Persistent alien past

Toro Dororo was different from most spellcasters in that he completely ignored the path of the sword. Traditionally, it was common for cultivators to comprehend both magic and martial arts. On the one hand, for the harmonious development of body and spirit, on the other, for the acquisition of the maximum number of skills that contribute to survival.

There have been cases when martial artists completely ignored magic. They were either too good and didn't need a prop in the form of spells, or they were idiots who wanted to be like their brutal idols.

In part, this state of affairs was the reason for the loud fame of the modest giant Thoreau. But it would be wrong to say that it's only a matter of some outrageousness of his choice. Perfecting his abilities in magic, he reached the ceiling on this path and did not hesitate to break through it.

Previously, there were only three spells. When I realized this, I was shocked, since local witchcraft is a full-fledged equivalent of ninjutsu from the past. That is, the possibilities are truly limitless, and there are no limits to the potential — everything is limited only by the capabilities of the human intellect.

Thoreau invented seven more spells and was not greedy to share them with the world. For this, he received both love and respect.

Therefore, even at the council of elders of the Chue school, there was no one who would not be sad after the news of his death.

Sharing knowledge was a trivial matter for him. In life, he always tried to help, to smooth out the corners. Among those present at the meeting, probably everyone sympathized with Dororo, for one reason or another.

The hum grew: at first surprised, then saddened, he turned into angry voices. Who wanted to take revenge on the one who touched their sacred cow.

I wanted to close my ears so as not to hear irritatingly loud and harsh words. And suddenly my momentary wish was fulfilled: all sounds disappeared. I looked around in confusion, because I didn't understand why everyone was silent, but I saw only indignant people whose lips continued to move and now the silence began to seem deafening.

The hearing is gone.

The image was mistaken and the body decided to get rid of the soul it disliked, despite all our fluttering.

I turned to the streams of natural energy to somehow compensate for the lost hearing. Ms. Li soon asked everyone to calm down and listen to my answers. She asked, I read the questions on the lips and answered:

—Do you know why Mr. Thoreau came that evening?"

- No, I left before he came.

— Why did you leave? And where?

— I didn't want to stay — it was too noisy there. I went to the forest to the waterfall to collect the roots of the Cocus.

— Was anyone else absent during the feast?

- yes. Mrs. Ibe Nuryu stayed in the rooms with her sick daughter.

— Where are they now?

- Buried with everyone else.

—They didn't escape?"

- no. I found their bodies in the backyard.

—Can you guess what Mr. Thoreau came for?"

— He visited us once a month to clear the forest of evil spirits. The deadline must have come.

— Can anyone else confirm this?

- yes. Residents of Ryunjian village. They knew him and saw him that day.

Etc. Sometimes other people asked questions and I didn't always have time to turn around in time to read the question, but it wasn't difficult to guess from the rest of the phrase and I answered correctly. When the questions began to be repeated with a different wording, it dawned on me that I was simply pitied in Chueron. I was surprised at the time that they weren't so curious, but the current interrogation was pretty good. But I'm not a blunder either. It was impossible to get more information out of me than I wanted until one man asked:

- Who was Ibe Nuryu to you?

They must have expected to hear something like "big sister", but not:

- Wife.

After making sure that this person didn't want to ask anything else, I turned to Li Ruiling and noticed an extremely surprised Guoliang out of the corner of my eye.

- Name, age, status?

At first, she skipped these questions, since everything seemed clear here. Some stupid youngster who joined a small school in the hope of improving his well-being.

- Ye Bailly. Thirty-nine years old. Junior mentor at Chueron School.

After I announced my age, someone to the right of Ms. Li coughed. Yes, Guoliang, I'm only twenty years younger than you, not forty.

After that, they decided to go through all the questions again, but the answers did not change.

Meanwhile, I was getting worse: the smells disappeared and my vision began to lose its sharpness. Nausea rolled over. I felt hot blood pouring down my lips, I awkwardly stepped back and said,

"I'm sorry, dear elders. I haven't slept for four days and I feel very tired. If possible, I would like to rest.

Then he turned around and walked to the exit, barely holding his back and not noticing anything around. Blaming everything on fatigue was a good decision. The fact that it didn't come to me earlier was a consequence of the fact that I had never been so bad before that I didn't have the strength to finish the job. It doesn't matter what it is: another mission, an interrogation or a party with Sensei and Itachi

Someone opened the door in front of me and led me, with an arm around my shoulders, to the building on the other side of the square. It must be a place to accommodate guests. As soon as the door to one of the rooms opened, I slipped out of the embrace and slammed the door in the face of my escort. There was neither strength nor sense in locking up. If they want to come in to me, they will.

When he reached the bed, he collapsed and somehow even too easily and abruptly plunged into the halls.

To be almost knocked down by the bone-chilling wind there.

My head immediately cleared up, all the unpleasant sensations remained outside and I yelled with all my might:

— WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE.

The next moment I was transported to a hall filled with various appliances and bookshelves, but books were lying anywhere: on appliances, on the floor, on tables, chairs, armchairs, even on the ceiling — but not on shelves. In the middle of all this chaos stood a disheveled Ye Bailly with wildly shifty eyes in a white medical coat, dressed over the same moronic pajamas with chanterelles, in which he was for the first time.

— Nothing special is happening — everything just went to the pussy. — he said in a nervously trembling voice, continuing to search for something among a pile of scattered papers and objects.

— But why? You said everything would be fine.

— Why-why... because you're an idiot.

— Where did I screw up?

"Not you, but me. this madman stammered.

— That is, you made a mistake, and I'm an idiot?

—I'm you, and you're the idiot here, too.

It was strange to realize that my own subconscious attic was leaking. I decided to try to bring him to his senses in an old-fashioned way: I grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him hard and said:

"Get your mother together and solve this problem!

He suddenly stopped fidgeting, looked up at me quite consciously and yelled:

- DON'T YELL AT ME!!!

Oppa. Turn out.

He blew a strand of hair that had escaped from the poop bundle from his face, got up, dusted himself off, threw off a pile of junk from the table with one sweeping movement and lay down on the vacant surface.

— I didn't count the blood. - this sinner began to confess. — When we left from a previous life, we took everything that has at least some relation to spiritual power, leaving only a shell — a body. You are Uzumaki. Uzumaki, as I now realized, are not really people. Think for yourself: long-livers, with vast reserves of chakra and unique opportunities in the skill of creating seals. And that's not all.

- Yes, more blood.

- Blood that could burn, albeit an old, but very powerful kitsune. And it seems that the blood remained with us.

- This created a duality of essence.

- yes. You've already remembered that there is no such thing as a half-demon in this world. If one of the parents is a demon, then the child will be a demon. That is, now you are both a demon and an unknown creature Uzumaki.

"The unknown creature Uzumaki," I repeated, fascinated. — And what to do?

- Do you rhyme or in fact?

- Let's not be like Bee. I begged.

The image paused and replied—

- It is necessary to burn the demon's blood.

- It sounds painful and difficult.

- Nothing like that. I couldn't do it myself, so I was waiting for you. There's just one little hitch. I suspect that the eyes are really the mirror of the soul, you know?

- Even so?

- Yeah.

"Don't worry, I'll figure something out with that later.

"Then let's go burn out the demonic blood."

The image stood on the floor with a smooth movement and led along the corridor in a direction known only to him.

— Do you think I'll age much? I'm almost forty now. And I only look good because of demon blood. I asked.

- Be afraid not to rejuvenate— - the image grinned. - The longevity of Uzumaki plus the peculiarities of local training and meditation... are you ready to become a baby?

I must have acquired a very unhappily shocked look, as the image took pity and reported:

- Do not worry - a sharp rejuvenation, as well as a sharp aging, you are not in danger. It is impossible to roll back, and the longevity of demons rests largely on rather large reserves of spiritual energy, and not only on blood. Worry better about the eyes.

- OK. Are we here?

- Yes, now it's your turn. - said the image with a smile and began to jokingly stretch my shoulders.

— What should I do? You were a little out of your mind when I came in. I asked carefully.