48 042 - When like minds meet
LAND OF WAVES
The night was draped in a curtain of stars, casting a luminescent glow upon the choppy waters that encircled the island nation. We stood at the forecastle of the vessel we rode peering ahead at the massive port nestled in between the beach and the rocky outcroppings that reached out into the sea. Last we were here, no such port existed.
Yet now, even in the dead of night, ships of various sizes, adorned with dim lanterns, navigated the bustling bay, their hulls—bearing goods from distant lands—sunken well into their various waterlines, as they sailed in and out of a port that easily rivalled any we had ever seen or read about.
As our vessel drew closer to one of the massive wharves that protruded out of the main quayside. The sails on our vessel were unfurled and gradually lowered. The ship glided to a halt, her wooden hull gently kissing the wooden structure on her port side. A figure on the wharf raised his hand, signalling to the men on board. The crew scrambled to moor the craft. A gangplank was lowered and we took our time to descend from the deck.
Our yet-to-be-named blood clone trailed behind us as we made our way off the wharf. We crossed beneath a set of red Torii gates before entering the port city proper. Beneath our feet, wooden planks transitioned to cobblestone. Eateries, teahouses and sake shops lined the thoroughfares, boasting ornate carvings and intricately painted façades.
We inhaled the savoury aromas in the air intermingling with the fragrances of jasmine tea, alcohol, and sandalwood incense. Our eyes blinked open, flickering about the sprawling market. Merchants hollered, pedalling their wares; silk, fine china, cinnamon, myrrh, fox fur, minx fur, lemon, oranges and mint. The list went on and on and on; endless.
We forked a coin out of a purse hidden in our sleeves, tossing it into the straw hat of a cripple playing a shamisen. Pausing in front of a calligraphy shop we perused a few hung-up scrolls. One work, in particular, caught our attention; The Tales of Nüwa, its creator named it. An old hunch-backed foreigner of possibly Eastern origin shuffled out of the shop, a wet brush held in one of his ink-stained hands.
"How much?" we asked gesturing at the scroll.
"How much you think?" he replied in broken common.
We stared at the scroll in silence for a few moments before sighing. "Alas, I cannot afford to pay its full worth," we replied. We reached into our sleeves for our coin purse, tossing the entire thing at the artist. He caught it clumsily, eyes agog.
"This one owes you a favour," we added, pocketing the scroll before turning to leave. We passed a crowd gathered around a shrine erected in a tiny pagoda. About seven minutes we wasted watching an old lady tend a zen garden. Another twenty lost observing a theatrical performance on a noh stage.
In the dead of night, Waves took on an ethereal glow we didn't imagine possible. Lanterns illuminated streets populated by white-faced geishas in resplendent kimonos. Beautiful.
We looked up.
The crowning jewel of the city we had been ignoring since our arrival now stood before us.
A great two-hundred-meter-tall bronze statue crafted in our likeness.
Or rather, the likeness of an extension of us.
Jinrui.
***
"We like what we've done with the place," we tell Jinrui.
The blood clone had brought us into a dimly lit room. The air inside was thick with the scent of incense, sake and tea; evidently, the meeting room was well-used. The shoji screen door behind us slid close soundlessly.
We glanced at the blood clone inscribing additional privacy seals behind us before taking a seat.
"Tea?" the clone asked it settled in a cushion across from us.
"No," we replied. "Our plans need to be fast-tracked. The currents are shifting; we must seize the moment."
"We noticed," the clone replied. "We have made preparations. We heard we lost an arm; has it been resolved?"
We glanced at the crude wooden prosthetic we attached to our stump. It was disguised with a henge and puppeteered with chakra strings. "No," we replied, dispelling the henge and detaching the arm.
"We assume it is not combat-rated?"
"It is not. We assume an alternative is available.
"Yes." The blood clone reached for a storage scroll on a shelf behind it, producing a much aesthetic-looking, bone-white prosthetic arm. "The frame is made using spring wood from a thousand-year-old spirit tree and the chakra conduits are made from a special chakra metal alloy from the Land of Snow. The armour on its surface is crafted from bones harvested from one Kaguya clan that once bordered Kirigakure. The arm can be outfitted with poison, projectiles, as well as scroll cartridges to use techniques and seals on the fly. It also has a retractable blade made from a modified version of the alloy used for the conduits."
A sliver of the clone's chakra leaked into the construct and soundlessly, a matte grey blade slid out.
"Seems useful," we said as we received the arm before looking it over. "Very useful."
"It ought to be; it did set us back thirty-nine million ryō after all."
We nodded in understanding, turning the arm around for a moment before promptly attaching it to our body.
"We would be sending a small delegate to Nadeshiko to expand our holdings on the island."
"Reason?" the clone asked.
"We have a child on the way," we replied. "Our influence in the region must grow pronounced enough to ensure the infant's survival."
The clone nodded. "On the matter of spawns," it said, "Tsunami has begun requesting for another child. Should we oblige her?"
"As long as it doesn't affect our plans with Inari in any manner detrimental, we do not care."
"Understood. Any other information we should know?"
"Tobirama was revived. And is now functionally immortal. Konoha possesses a Jutsu that allows them to revive dead sages. Worry not. We have already sent a clone ahead towards Kirigakure to negotiate a deal that might help level out the playing field. It is not all bad news; we managed to steal one of the Hokage's keystone jutsus."
We grazed our finger on the table, marking it with a modified copy of Tobirama's technique formula. "It is a teleportation jutsu. We confirmed with the archives. Apparently, the jutsu is called the Flying Thunder God Technique and was used extensively by the Second and Fourth Hokages."
"We have heard of it," the clone replied. "Useful."
We agreed.
"Regarding the negotiations with Kiri," the clone continued, "is there anything we can do to help?"
"Yes. We would need funding."
"How much?"
"Enough to bribe a Kage."
