moment, an image flashed in his mind—some one-armed swordsman living with a giant eagle, wielding a massive iron sword.
Except he had both arms. And no eagle.
"When you've spent day after day getting used to that stone's weight and awkwardness, and engraved the proper mechanics into your bones, then when you switch to a real blade, it'll feel light as air," swordsman Kiyohara said.
He clearly had more discipline than present-day Kiyohara.
Thinking it over, Kiyohara had to admit it made sense.
Rock Lee trained the same way, after all, just with heavy weights strapped all over his body.
Over the next few days, aside from regular patrols, short-haul supply runs, and spare time working on Gale Palm—
Kiyohara would haul that conspicuous, heavy stone bar out to a flat patch of ground near the outpost and go through what swordsman Kiyohara called "basic sword drills."
"Kiyohara, are you… training some new taijutsu?" Rin asked one day, noticing his big, black, heavy—stone rod—and wondering why he kept swinging it.
"Yeah," Kiyohara nodded.
Every time he raised it, the thick rod's shadow swept across Rin's face like a dark band.
Don't misunderstand—that was just the sunlight behind him.
~~~
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