[POV: Dojimaru Seimei]
"Seimei-sama, do you know that man?"
Imaki's question pulled me back to reality. My eyes were still fixed on the sky, where the dragon had risen amidst smoke, carrying both death and terror. For a moment, I thought it was my end. I believed I was ready to accept it. But now I realize… I still have much to live for.
"No…" I whispered, almost to myself.
A thunderous sound tore through the air like an explosion, echoing across the village streets. The threat was not over yet.
"What are you waiting for?!" I barked at the few guards still standing, men and women exhausted but not broken. "Search for survivors! Get the wounded out while the warehouse still holds! Move!"
We didn't know who that stranger was, the one fighting the shinobi of the Sand, but our lives were already owed to him.
[POV: Raiden]
After sealing both Oni Puppets inside my inner world, only two shinobi remained. Neither offered a true challenge. Neither even gave me the chance to test anything new.
The first—tall, thin, with a ninja mask hiding the lower half of his face and a turban wrapped around his head—lunged at me with a short sword. I shifted his wrist, turned the blade against him, and that was enough. He died by his own weapon.
'A fine addition to my collection.' I thought humorous.
The last one was even more disappointing. He used [Earth Style: Hidden Mole Jutsu] to burrow beneath the ground. The technique itself was decent. The disappointment came from his surrender. The moment I dragged him out of the earth, he threw himself down in dogeza, begging for his life.
"So… your name is Mole. Like the animal."
"Y-Yes, Master Raiden!"
Mole was barely one meter sixty. Grayish skin, oversized black eyes wide with terror, bald and pathetic. And yet, sincere. My Ryugan pierced through clones, disguises, illusions. This wasn't a trick—just pure fear of death.
"Well, it's not for me to decide."
A sharp blow knocked him out. His fate would belong to the villagers. To me, he was nothing more than a test cut short. A failure.
Still, a faint smile touched my lips as a window appeared before me:
Name: Raiden
Bloodline: Dragon Emperor of Nature
Power Level: Tier 9-B
Essences:
Essence of Personal Objects [Processing: 12%]
Essence of the Cultivator [Processing: 9%]
Essence of the Shinobi [Digested: 100%]
'Raiden…' The name carried no deep meaning, no heroic ambition. Just something that sounded right in the moment—and after all, I always liked the characters that bore it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The Essence of the Shinobi was now fully mine—instinct, technique, awareness. Knowledge that once felt like scattered fragments now flowed naturally. Like the jutsu Mole had used, which I recognized immediately.
"Let's hand this one over quickly," I muttered, dragging him unconscious by the neck. "Mole… what a dumb name."
My decisions were already forming. I had helped this small village not out of altruism, but because my strength gave me the freedom to choose whether to help or not. And now, I saw a greater possibility: turning this village into my domain. Not through bloodshed or threats, but through the will of its people. After all, if Orochimaru could build the Village of Sound while hunted… why couldn't I build something greater, under the image of a hero?
The reasoning was simple: I still needed to forge a path of cultivation in this world. A path that would unfold naturally within me, but one that could only benefit from resources to amplify its effects—alchemy, artifacts, treasures.
Yet my inner world had no herbs to grow, and I still needed to test whether time could be manipulated within it. That left me with one option: to hunt for resources here in the material plane. But such tasks required effort and time—time I would need for my own cultivation. The solution was clear: gather people to handle these matters. Perhaps even disciples.
Two paths lay before me. Create a group, as the Akatsuki once did, bringing together like-minded individuals. But that would take years—Yahiko himself had suffered greatly while building the original Akatsuki, only to meet a tragic end. The other path was to join an existing faction and rise within it. But that would cost me my freedom. And to submit while holding the potential I carried? A bitter joke.
No—the best option stood right before me.
[POV: Third Person – Takumi Village]
No survivors. Only bodies.
The weary guards of Takumi lined the corpses along the streets, covering them with cloaks, with sheets, with anything that might preserve a final shred of dignity. The smell of smoke and iron clung to the air. Cries of grief echoed between the alleys. Women, children, and elders—the ones who had hidden—now emerged only to face despair.
Dojimaru Seimei watched in silence. Inside him, a single thought loomed dark: What if things had been different? What if that man had not appeared?
"Yo."
A voice snapped him from his thoughts. Something heavy dropped before him: an unconscious shinobi.
"This one surrendered. I thought it best to hand him over to you. After all, you were the victims."
Raiden landed casually, his tone neutral. Seimei recognized him instantly, and without hesitation, bowed deeply.
"Thank you, great benefactor. Please, allow me the honor of knowing your name—and of repaying your deeds."
Raiden's face remained stoic, but inside, he felt satisfaction at the sincerity. He searched his memory—fillers, movies, anything that might tie this man to the anime he once knew—but nothing surfaced. In the end, he had never cared enough for all of Naruto's side stories.
"There's no need for such formality. The name's Raiden. And you?"
He extended his hand.
"Dojimaru… Dojimaru Seimei."
The man smiled as he answered.
Their hands met. Two thoughts arose: one of gratitude, the other of conspiracy.