Five days later, Hane Genma arrived at the outskirts of Kikyo City's sphere of influence. His group chose to temporarily set up camp at a spot with a distant view of the city.
Kikyo City's overall structure matched some of Genma's preconceived notions. The outermost layer was a low city wall, within which lay a somewhat disorganized castle town. At the city's center stood the towering tenshu, the keep where the noble rulers resided.
Built at the foot of a mountain, the city formed a semicircle with its back against the towering peaks. It was a decently planned defensive layout, leveraging the terrain to its advantage.
Genma settled his companions and prepared to enter Kikyo City alone to gather information.
Whether a city was open or guarded, slipping inside posed no challenge for Genma.
After just an hour or two of casual wandering, he picked up from civilian gossip that the city's lord was recruiting shinobi.
Genma let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least the trip wasn't for nothing.
Since the lord had openly advertised the position, Genma decided to submit his "application."
He penned a letter, briefly introducing his group's background while exaggerating their numbers to fifty shinobi. He added a few polite phrases about "answering your esteemed call" and "humbly offering our services," then sealed the letter in an envelope.
Though he'd learned the proper application process, Genma had no intention of following the usual route. How else could he demonstrate his strength?
After nightfall, Genma stealthily infiltrated the tenshu.
This wasn't the era of "one nation, one shinobi village." The daimyo's fortress lacked any protective barriers.
Not that ordinary barriers could stop his Mayfly Technique, but their absence was certainly more convenient. No barriers meant no unexpected complications.
The daimyo's chambers were easy to locate—the highest room in the tenshu.
Genma initially planned to slip the letter directly into the daimyo's room but reconsidered. That would be too rude. It wouldn't showcase his skill—it would feel like a threat.
Instead, he opted for a subtler approach, silently placing the letter in a lavishly decorated room on the floor just below the top.
This room clearly belonged to someone important, and Genma's letter would serve as an intriguing surprise.
At dawn, a young man awoke in the overly ornate room.
With the help of his maids, he groomed his hair, donned a peculiar headpiece, and layered himself in elaborate robes. Slipping his feet into wooden clogs, he finally stirred fully awake.
For this noble, it should have been an ordinary day. But as his gaze casually swept the room, he noticed an envelope glaringly out of place on his desk.
"Who entered my room last night?" he asked, voice tinged with unease.
When something unfamiliar appears in a familiar space, most people grow suspicious. Clearly, this noble had a sharp memory and keen vigilance.
But his maids could only offer denials.
The maids knew their place and the boundaries of propriety. No matter their intelligence, they wouldn't dare overstep.
Suppressing his shock and anger, the young man stepped cautiously toward the desk. He stared at the envelope for a moment before picking it up.
After a brief hesitation, he tore it open and unfolded the letter.
Reading its contents, he understood the situation. It was merely an ordinary matter presented in an extraordinary way. He exhaled in relief.
But relief quickly gave way to fury.
These barbaric shinobi had infiltrated his room without a sound.
He recognized this as a display of power—a self-introduction laced with a subtle threat.
Utterly audacious. Utterly disrespectful.
"Wild monkeys!" he muttered through gritted teeth.
Yet his voice carried a hint of bravado masking fear. The young noble felt insulted, but as his anger cooled, a trace of dread crept in.
Shinobi were a double-edged sword for daimyo. Seemingly under control, but never truly tamed. One misstep, and they could wound both foe and master.
Back at the camp, after delivering his "application," Genma only needed to wait for a response.
He wasn't in a hurry. Given his expertise, his skills, and the unconventional delivery of his letter, he was confident he wouldn't be ignored.
Whether the employer's response was positive or negative, it would come swiftly.
A band of unaffiliated shinobi wandering into a lord's domain was akin to a plague. Their "application" demanded a prompt reaction.
The lord could hire them immediately, politely escort them out, or mercilessly eliminate them.
Most shinobi weren't skilled at building but excelled at destroying.
So Genma waited patiently while dedicating himself to ninjutsu research.
He'd been adapting Water Release techniques to improve Fire Release, making steady progress in his incremental innovations.
In ninjutsu development, Genma knew he couldn't compare to someone like Senju Tobirama, who could whip out forbidden techniques at will. But compared to average shinobi, he was fairly talented.
It helped that most shinobi never received formal education. In his previous life, Genma had higher learning. Though knowledge from another world didn't directly apply, the critical thinking, logic, and creativity honed through education transcended any dimensional barrier.
That said, Genma's sharp mind was limited to smaller-scale research. When it came to advanced chakra theory or the fundamental nature of this world's power, he lagged behind true "natives."
At the moment, Genma seemed almost possessed. He sat atop a collapsed low wall, a scroll covered in cryptic scribbles spread across his lap.
But his focus wasn't on the scroll.
His gaze was intense, almost severe. He raised his left arm to inspect his hand, then glanced at his right, which he'd disguised as injured. Moments later, he pressed his palms together in front of him, as if forming a seal.
He appeared to be mimicking the Anything Goes Technique.
His concentration was so fierce, it seemed he might unleash True Several Thousand Hands or at least a Hundredfold Kannon any second.
But nothing happened.
Genma released his hands, shaking his arms with a frustrated expression.
No progress.
As the saying goes, sincerity yields results. By bypassing intermediaries and delivering his application directly, Genma received a prompt response from Kikyo City, just as he'd predicted.
He'd included the camp's location in the letter. That afternoon, a group from the city arrived.
The entourage was small. Two guides led the way, followed by two stout porters carrying a sedan chair barely larger than a picnic basket. Five or six attendants trailed behind.
A figure cloaked entirely in a black hooded robe walked beside the sedan.
The sedan, though tiny, was exquisitely crafted. Its lacquered surfaces gleamed, adorned with intricate gold-threaded patterns of birds and flowers on a refined black base. Anyone who saw it would call it "high-class."
But to Genma, it looked suspiciously like a coffin.
The group halted at the camp's entrance. One attendant stepped forward, positioned himself beside the sedan, and announced in a loud voice:
"The Lord of Kikyo City, Kawahama Kokushu, nephew of Date Toyosaka Daimyo, Date Kamaya Kokuseishi, has arrived. We request the shinobi to receive us."
To Genma, the Kikyo City delegation seemed underwhelming—a handful of small fry. But he knew this was already a high-level reception. His gaze flicked to the black-robed figure. His instincts told him this person was exceptionally strong.
All the talk of "kokushu" and "kokuseishi" was just pomp. Kikyo City's daimyo controlled only the city and its immediate surroundings—equivalent to a county magistrate at best.
Still, Genma understood the gist. The daimyo was Date Toyosaka, and the man in the sedan was his nephew, Date Kamaya.
This man seemed like someone with authority. As planned, Genma signaled Fuma Goro to step forward.
Genma had decided earlier that for external dealings, they wouldn't use the "Ashes" organization's name but instead the Fuma Clan's.
Compared to the obscure Ashes, the Fuma Clan had some renown in the shinobi world.
It was, in a way, like borrowing a shell to go public.
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