The most profitable, most outrageous, lowest–technical-barrier industries—those that could be monetized the fastest—had always been closely tied to the four essentials of daily life:
food, clothing, shelter, and transportation.
To that end, Makoto Uchiha even dispatched shinobi to conduct on-site investigations.
After some thought, he finally spoke.
"Kazuma—let's deal in salt."
"…Huh?"
Kazuma froze.
"Salt isn't expensive, is it?" he said hesitantly.
"Even families so poor they're barely scraping by can still afford salt these days."
He genuinely didn't understand why Makoto suddenly wanted to enter the salt business.
From his own experience, the price of salt in the ninja world had been cheap for the past year or two.
Even if Akatsuki Village entered the market, the profit margins shouldn't be very impressive.
Makoto snorted.
"Nonsense. When smugglers are everywhere, how could salt not be cheap?"
Salt was a daily necessity.
Historically, it had always been officially monopolized, and precisely because of that, salt smuggling had been one of the most brutally profitable businesses in any era.
It was also one of the most important sources of state revenue.
But—
This was the ninja world.
And the ninja world had its own… special conditions.
Makoto had already figured out the state of the salt market.
Because this absurdly rigid, class-frozen world—where aristocratic titles were inherited for generations, even dozens of generations—had produced nobles who were, in every sense of the word, celestial dragons.
Years of nonstop warfare during the Warring Clans Era had completely rotted the daimyōs' control over local regions.
The daimyō and the nobility no longer ruled for governance—they simply banded together to sit atop the entire ninja world, siphoning blood for their own benefit.
Under normal historical logic, such a rotten system should have collapsed long ago.
But this world had shinobi.
Any uprising of ordinary civilians would be cut down like wheat by ninja forces.
And ninja, in turn, had long served as the protective umbrella of the aristocracy.
As a result, for nearly a thousand years, the world's fundamental order had never changed.
Because of this, local nobles entrenched themselves everywhere, steadily eroding what little authority the central government still possessed.
Over time, the official salt monopoly became a hollow shell.
Nobles openly trafficked private salt, often using criminal organizations as white gloves. Fire Country's salt smuggling problem became severe.
Then came the massive inter-clan wars.
National order deteriorated even further, and the salt market descended into complete chaos—fake accounting, black hands behind the scenes, corruption at every level.
Every parasite was scrambling to squeeze out as much profit as possible.
As warfare intensified and governance collapsed entirely, salt control broke down completely.
Smugglers multiplied like weeds.
At one point, they were everywhere.
Competition became so fierce that the salt market did something utterly insane:
Prices started undercutting each other.
Thin margins, high volume.
Everyone needed salt. It would always sell.
When Makoto read the investigation report, he honestly questioned his own eyes.
This was beyond absurd.
It violated every known economic principle.
The level of nonsense was comparable to the "crude oil futures disaster" in another world.
The only explanation was simple:
The ninja world has its own national conditions.
Makoto believed this situation was temporary.
The chaos had been caused by total collapse during the Warring States era—so extreme that even the Senju and Uchiha, mortal enemies for a thousand years, had been forced to stop fighting.
That alone spoke volumes about how utterly out of control the world had been.
Naturally, during that period, the real power-holders—the parasites—had all curled up and hidden.
They were terrified that rampaging shinobi might start killing indiscriminately.
That fear gave countless opportunists a chance to fish in troubled waters.
To make money before the big players recovered, they were even willing to slash salt prices to compete.
But now—
The era of ninja villages had arrived.
Order was gradually returning.
And once things stabilized, salt prices would inevitably rise again.
Yet even at today's rock-bottom prices, smugglers were still extracting profit.
That meant one thing:
If Akatsuki Village reestablished a monopoly—even while maintaining thin margins—it would still make a fortune.
At its core, this was nothing more than a redistribution of wealth.
Money earned by parasites would simply flow into Makoto's pocket instead.
So long as salt distribution could be monopolized again, profits were guaranteed.
As for how much profit?
That depended entirely on how ruthless one was willing to be.
Just thinking about it made Makoto's blood boil with excitement.
The technical requirements were minimal.
The only real cost was making enemies.
But right now, this was the fastest, simplest, most reliable way Makoto could think of to earn massive amounts of money.
People die for wealth. Birds die for food.
"We'll join forces with the daimyō—and a few major Fire Country nobles—to reestablish a monopoly," Makoto said calmly.
"Profit shares can be negotiated afterward."
Kazuma hesitated.
"And what about the other salt merchants… and the smugglers?"
Makoto didn't even blink.
"Then they disappear."
He spoke without the slightest trace of mercy.
Akatsuki Village now had money.
It had manpower.
It was a young but powerful military conglomerate.
Against nobles who held no personal combat power and refused cooperation, Makoto had no reason to play nice.
He would not follow the old shinobi mindset.
Traditional shinobi almost never involved themselves in production or commerce. They confined themselves strictly to military matters, never touching politics or economics.
The daimyō paid money, issued missions.
Shinobi risked their lives to complete them.
Payment was adjusted by mission rank.
That was it.
But Akatsuki Village had to evolve, and quickly.
The first thing that had to change was how people thought.
The clans might not understand.
That didn't matter.
They only needed to obey orders.
"So what if we break tradition?"
"The ninja world has always preached obedience—but shinobi are still people."
"I can follow orders, sure—but you'd better let me live a good life while I do it."
As long as Makoto paid enough, the clans would do anything.
Kazuma nodded slowly.
"Shouldn't we inform the daimyō first? This is… a big move."
"No," Makoto said flatly.
"We'll strike first under the daimyō's banner and eliminate some competitors."
"People may die. I'm worried the daimyō's a coward—he might hesitate if we ask first."
"So we'll tie him to the carriage after it's already moving."
Makoto slammed the table, decision made.
Once you have money, the first thing you do is forget your roots.
He was a Kage now.
Akatsuki Village was no longer an empty shell.
At this point, Makoto had the strength to openly fall out with the daimyō if necessary.
During the tulip scheme, they split profits fifty–fifty.
Frankly speaking, the daimyō should be thanking Hashirama Senju.
Now Akatsuki Village would commit dirty work under the daimyō's name.
He would have to carry the blame.
But whether he liked it or not, that pot was his to wear.
Want to make money without dirty hands?
Impossible.
Konoha could shoulder the blame for the tulip scandal—
so why should the daimyō be an exception?
Besides, after decades of war, Fire Country's economy was in terrible shape.
As long as the revenue was massive, the daimyō would grumble at most.
He might even secretly welcome it.
In truth, he had probably wanted to reestablish the salt monopoly for a long time—
He just lacked the courage and the strength.
In that sense, Makoto was doing him a favor.
Akatsuki Village had always been happy to take initiative in sharing the daimyō's burdens.
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