"Hmm... first things first, I need to find somewhere to hole up."
When it came down to it, even though the "Warring States Period" had ended, there was no way the current ninja world offered lasting peace.
Thinking along these lines, Hii Kōri adjusted his physical condition while his eyes began searching the smithy for anything worth taking.
Food and water... forget it, just water is enough. I can find food on the way—this body can't carry much anyway.
I'll check the bedroom later. I remember there's a hidden compartment there, probably with training materials...
The steel stock? Forget it. No time to process it into weapons.
That forging hammer... no, the handle's too long. Even if I sawed it down, the center of gravity would be off.
Kunai... Hmm, this I can—
Wait a minute? Kunai? Why would an ordinary smithy have these things?!
The young weapon master's expression turned serious. Suspecting it might be his imagination, he narrowed his eyes and took another look, confirming he hadn't misidentified them.
You could easily buy kunai at ninja tool shops in the hidden villages. Even ordinary civilians could buy unsharpened ones as toys for their children. But finding them in an "ordinary" smithy outside a ninja village meant something entirely different.
A kunai or two—that could be explained away. You could say someone ordered them as toys.
But an entire box? In this day and age, that couldn't be brushed aside so easily.
Hii Kōri knew this firsthand. He himself had been hunted down and killed by Gojō Satoru precisely because he conducted so many dangerous experiments that Gojō worried his students wouldn't be able to clean up the mess after he died.
His authority on this matter could only be described as absolute. Absolutely authoritative.
Did they get caught privately forging military weapons by someone from a hidden village and get eliminated? Or were they collaborating with some village from the start?
Damn it, was this kid too sheltered by his parents? How come there's no memory of something this crucial...
From a "plot" perspective, Hii Kōri himself was a prime example of "not remembering things," but his silent complaints weren't entirely unreasonable.
After all, it hadn't been that long since the Warring States Period, when even five or six-year-olds were sent to die on battlefields. Kids the original owner's age should generally have been exposed to the ninja world's cruelty by now.
Not to mention the original parents were also ninja who'd come off the battlefield. When it came to raising offspring, they shouldn't have lacked this level of awareness.
Yet in the original owner's memories, there were warm daily moments with his parents, training that wasn't too harsh, common sense about the ninja world, lessons on identifying herbs and basic trap placement, even knowledge about identifying ores and controlling forging temperatures.
But aside from that, the thing most connected to being a ninja was a single piece of advice, spoken with weariness and disgust: "If you have any choice at all, absolutely don't become a ninja." They hadn't even taught him how to refine chakra yet.
What... what does this mean?
If he could, Hii Kōri really wanted to grab the original parents by their collars and demand an explanation. Unfortunately, he couldn't.
"If you have any choice, absolutely don't become a ninja, huh... Well, that's not wrong."
When it came down to it, weren't ninja just mercenaries?
Though Hashirama Senju originally established the villages to protect the next generation, now it seemed they were returning to an era where children would be sent to war.
Pretty damn dark. An even more hostile work environment than the jujutsu world, honestly.
"But in this world, you have to seize your own options..."
Complaints aside, preparations still needed to be made. The fate of the original owner's family was the best example.
Feeling that his body had recovered enough to at least stand up without immediately face-planting, Hii Kōri wobbled to his feet. He laboriously tore off his clothes, soaked through with his own blood, and used water from the quenching bucket to wash the blood off his body.
The water in the bucket was cold—the kind that would wake you right up if you poured it over your head.
But he was still somewhat hypothermic, so maybe he'd skip that for now.
Then he walked to the counter, crouched down, and squinted at the kunai he'd just discovered.
"These aren't the cheap standard-issue ones Academy students use."
The kunai in the box had been finely crafted with a matte finish, arranged neatly in staggered layers like premium cigars. Judging by the capacity, it probably held three layers total.
The design wasn't standard—the blades were slightly narrower, the edges adjusted for better piercing. The handles were wrapped with dark non-slip cord, each one's size and center of gravity subtly fine-tuned.
Even if an adult—not current Hii Kōri—picked one up, the kunai's size would be closer to a dagger or short sword. Though narrower than standard kunai, the extra length added more weight.
"Not for throwing... custom-made for close combat, huh..."
Clearly, these were high-end custom pieces ordered by a ninja with considerable wealth or skill—or both.
Hii Kōri's fingertip pressed against the kunai, feeling its cold, murderous intent. Then his finger slid down to the handle. He gripped it and raised it slightly higher.
The forge's furnace had gone cold, leaving only a few oil lamps casting dim light.
Under the dim light, this kunai reflected nothing, like a coiled viper lying in ambush. If he hadn't been paying extra attention to elements of this otherworld, he might have overlooked these valuables sitting in their box.
This box of kunai made the original family's cause of death even more puzzling.
Goods like this could fetch a decent price even on the black market. Just how urgently had the perpetrator left that they missed something practically sitting in plain sight?
Or did the killer's identity make them look down on kunai of this quality?
Either way, whichever reason, it probably meant the killer wasn't likely to double back and search the scene. Hii Kōri didn't need to flee in too much of a hurry for now.
"Besides, in my current condition, I couldn't get far even if I ran..."
"Don't substitute delusion and hope for tactics" was indeed a golden rule. But when you had no other options, you had to temporarily ignore the multitude of possible risks.
Ignore it!
Surely everyone recalls that famous line from Hiroshi Moto.
Hii Kōri picked another kunai from the ones behind the counter, weighed it a few times to confirm its weight and center of gravity, then tucked both kunai into his belt along with the first one.
Back in the day, he could have replicated that mysterious arrow-shooting guy's Crane Wing Triple Combo—a technique you could probably classify as taijutsu—but that was out of the question now.
"I'll be borrowing your son's body from now on. Consider this my apology, I suppose."
Glancing at the two former-ninja who were somewhat less than breathing now, Hii Kōri inexplicably felt his lips go dry.
If there was time later, he'd bury them.
Thinking this, he slowly walked into the living quarters behind the smithy, preparing to loot the family's final legacy—or rather, inherit it would be more accurate?