047 - Strategic Manoeuvering: War Prep {PT. III}

THE COLISEUM​

"FIGHT!"

Oyashiro peeked through a gap in the curtains at the dark-haired figure in the arena below. He had heard much about the child. Sasuke Uchiha. The Evil Flame … Second son of Fugaku Uchiha, the Evil Eye. Brother of the legendary kinslayer, Clan Killer

Itachi … Sasuke of the Sharingan. The Child Kage. Second Coming of the Saviour. Lord Madara's Incarnate. The list of appellations went on and on.

Endless. '

Although it amused Oyashiro to no end, the boy had displayed such competence as to make some of his titles not appear too far-fetched. Fire Release. Water Release. Taijutsu. Fuinjutsu. Ninjutsu. Genjutsu. He is rumoured to have conquered them all, and to such a degree that a large part of Oyashiro wondered whether this level of mastery was simply a result of possessing the Sharingan. Still, another larger part of him expressed doubt at the thought of a thirteen-year-old, still wet behind the ears, possessing an estimated threat rating of, at least, S-Rank.

The Merchant of Death chewed on the inside of his cheek as his gaze swivelled to regard the specimen's litmus paper for the day; a challenge to evaluate and put all those claims to the test. Miura was not the most powerful in his collection. No, that title belonged to another. Nor was he the toughest to put down; that title also belonged to another. The young man's talents laid elsewhere.

Speed.

A copious, disgustingly potent, amount of it. Sasuke was about to find out why the older boy was christened Miura the Swift.

Impatient, the Uchiha struck first, apparently tired of waiting for his opponent to begin. To his credit, the boy was blisteringly fast. He crossed the entire length of the arena with what can only be described as a monstrous display of acceleration; much more than Oyashiro imagined himself capable of achieving. There was a blur barely perceivable by the human senses, a thunderclap of supersonically displaced air collapsing back into itself, and a bone-rattling, ear-splitting detonation as the Uchiha's fist expunged the existence of the concrete that made up the arena floor right where Miura nanoseconds prior.

To Oyashiro's Ketsuryūgan reality appeared to, for a moment, stall. It behaved elastically, like a rubber band, gathering energy around the Uchiha who stood as the epicentre, before violently snapping back. The shockwave rippled across the coliseum with such force as to briefly lift some off their seats and send cracks spiderwebbing through every panel of ceramic in the vicinity.

Oyashiro squinted through the billowing cloud of debris at Sasuke poised on one knee with a bone-white, armoured fist embedded in the powdered arena floor.

Chakra Enhancement? Oyashiro asked himself as he stared at the shimmering layer of air coating the boy's body. The level of control required to infuse that much chakra in the body without ripping it to shreds was unimaginably precise but consistent with what the boy had been rumoured to possess.

Either way, it wouldn't be enough to close the distance between himself and Miura. The older boy had reappeared at the other end of the arena behind the Uchiha. Oyashiro chuckled as he noticed the glint of horror that flashed through Miura's eyes. The Uchiha slowly rose to his feet and turned around to face the Swift Release user.

"You are fast," Sasuke commented simply before tilting his head in an appraising manner. "Still very green though."

As he said that, one of his hands forming a one-handed Ram seal, the floor of the arena shuddered before rippling like a giant water bag.

"What's happ—"

"Earth Style: Earthflow Mire Mirage."

The Genjutsu hiding the terrain unfurled to reveal Miura standing knee-deep in a sandy mire. The older boy tried to flee but the chakra-infused dust created from the utter destruction of the arena's very foundations held on with a tyrannical grip, slowly, but surely, pulling him under.

The Uchiha nonchalantly dusted his sleeves, before walking up to Miura, his stride leisurely.

"You will forfeit this match," Oyashiro heard Sasuke say to Miura, "but before that tell me, how were you able to move that fast?"

Miura glared at the slightly shorter boy, silent.

The Uchiha smiled, pushing the point of a dull kunai in between a jugular vein and a sheet muscle in Miura's neck, his left brow raised in a silent threat. Miura's frantic gaze flickered to the event host but the man stood frozen, his eyes shuddering as he watched the scene in silence.

Miura's gaze swivelled back to meet the Uchiha's placid one. "...I-I have a Kekkei Genkai."

Sasuke nodded in response as he retrieved his kunai. "Forfeit the match," he ordered as he turned to leave the arena.

"Don't forget to tell your master I will be expecting him, Miura."

Oyashiro blinked.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

***​

"Oh, hello!"

We ignored the arms dealer our gaze panning around the room he selected for the meeting. Judging from the number of chakra signatures lying in wait in the walls, it appears our friend here was a rather cautious fellow.

Our attention returned to the man. "I am En Oyashiro," he said, extending a handshake. "Nice to meet you."

We glanced down at the extended hand, Tobirama's insidious jutsu surging to the forefront of our memory. Of course, the Hokage's technique proved no issue to resolve in the end but we could not imagine ourself being lucky forever.

Best not to take unnecessary risks.

We walked past the man to inspect a painting hanging on the wall behind him. Oyashiro glanced down at his hand, his expression spaced out, before extending the ignored appendage to the Sannin.

"It's been a long time, Mr. Orochimaru."

The sannin wisely ignored the handshake as well. "It has," Orochimaru replied. "As you can probably already tell, I am not here for leisure."

"Ah… what do you need?"

"Mercenaries. Potent ones."

"...When and how many?"

"As many as you can discreetly provide within the week."

"Such a short notice," the arms dealer mused. "Anything I should be worried about?"

Orochimaru smiled in response. "None whatsoever."

The two fell silent. We turned around to regard the arms dealer. "Are going to have a problem?" we asked.

The blood clone standing by the door shifted subtlely in a warning.

The silence dragged on for another two seconds before Oyashiro burst out laughing. "Of course not!" he declared as he made a waving gesture as if attempting to physically dispel the notion.

We stared at him for another few moments before turning back to examine the paintings on the wall.

"So?" Orochimaru asked.

"Well, I have about thirty Jonin-ranked shinobi on standby."

"We'll take those. Anything else?"

"If you are willing to transfer Miura's ownership back to me I can consider leasing three more potent Kekkei Genkai wielders in exchange?"

"Deal—"

"That's not enough," we interrupted.

"...That's my either stock," Oyashiro replied.

"We are willing to pay for referrals," we tell the man. Oyashiro's expression turned contemplative.

"On such short notice, it would be hard to reach most of my more reliable contacts," he said. "Although, I do have someone in mind that should be available."

"Who?"

"Kazuma, aka Furido. Former member of the Twelve Shinobi Guardians. He runs a solid racket and his four-man crew is made up of high-quality combatants. The weakest of his men is estimated to straddle the border between Jonin and A-Rank. The rest are firmly A-Rank shinobi."

"How soon can you reach him?" Orochimaru asked.

"Last I heard he was somewhere in the Land of Steam, so let's say three days?"

"Get it done. Two-thirds pay now, the rest when our mission is complete."

"Deal!"

***​

It was morning on the other side of the Chigiri sea. The weathered, Flying-Thunder-God-marked merchant sloop we appeared on wobbled in the choppy, crimson waves. We ignored the bewildered cries of the vessel's crew as we turned to examine the encroaching coastline ahead.

Apparently, even a literal backwater like Kirigakure can appear beautiful in the red light of dawn.

Uhn, who would have known?

"This jutsu you stole," Orochimaru said behind us, "it is really convenient. Would you mind sharing it with me?"

"If you have something of comparable worth I am willing to trade."

We ignored the smiling sannin as we leapt off the boat and jogged the remaining distance over the water to the coast. Reaching it, a group of masked, shadowy figures emerged from the mist to bar our entry.

ANBU.

One fellow, clad in a grey cloak and a demon mask, stepped forward. "State your business.," he ordered, his voice was cold and devoid of emotion. "If you have the necessary documents to be in here present them now."

We ignored the group, letting Orochimaru deal with them. The sannin, his demeanour as slick as ever, offered a sloppy smile. "I am sorry," he began, "we have no such papers."

The group tensed as recognition rippled through their facades

We kicked the sannin in the shin.

He sighed, turning to glare at us. Spoilsport, he muttered under his breath before turning back to face the uneasy ANBU.

"We are here to see Mei," he groused.

"Tell her Orochimaru seeks an audience."