Chapter 67 — The Cursed Book
The welcome feast and victory banquet for the "war heroes" stretched late into the night.
Ninja generally held their liquor well, but after the strain of war, tonight was about unwinding. No one was so tactless as to use chakra to burn the alcohol out of their system.
Even Sarutobi Hiruzen drank until his cheeks flushed crimson, slurring his words in ways wholly unbecoming of a Hokage. His wife, Sarutobi Biwako, twisted his soft flesh in irritation. Soft flesh at the banquet, hard flesh waiting at home—Ren chuckled at the thought as he pushed open his own door.
"Man… what kind of perfume did Lady Tsunade spray in here? Still smells like her."
He staggered inside, a little drunk, clutching his pillow and twisting against it.
A second later, he exhaled, burned the alcohol out with chakra, patted his cheeks awake, and sat upright on his bed.
On the nightstand lay three battered sealing scrolls and the ominous Cursed Book—a gift from his mysterious power system. Ren stared at them, caught in a moment of indecision.
It was only after reaching this point that he truly understood Orochimaru's lament:
"Alas, my life is but a moment, yet ninjutsu stretches into infinity."
Human energy was limited. Ninjutsu was limitless. Each of these three A-rank techniques would take enormous time to master. Multiple Shadow Clones could shorten the process, yes—but without a massive chakra pool, even that was unsustainable.
He had already run the numbers. With his current reserves, he could manage five shadow clones a day at most.
Five clones—his chakra could handle it, but could his mind? Information from too many clones flooding back into his brain could literally make it explode.
Now that he was a jōnin, Ren finally grasped how outrageous Naruto truly was. Dozens of clones in an instant, training simultaneously, then just collapsing into bed only to repeat the cycle the next day…
With that monstrous body and spirit, no wonder Sasuke never stood a chance.
Either way, one thing was clear: he should've learned Shadow Clone far earlier. It was the ultimate tool to multiply progress—a weapon to conserve time and maximize training. That was the whole reason he'd chosen to exchange for it in the first place!
Ren set the Shadow Clone scroll aside and turned his eyes to two others: Demonic Illusion: Phantom Distortion Technique and Secret Art: Lightning Flash.
The first, according to Shinku Yūhi, required him to finish reading three massive tomes before even attempting it—like being forced to read three citations before you're allowed to touch the actual paper.
"Damn it, three books… later." Ren cursed, shoving the scroll back into the nightstand.
That left Lightning Flash. He had skimmed it once before, and in a single sentence: completely incomprehensible.
Tobirama Senju—perhaps an even greater genius than Orochimaru—had a brain that truly defied reason. When he explained the mechanics of space–time ninjutsu, he used the perspective of the fourth dimension.
In simpler terms: a world only monsters could perceive. From the four-dimensional view, space and time were concepts to be twisted at will—just as three-dimensional humans look down on two-dimensional drawings.
Minato Namikaze was such a monster. Tobirama was such a monster.
Ren was not.
"Great, here I go fantasizing again. Imagining I've got a space–time affinity, imagining myself mastering Flying Thunder God and cutting down everything in sight…"
He sighed, a little dejected. But he also knew the truth: if space–time ninjutsu were easy, then Hiruzen Sarutobi and Orochimaru would each be spamming Flying Thunder God like final bosses.
Since he lacked the talent, Lightning Flash would have to wait. Maybe one day, when his perspective shifted and the words finally made sense, that would be the day he could set foot on the road to Flying Thunder God.
"Forget it. Better check the system's gift. At least the stuff it gives is easy to understand—pictures and explanations included."
He comforted himself and picked up the dark-red Book of Curses.
"Let's see… the secret behind Hidan's immortality."
The moment he cracked it open, a wave of blood-stench filled the air.
"A curse is power traded with a god of evil, offered in exchange for what humans hold most dear."
The opening line cut straight to the core.
"Interesting… what humans cherish most, huh?" Ren mused.
In the original timeline, curses always twisted people. Hidan gained immortality, yes—but he also became unhinged, stripped of ordinary human feelings.
He read on.
Through the words, he saw generations of cultists experimenting. They carved away organs, sacrificed kin and friends, desperate for the evil god's gaze.
And yet—the more they sacrificed, the less power they received.
They had misunderstood.
As the preface stated clearly: It is not pain He desires. Pain is collateral damage. What He wants is what you cherish.
At last, Ren reached the cult's final, desperate attempt.
A priest wondered: if the god ignored those who were already twisted beyond humanity… what about a child? Pure. Uncorrupted. Untainted by the cult's madness.
And then he saw Hidan. His head shaved like a monk, sold off by his parents for a sack of wheat, delivered into the cult's hands.
Back then, his heart was still full of emotion.
He cried. He laughed. He feared. He hoped.
The cultists whispered among themselves:
"He smiles so easily. Then let us offer his smile to Lord Jashin."
Their execution was swift. They bound Hidan and carried him, still smiling in fear and confusion, into the altar.
The altar was sealed. No light. No windows. Only the faceless idol of the god, and the endless drip of water echoing in the dark.
"Is… anyone there?" he whimpered on the first day.
"Hahaha… if I die here, no one will care anyway. After all, my parents sold me for a sack of wheat…" he murmured in despair by the seventh day.
"Ha… hahaha… ahahahahaha!!"
The dripping water tormented him without end. Day and night, the sound of droplets shattering his sanity. He never even questioned why he hadn't starved. His mind simply broke.
Finally, the dripping stopped.
And he saw it—water forming in the void, falling slowly. He leaned forward, caught it with his mouth.
The sacrifice was complete.
"YahahaHAHAHAHAHA!"
The first thing he did when he stepped out was slaughter every cultist waiting by the altar. He didn't hate them. He simply remembered he had to kill.
Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.
The Book of Curses ended abruptly.
"So that's it. Hidan's immortality was bought by sacrificing every last shred of emotion." Ren closed the book, rubbing his temples.
He recalled that Hidan had been born in Yugakure, the so-called "village that forgot war." In truth, they had only declared neutrality after being crushed too many times.
"Curses, seals… if I study deeply enough, maybe I can find a way to use them on my own terms."
His head throbbed. Yes, curses were powerful. But no—he had no intention of offering up something he treasured in exchange for strength.
As always, his motto applied: if you've got cheats, use them. If you don't, play it safe. Even with immortality, Hidan was nothing more than a nuisance—immortal, yet beheaded all the same.
Forget it. This was only the beginner's manual. Maybe one day he'd stumble upon an advanced, graduate-level edition. Then he'd learn how to harness curses properly.
For now?
This crude, bloody method was far too messy.
Not nearly refined enough for a man of his taste.
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