Chapter Eighteen: Are People Like Us Mere Wage Earners?

Three Iwagakure shinobi had perished, and the surviving members of the Konoha patrol gathered together. With their captain dead, the patrol mission could no longer continue; they lifted the corpses from both sides and returned together to the Konoha encampment.

By dusk, the group finally arrived at the frontline camp established on the border of the Land of Fire. As the stretchers, shrouded in white cloth, were carried into camp, the once faintly lively place immediately plunged into a chilling silence.

Ever since the Third Tsuchikage, Onoki, ordered his men to avoid Minato Namikaze, there had been no casualties for quite some time. Some had even naively believed that Iwagakure would soon surrender, and the war would soon be over.

But today’s four corpses, one even a jonin, made it painfully clear that Iwagakure’s ambitions had not ceased. Onoki was still seeking ways to erode the intimidation posed by Minato Namikaze.

Inside the command tent, Konoha’s highest commander, Shikafuku Nara, sat at the head, with the handsome blond Minato Namikaze standing beside him. Behind them stood the taciturn Kakashi, the blundering Obito Uchiha, and the kindhearted Rin Nohara.

Hayate Gekkou, as the one most familiar with the situation, was giving a detailed report to Commander Shikafuku Nara, mentioning Shiroki the most.

“Minato, what’s your view?” Shikafuku Nara, the clan head of the Nara and supreme commander of the Iwagakure front, was also one who favored Minato Namikaze as the Fourth Hokage.

“The bodies are in a dreadful state…” Minato frowned slightly as he lifted the shroud from the three Iwagakure corpses.

Especially the Iwagakure jonin, Retso; he was no longer recognizable as human—like a towel wrung dry, with his bones and organs shattered beyond recognition—Afei’s handiwork.

Obito glanced at the corpse and nearly vomited, earning a withering glare from Kakashi. “Idiot, you’re already a chunin and still get squeamish at corpses?”

Rin, however, closed her eyes, lost in thought.

“Compared to Iwabanjutsu, his death was almost merciful,” Shiroki glanced at Obito, making no excuse.

Indeed, one of Konoha’s genin had died beneath Retso’s Earth Release: Rock Slab Coffin. They’d pried open the two merging rocks, only to find the victim crushed as thin as paper, finally scraped off bit by bit with kunai.

Ninjutsu cares not for cruelty—only for whether or not it kills.

“You call yourself a wandering ninja?” Shikafuku Nara waved his men to remove the bodies and stared into Shiroki’s eyes.

“That’s right. I come from a small village in the north, the Zu’an Shinobi Village,” Shiroki replied, unfazed by their scrutinizing gazes.

“Zu’an Shinobi Village?” Shikafuku Nara looked at Minato; both shook their heads, indicating they’d never heard of it.

If you had, that would be truly strange, Shiroki thought with a smile.

After all, this war had dragged on for seven years. The Great Nations’ grip on the ninja world had weakened, spawning many rogue and wandering shinobi who’d gather in little villages and boldly call themselves shinobi villages.

This so-called Zu’an Shinobi Village was likely just such an insignificant place.

“Would you introduce your village to us?” Shikafuku Nara’s face showed curiosity, yet he was testing Shiroki. Anyone can invent a name, but covering up a lie requires countless more.

“Our village is a very peaceful one,” Shiroki replied warmly. “Everyone’s refined and courteous. When we meet on the road, we all greet each other with flowery words. We live on the grasslands, making our living for generations by catching wild horses. The locals affectionately call us the Zu’an Horse Hunters.”

“That’s my mother,” Shiroki continued, gesturing helplessly to Afei, who was still chasing his own tail on the ground. “She’s a devoted parent—couldn’t bear to leave her child, so she came along.”

“Why is your mother a cat?” Obito exclaimed.

“Because I raised Shiroki from a young age,” Afei responded, giving a thumbs-up. “And thanks to my influence, his mind is always full of humor!”

“A talking ninja cat! What’s your mother’s name?” Obito marveled—talking ninja cats were rare indeed.

“You’re insulting me again!” Shiroki snapped.

The group was bewildered. In the shinobi world, the language of insults was pitifully impoverished compared to other cultures, and asking “What’s your mother’s name?” was hardly considered rude.

“My apologies, I was too hasty,” Shiroki managed a strained smile.

“To defend the peace of the ninja world, to protect the young from harm, upholding laughter and love—the cute and charming villain, Afei, at your service!” Without the least intent to act like a well-behaved cat, Afei stood up on two legs, crossed his arms, and struck a pose full of arrogance.

“So adorable!” Rin instantly scooped him up.

“Rin, you like cats? We have one at home too—want to come see? It can even do backflips,” Obito almost drooled.

“All right, Rin, Obito, let’s let Lord Shikafuku discuss serious matters,” Minato interjected.

“Oh…”

“For now, I’ll believe you. Hayate Gekkou says you came to the Konoha camp seeking a mission? I’m sorry—Konoha currently has no plans to admit wandering shinobi into the village,” Shikafuku Nara shook his head.

This war had cost Konoha dearly—nearly half their shinobi had died. Even if they intended to accept wandering ninjas, it would have to wait until peacetime. Admitting unknown shinobi during wartime would be courting disaster.

“No, no, I’m not looking to join Konoha. I’m loyal to my own shinobi village. I just wanted to accept missions as a hired shinobi in exchange for some payment,” Shiroki quickly explained.

To step out the door with a hearty laugh—how could I accept being just another wage slave?

He’d lived a miserable enough life in his previous existence—why cross into this world just to work for someone else, to risk his life on the battlefield for a pittance?

He wanted a few years of leisure, not to be hunted as a rogue ninja for refusing to fight. What sense would that make?

Better to be free, to go where he pleased and do what he liked. He’d rather be his own boss than live under anyone’s thumb.

“A hired ninja?” Shikafuku Nara’s tone grew cold. “I’m sorry, but Konoha has no intention of hiring such shinobi.”

Hired ninjas—those who fought for money and took any mission for profit—were mostly wandering or rogue shinobi, frequenting exchange houses in search of work.

They fought only for payment, switching sides as the highest bidder demanded, bound by no morals or conscience. They could kill for Konoha today and, if Iwagakure paid better tomorrow, turn against Konoha the next.

They despised peace, stirring up conflict wherever they went, for only in a world wracked by war could they thrive.

Konoha loathed this group. Though their strength was limited, even lions detest the proliferation of flies and mosquitoes. Much of the turmoil in the Land of Fire was their doing, forcing Konoha, already short-handed, to spare personnel for law enforcement and supply protection.

And most of these hired shinobi were recruited by Onoki.

In short, to Konoha’s well-trained, academy-raised shinobi, these mercenaries were nothing but rabble.

At this moment, Shiroki felt as dejected as a man rejected by his beloved, his pride trampled beneath their feet.

They must never have seen “300 Spartans.” They had no idea what might come from turning away an eager hunchback!

“Hmph, if that’s how Konoha is, who would want to stay here anyway?” Shiroki, in the end, could not bring himself to say this aloud.