"Impressive speed, Yoru-kun."
The pale figure of Orochimaru slowly straightened his body. His clothes were soaked, his skin glistening with moisture, yet his expression was anything but weakened. Instead, his eyes burned with a strange, fanatical excitement.
"I'm growing more and more fond of you," he continued, his voice low and serpentine. "It's a pity… you don't possess a Bloodline Limit. In the end, there is an upper limit to what you can achieve."
For a brief moment, something flickered in his golden pupils.
Loneliness.
It was subtle—but unmistakable.
Standing opposite him, Aoki Yoru felt a surge of contempt rise within him.
He knew exactly where that look came from.
This man—once hailed as a genius—had been shattered. Broken not by failure, but by witnessing overwhelming power. Ever since his encounter with Itachi Uchiha, Orochimaru had spiraled deeper into obsession.
Bloodlines.
Limits.
Destiny.
He had begun to believe in them completely.
And that belief had corroded his pride.
"Upper limit?" Yoru echoed, raising his cracked blade and pointing it directly at Orochimaru.
His voice sharpened.
"Or have you simply imposed one on yourself?"
The forest fell silent.
Aoki Yoru took a step forward, his eyes cold and unwavering.
"Tell me, Orochimaru… who broke your spirit?"
The question struck like a blade.
"To think that you—someone who once prided himself on talent—now believes that bloodlines determine everything."
His tone turned mocking.
"What happened to your confidence?"
Orochimaru's pupils narrowed.
His fingers twitched faintly beneath his sleeves.
That fleeting trace of vulnerability vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, controlled smile.
"You don't understand, Yoru-kun," he replied calmly.
"Sometimes… the power one chases desperately can be achieved effortlessly by others—simply because of their bloodline."
His voice grew softer, almost reflective.
"When you witness that reality… you begin to understand just how meaningless effort can be."
Aoki Yoru laughed.
It wasn't a polite chuckle.
It was loud, sharp, and filled with disdain.
"Meaningless?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"You're right—bloodlines make it easier to reach certain heights."
He paused.
Then his eyes sharpened.
"But don't you realize something?"
"They also trap you at those heights."
The wind stirred the leaves.
Yoru's voice dropped lower.
"Bloodlines are shortcuts. But shortcuts don't lead beyond the path—they confine you to it."
He stared directly into Orochimaru's eyes.
"You've mistaken a pond for the ocean."
The words landed heavily.
"Orochimaru… you're like a frog at the bottom of a well."
"You look up, see a patch of sky, and believe that's the entire world."
"But you've never seen the ocean beyond it."
Silence.
For a moment, everything froze.
Then—
Orochimaru's smile stiffened.
And shattered.
A chilling aura surged outward.
His expression twisted—not into anger, but into something far more unstable.
Madness.
"A frog… at the bottom of a well?" he repeated slowly.
His voice became hoarse, rough like sand grinding against stone.
"You speak as if you understand."
His fists clenched tightly, veins standing out along his arms.
"You have no idea what that powerlessness feels like."
His gaze darkened.
"Standing before something unattainable… something absolute… and realizing that no matter what you do, you can never reach it."
His breathing grew heavier.
"But that will change."
A dangerous light ignited in his eyes.
"Once I obtain the perfect vessel…"
"Once I break free from the shackles of the body…"
He stepped forward slightly.
"Then I will show you—who truly belongs in that vast ocean."
Aoki Yoru fell silent.
There was nothing more to say.
He could see it clearly.
Orochimaru wasn't just obsessed—he was trapped.
Caught in an endless loop of comparison, inferiority, and ambition.
Logic would not reach him.
Only strength would.
Originally, Yoru had considered something else.
A deal.
A trade.
Knowledge for knowledge.
Power for power.
After all, Orochimaru possessed things he needed—advanced research, forbidden techniques, even the legendary Hashirama Senju cells.
But now—
That path was closed.
If he wanted anything from this man, he would have to take it by force.
"Well then," Yoru said calmly, raising his blade once more.
"Show me what you've got."
"I want to see what kind of techniques the great Orochimaru still possesses."
Orochimaru didn't move.
Instead, he stared at Yoru for a long moment.
Then—
He turned.
And began walking away.
Aoki Yoru blinked.
"…What?"
A low chuckle echoed through the trees.
"Heh heh…"
"Let's stop here for today, Yoru-kun."
Orochimaru didn't even look back.
"Continuing this fight would create too much noise."
"And I'm not interested in drawing unnecessary attention."
His voice faded slightly as he walked deeper into the forest.
"There will be… many opportunities in the future."
"To truly experience your strength."
His figure gradually disappeared among the trees.
The forest fell silent once more.
Aoki Yoru remained where he stood.
He didn't pursue.
There was no point.
He understood Orochimaru well enough to know that chasing him now would be meaningless. That man was like a snake—slippery, elusive, and filled with hidden tricks.
Cornering him would only lead to unpredictable consequences.
And possibly mutual destruction.
"Not worth it," Yoru muttered.
He exhaled slowly, calming the lingering tension in his body.
Then his gaze shifted—toward the distant direction of Konoha.
His eyes grew colder.
"Danzo…"
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"I'll remember this."
There was no rage in his tone.
Only certainty.
"This debt… I'll settle it properly."
Turning away, Aoki Yoru adjusted the sword at his waist and continued his journey.
The Land of Artisans
His destination lay far ahead.
The Land of Artisans—a small yet crucial nation nestled between larger powers.
Though technically within the territory of the Land of Rivers, it remained independent.
Not because of military strength.
But because of necessity.
Weapons.
Tools.
Craftsmanship.
Everything used across the Ninja World passed through this place.
No major nation dared to control it outright.
Balance had to be maintained.
Otherwise—
War would follow.
Three Months Later
Aoki Yoru finally arrived.
He hadn't rushed.
For three months, he had wandered freely across the Land of Fire—traveling through forests, mountains, and towns.
He rested when tired.
Hunted when hungry.
Cooked over open flames beneath the stars.
It wasn't a mission.
It was a journey.
And during that journey—
He learned.
Geography.
Trade routes.
Cultural differences.
Hidden dangers.
The Ninja World was vast.
Far more complex than he had imagined.
Standing now before the gates of the Land of Artisans, Aoki Yoru looked up.
And paused.
The city was unlike anything he had seen before.
It was built directly into cliffs and valleys.
Massive furnaces burned day and night.
Iron plates paved the roads.
Workshops filled every corner.
Chains, blades, and tools hung openly along the streets.
The air itself smelled of metal and fire.
Even children played with miniature hammers, forging crude toys with laughter.
Yoru clicked his tongue in amazement.
"Incredible…"
"This place really lives up to its reputation."
Walking through the streets, he couldn't help but feel like an outsider.
A country bumpkin in a world of masters.
The locals didn't mind.
They were used to it.
Every outsider reacted the same way.
Some craftsmen even enthusiastically introduced their weapons, proudly displaying strange and unique designs.
Many of them puzzled Yoru.
But he understood.
In a world like this—
Every weapon had its purpose.
Every design had a reason.
A Warm Meal
As he wandered, something caught his attention.
A smell.
Warm.
Sweet.
Toasted.
His stomach growled immediately.
"…Food."
Following the scent, he soon found himself standing before a small shop.
"Hearthside Eatery?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Even the restaurant names here are this straightforward?"
Smiling faintly, he lifted the curtain and stepped inside.
The interior was simple.
Clean.
Warm.
Wooden tables.
Neatly arranged utensils.
Fresh pastries stacked along the walls.
It felt… peaceful.
A young woman behind the counter looked up and smiled.
"Welcome, guest!"
Aoki Yoru took a seat.
"One serving of your specialty."
"Right away!"
Moments later, she returned with a plate of golden-brown wheat cakes.
Steam rose gently from their surface.
Yoru picked one up.
Crispy.
Warm.
He took a bite.
"…Wow."
Sweet.
Crunchy.
Perfect.
"This is really good."
He nodded in approval.
After a few more bites, he glanced at the woman.
"Let me ask you something."
She looked up.
"Yes?"
"Who's the best swordsmith around here?"
She blinked.
Then smiled.
"Oh? Looking for a weapon?"
"You've come to the right place."
She placed her hands on her hips proudly.
"My father is one of the best swordsmiths in the Land of Artisans."
Yoru paused.
Then smiled slightly.
"Perfect."
"Take me to him after I finish eating."
The journey—
Was just beginning.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)