"Boom!"
Duan wasted no time. He unrolled the scroll and released the corpses of four Root operatives.
The boss of the exchange, a man used to grisly sights, froze the moment he recognized the gray armor and animal masks. His eyes widened, his voice trembling:
"Mr. Araki… these… aren't they…"
"That's right." Duan cut him off coldly. "They're Root shinobi from Konoha. Four jōnin — one each from the Yamanaka, Akimichi, Nara, and Hyūga clans."
The declaration was like thunder.
"This…" The boss faltered, visibly uneasy. This black-market hub was within the Land of Fire itself. Accepting corpses from Konoha's secret unit was suicide.
But Duan leaned in and clarified with calm menace:
"Relax. These aren't Hokage's Anbu. They belong to Danzo's Root. No one dares to openly investigate them, and certainly not here. Now—tell me. How much are they worth?"
The words silenced the boss's hesitation. Root operatives had no official bounties, but their corpses had undeniable research value. To the right buyer, they were worth more dead than alive.
"…Since Mr. Araki insists, I'll trust you this once."
The boss composed himself and began his inspection. Years of experience showed in the way he turned over each body, noting the details carefully. At last, he raised a single finger, naming the price.
Ten million ryō.
"That's all?" Duan's frown darkened.
"Please don't be offended." The boss gestured apologetically. "If these were intact, I'd offer thirty million. But look—"
He pried open one corpse's mouth, exposing the charred, ruined tissue beneath the tongue. Black sealing marks ran across like scars.
Danzo's Tongue Root Curse Seal.
On death, the jutsu triggered, destroying the brain tissue and erasing all sensitive knowledge. Every Root corpse here had its brain reduced to mush. Only the flesh below the neck retained some experimental worth.
The worst among them was the Hyūga operative.
This one bore both the Tongue Seal and the Hyūga "Caged Bird" curse mark. His brain was ruined, and even his Byakugan had been obliterated. His end was pitiful — a body stripped of clan secrets.
"This Hyūga corpse is worthless," the boss said cautiously. "If you'd rather not sell it, Mr. Araki, you may reclaim it."
"The Hyūga… truly detestable. No vision beyond their cage." Duan's voice dripped disdain. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed it. "Dispose of it."
The deal was struck. The boss swiftly returned with a heavy chest packed with crisp ryō. Duan accepted it without another word and departed the exchange.
---
At a modest inn nearby, he finally rested. This trip was finished.
In the past, bounty hunting always drained him: choosing a target, hunting them down across nations, eliminating them, then hauling the corpse back. Half a month at the shortest, months at the longest. And often the profit wasn't even enough to cover expenses.
But this time was different. Root had delivered themselves straight into his hands. A clean kill, an easy transaction — and ten million ryō for his pocket. Enough to live comfortably for half a year.
Because training his body was not cheap.
In twenty-four years, he had poured hundreds of millions into his "transformation." His flesh was no longer built of mere muscle, but of wealth itself: every vein of steel, every slab of muscle — all bought at a cost. Each arm alone was worth more than an elite jōnin's life.
"…I wonder just how many more Root are crawling under Danzo's command," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
It dawned on him — this could become a steady source of income. Root shinobi were corpses waiting to be cashed. As long as he kept killing them, his pockets would never be empty.
---
He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. Chakra flowed through his system, guided to his right arm.
The limb began to swell grotesquely, ballooning beyond proportion — until it looked like a giant's arm on a man's body.
The Akimichi Clan's Multiplication Technique.
His Sharingan had pierced its secrets in the battle against Root. Unlike most shinobi, he could not only copy but adapt it.
The world said Sharingan could not replicate kekkei genkai or clan-exclusive secret arts. But that was only half the truth. Techniques tied to bloodline limits — like Byakugan or insect symbiosis — were beyond reach. Yet arts like Akimichi's body-expansion, rooted in Yang Release, were fair game.
Kakashi Hatake had copied thousands of jutsu, including Akimichi techniques, but lacked the monstrous physique to wield them. Duan, however, was different. His body was his weapon — and Yang Release was his natural element.
Where others were dwarfed, he was already a giant. The Akimichi were two meters tall; Duan was three. To him, the multiplication was not a burden but a multiplier.
The Nara's shadow arts and Yamanaka's mind techniques, though clever, belonged to Yin Release, closer to Uchiha illusion craft. Complex, subtle, and unfitting for his style. Hyūga soft fist and Aburame insects required inherited organs and bonds.
But strength? Strength was universal.
He tested the new technique, sliding his swollen hand under the inn bed. With a single effortless lift, the entire frame floated above him.
The Akimichi could magnify their strength several times over, sometimes tenfold. For Duan, whose body was already brushing the ceiling of human capability, the multiplication only boosted him thirty to fifty percent.
But that was enough.
Thirty percent of his strength was more than most shinobi could endure from a single strike.
---
He flexed his arm, let the power ebb, and smirked.
This trip had earned him ten million ryō and a new weapon for his arsenal. A worthy outing.
Time to return to Konoha.
After all, he had promised his sister and brother-in-law to attend the upcoming Uchiha clan assembly. He cared little for politics, but…
"…might as well watch the fire spread."