Chapter 31: The Camp Merchants
Water Bat No. 7 was a general-purpose biological protease toxin he had developed—mainly for trading with camp merchants in exchange for scarce weapon supplies.
Or even jutsu.
The poison produced by the three water bats in the cage, however, was a proprietary formula—reserved for his own use. Without the corresponding antivenom, it was virtually incurable.
Though both were biological protease toxins, the ones meant for trade carried the risk of being reverse-engineered and countered. Naturally, he had to keep them separate—basic risk management.
He didn't want to end up in a situation on the battlefield where his own poison turned out to be useless.
After extracting the toxin, Umino Yoru diluted the 500mL of venom with water to increase the volume before bottling it.
Once he finished preparing the trade goods, he took the sealed scroll of spoils and left the lab, heading straight for the merchant camp.
The so-called merchant camp was essentially a black-market-style trading post set up by warzone merchants behind the front lines.
The only reason it wasn't an actual black market was that this operation had deep official backing—supported by multiple factions.
At the very least, the nobility of the Land of Fire and Konoha's clans were heavily involved.
On the surface, these merchants supplied frontline shinobi with weapons and gear. But their real business was fencing battlefield loot—and even deeper, darker dealings. Their services were far more comprehensive than Konoha's logistics division—and far more professional.
They dealt in everything. Explosive tags, kunai, shuriken, and soldier pills were small-time. Secret medicines, low-level jutsu, summoning contracts—if you had the money, they could get it for you.
They even offered courier services. If you needed to send something home but didn't trust Konoha's logistics, these merchants could handle it. Their reputation was far better than the village's own supply corps.
If a shinobi died in battle, the logistics division might pocket their belongings. But once these merchants took payment, they always delivered. Business ran on trust—unlike shinobi, who thrived on deception.
A while back, Yoru had sent his younger brother—still in the academy—a Sunagakure-issued kunai and three Nara secret pills as a birthday gift through this very channel.
Even low-ranking shinobi, afraid their spoils and pay would be embezzled if they died, stored their valuables in the merchants' camp banks. That alone spoke volumes about their credibility.
At the very least, they were far more reliable than Konoha's logistics.
The nearest merchant camp wasn't too far—but not exactly close either.
After traveling less than 30 kilometers, he reached a valley filled with crude shacks and wooden huts.
Clearly, this was a low-tier outpost—only handling basic transactions. For premium services like couriers or banking, you'd have to go to a higher-level camp further behind the lines.
Before entering the valley, Yoru donned a fish-faced mask and used a Transformation Jutsu to take on the appearance of a Sarutobi elite—yet with deliberate inconsistencies, as if trying (and failing) to hide his identity.
The thick, curly sideburns were a particularly obvious tell.
The moment he stepped into the valley, the air was thick with moans and gasps—along with a pungent, unpleasant stench.
Obviously, aside from fencing loot and selling weapons, these merchants also dealt in flesh.
Shinobi with connections could take leave or return to the village between missions. But those without had to stay on the front lines for months—even years—under constant threat of death.
Under that kind of pressure, anyone's sanity would fray. With pockets full of mission pay and no outlet for stress, many chose to "relax" at these camps.
Shinobi were still human, after all. The higher-ups knew—but what could they do? Open a brothel battalion?
So they turned a blind eye—as long as it didn't interfere with missions or become too blatant.
Better this than having frontline shinobi snap and start pillaging villages or assaulting civilians.
Konoha had few such incidents, but they did happen—especially in foreign territories like the Land of Rain. Several squads had already been court-martialed and jailed.
Their cases were now used as cautionary tales, circulated along the Land of Rivers' frontlines as a warning.
Thus, the merchants' "services" became an unspoken rule of the shinobi world.
Yoru wasn't here for pleasure. He briskly navigated the shantytown and headed straight for the three-story building at the valley's center.
Masked shinobi along the way took one look at his disguise—none seeing through his Transformation—and scattered like mice, some even hastily redoing their belts and abandoning hours-long waits.
Obviously, while the camp's activities were tolerated, getting caught by a superior was still punishable.
The discipline was minor—but if word got back home, the real trouble would come from wives.
Most kunoichi turned a blind eye—shinobi earned well, after all. But if things became public, domestic peace would shatter.
"Fish. You're finally here."
A balding, greasy merchant—plump and powdered—greeted him with exaggerated warmth.
Clearly, Yoru was a repeat customer—and a high-value one.
The merchant ushered him upstairs and immediately asked, "Fish—how much Dichlorvos No. 7 did you bring this time?"
Yoru didn't immediately produce Water Bat No. 7—or Dichlorvos No. 7, as the merchant called it.
The latter name had far more marketing punch—adding significant value.
"No rush. Let's appraise the other items first."
The toxin was his bargaining chip. Until the rest of his loot was evaluated, he wouldn't bring it out.
Though not an ultra-lethal poison, Water Bat No. 7 was a chakra-disrupting toxin—one that standard antidotes couldn't neutralize.
Until an antivenom was developed, it remained highly marketable.
read more inpatreon
belamy20