Chapter 3: Ignore It for Now!
"Hmm… first things first, I need to find a place to stay."
After all, even though the Warring States Era (Sengoku Jidai) was officially over, there was no chance of lasting peace in the current Shinobi World.
Thinking this, Hiiro Rinko began to stabilize his body while his eyes searched the workshop for anything useful to take.
'Food and water… forget the food, just water is enough. I can find food later. This body can't carry much weight.'
'I'll check the bedroom in a moment. I remember an old hidden compartment there; it should contain things related to training…'
'Steel materials are a no-go. No time to forge them into weapons.'
'That forging hammer… no, the handle is too long, and sawing off a piece would throw off the center of gravity.'
'Kunai… hmm, these could be—'
Wait a minute? Kunai? Why would an ordinary blacksmith's workshop have those?!
The young, reborn weapons master's face hardened. He suspected he was hallucinating, squinting to take a second look, and confirmed he hadn't been mistaken.
Kunai are easily purchased in the tool shops of the ninja villages; even regular residents can buy blunted ones as toys for their children. But for a 'normal' forge outside a Hidden Village, the presence of these weapons meant something entirely different.
If it were only one or two, it could be dismissed as a custom-made toy.
But an entire crate of them? In this era, that was a huge red flag.
Rinko knew this better than anyone. He was tracked down and assassinated by Gojō Satoru in his previous life because his constant dangerous research made Satoru worry about his students being unable to clean up the mess after his eventual death.
His authority on this matter was, shall we say, absolute.
'Was it that they were discovered by a Hidden Village for illegally forging military weapons and were thus 'purged'? Or did they have a partnership with a Village from the start?'
'Damn it, were these kids protected too well by their parents? How is it that such a critical memory is so vague…'
If viewed through the lens of 'plot,' Rinko himself was a prime example of an 'unreliable narrator,' but his inner complaint wasn't without merit.
After all, it hadn't been long since the Warring States Era, where children as young as five or six were sent to the battlefield to kill. A child of the original owner's age should have been exposed to the harshness of the Shinobi World.
Even more, the boy's parents were former shinobi who came straight from the battlefield. They shouldn't have lacked this level of awareness when raising their offspring.
Yet, in the original owner's memories, Rinko could only find: warm daily routines with his parents, moderately strict physical training, basic Shinobi World knowledge, and instruction on identifying herbs and setting simple traps. There was also knowledge on mineral identification and fire control.
But the most shinobi-related lesson was the one filled with weariness and disgust: "If you have a choice, never become a shinobi." They hadn't even taught him how to perform Chakra control or refinement.
Nani… Nani-i-i-i? (What… What does this mean?)
If he could, Rinko truly wanted to grab the original boy's parents by the collar and interrogate them thoroughly, but alas, he could not.
"If you have a choice, never become a shinobi, huh… Well, that's not wrong."
After all, what is a shinobi but a mercenary?
While Senju Hashirama originally founded the villages to protect the next generation, it now seemed the era of sending children to war was returning.
It was a dark, deeply unpleasant workplace, even more treacherous than the Cursed World he left.
"But in this world, the choice to opt-out is something you have to seize for yourself…"
Griping aside, he still had to make preparations. The fate of the original owner's family was the best example of why.
Feeling that his body had recovered enough to stand without immediately tripping, Rinko shakily got to his feet. He laboriously pulled off the clothes soaked in his own blood and washed the grime off his body using the water from the quenching barrel.
The water in the barrel was cold—cold enough to be bracing if poured over the head.
But he was already a bit hypothermic, so he'd better skip that.
He then walked over to the counter, squatted down, and squinted at the newly discovered kunai.
"These aren't the cheap, standardized ones used by Academy students that circulate on the market."
The kunai in the box had a fine, matte finish and were neatly arranged in alternating layers, like high-end cigars. Based on the size of the box, it looked like it could hold three layers.
Their shape was non-standard; the blade was slightly narrower, and the edge was sharpened at an angle better suited for piercing. The hilt was wrapped in dark, anti-slip leather cord, and the size and center of gravity of each one had been fine-tuned.
Even for an adult—let alone the current Rinko—the kunai's size was closer to a dagger or a short sword. Although narrower than standard kunai, the extra length added more weight.
"A customized item, better suited for close-quarters combat than throwing…"
Clearly, these were high-end goods commissioned by a shinobi with considerable wealth, skill, or both.
Rinko's fingertip pressed against a kunai, feeling its murderous coldness. He then slid his finger down to the hilt and picked one up, lifting it slightly.
The forge fire had died out, leaving only a few oil lamps casting a dim light.
This kunai didn't reflect any light in the gloom, lying still like a coiled viper. If Rinko hadn't been so meticulously focused on the elements of this new world, he might have completely overlooked these valuable items sitting in the box.
The existence of this crate of kunai made the death of the original family even more confusing.
After all, goods this high-quality could fetch a good price on the black market. How rushed was the perpetrator to leave without noticing something practically sitting out in the open?
Or was the killer's status so high that they simply didn't care about kunai of this caliber?
Regardless of the reason, it likely meant the killer wouldn't be turning back to search the scene, so Rinko didn't need to rush his escape for the time being.
"Besides, in my current physical condition, I wouldn't get far even if I did run…"
The saying 'Don't mix delusion and hope into your tactics' is certainly wisdom, but when there are few options left, you just have to temporarily ignore the heap of potential risks.
Ignore it for now! (Let it be!)
I'm sure you've all recalled that famous line by the legendary Yūji Kanzaki.
Rinko picked out another kunai from the box behind the counter, weighed it a few times, confirmed its balance and weight, and tucked it into his belt along with the first one.
If this were his past life, he might try to replicate the Crane Wing Triple Attack by the Mysterious Bow-Wielding Man—a technique that falls into the category of taijutsu—but for now, he'd pass.
"I'll be borrowing your son's body from now on. Allow me to offer an apology."
Glancing at the two former-shinobi who were now decidedly un-breathing, Rinko inexplicably felt his lips dry.
If he had time later, he would give them a proper burial.
Thinking this, he slowly walked into the living quarters behind the forge, preparing to scavenge the family's final inheritance—or, perhaps, inherit would be the more accurate word.