The captain was a famously grouchy old man. Yet, thanks to the expert application of my skills, I could find no evidence of his negative reputation. When he had finally permitted us to come aboard, I immediately sought him out. I offered my services, knowing that I could be of value to the sailor. His entire cargo space, and more importantly, the weight that came along with it, shrank to a mere quarter of its original size, thanks to my sealing Fujitsu. The ship, once heavily laden and slow, now skipped on the water like a delighted child. Following my first minor miracle, I performed a thorough medical checkup on him and his entire crew.
The crew was in surprisingly decent condition. We were, after all, just in port, and any man truly in bad shape would have been left behind. The main issues were old injuries, aches that never healed right, and the chronic fatigue of life at sea. I was able to mend some of the most pressing ailments, though, seeing that the men still had work to do, I could only address what was necessary.
After I finished, the captain’s demeanor transformed entirely. He gazed at me as if I were sent by heaven. The deal I made with him was a small request. I wanted to use the saved-up storage space for my team and their training. I organized our group so that the Snow ninjas were on the top and first floor, so I could keep an eye on them, while my own squad claimed the bulk of the newly freed hold below deck.
I continued the kids’ training regimen as usual, but I felt compelled to integrate my new resources while they were available. I stood observing one of my students spar against a Snow ninja. The moment highlighted a deep flaw in my current methodology, a flaw I promised myself I would address. The aesthetic design of the training equipment left a lot of room for improvement.
The Snow ninja wore nothing that hinted at defense or protection. Just simple, cloth clothes and traditional sandals. He was a vision of focused lethality. He glided across the polished deck like a ghost across frozen water, never seeming to commit fully to a step. He would pepper my student with a quick, dazzling sequence of blows before falling back, retreating into his own personal space, before preparing to strike again. It was the quintessential, clear-cut way of fighting in the ninja world: strike first, strike last, then vanish.
My students, however, were the polar opposite. A chaotic jumble of gear, their outfits were a far cry from the light, casual clothes available at any town stall. They wore mismatched, misshapen equipment that looked haphazardly put together. Each one sported a bulky helmet and wide-set goggles, a mass of padded safety gear covered in sealing tags and various tubes sticking out all over their bodies.
Where the Snow ninja floated and bobbed, an elegant phantom on the battlefield, my students fought like heavily burdened survivors, the last man standing after a fatal ambush, still trying to survive against all odds. It was not a pretty sight, and the stream of dismissive insults the Snow ninja was throwing out certainly did not help. I had to create a simple genjutsu to secretly remind my students not to spill any important information to their taunting opponent.
My students’ frustration mounted quickly. What little proper fighting form remained that wasn't being hampered by their cumbersome equipment soon faded beneath the tide of irritation. They resorted mainly to brute strength and raw speed. The kids were doing adequately in my book; they were only losing seven out of ten times, but I knew I had spoiled them. Any loss they had suffered was now perceived as a profound insult to all the rigorous training they had undergone.
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Their clones below deck were having a much better time of it. Now that they had completely mastered the difficult water walking and the specialized torpedo technique, their enthusiasm about chakra control had truly skyrocketed. Finally being able to see the fruits of their labor being put to real use really opened their eyes to its importance.
They were still focused intently on their element-shaping training, but minor setbacks that would have taken the wind from their sails previously were now seen as only a small speed bump. I made careful mental notes of which of the Snow ninjas had which elemental affinity, planning to have them tutor my students in their respective fields. I could offer guidance on chakra control and feel, but having someone who actually knew how to use their natural affinity in live combat was entirely different.
Thanks to the weight reduction on the ship, we were making excellent time. That, combined with some unexpectedly favorable weather, suggested that my luck was finally turning around. The captain estimated it would take us roughly three days to reach the Land of Snow. After that, my Snow Village escort would actually be forced to do their jobs.
I know I should be more heavy-handed with the Snow ninjas about gathering information, but the ship's crew themselves possessed interesting knowledge about the land. They did not know the details, but they knew the previous Damio had shipped in a huge amount of fancy equipment from across the world. Better still, the harbor master at the docks we were heading to held the complete manifest of what was brought in. I would have loved to pick the previous lord’s brain about what eccentric project he was working on, but having his receipts was a decent consolation prize.
I allowed the days to go by, relaxing as much as my role would allow. The kids trained rigorously, the escort ninjas made their half-hearted attempts to scheme, and the sailors efficiently manned their positions. But once we were within a day’s travel of the port, I made my move.
Waiting for the least skilled of the Snow ninjas to take his turn keeping watch while the rest of his team slept, I had a clone quietly depart from the ship. Using the perfected torpedo method I had taught the children, the clone swam silently toward the port. The Harbor master was at his home, asleep, so I disguised myself as him and snuck into his office, both at his residence and at the docks.
What I was searching for was ultimately in the attic of his home. Any business deals connected to the recently fallen lord would certainly seem like a bad thing to show off nowadays, but the man still needed to keep a precise record for his own personal books. Combing through the dusty, extensive material was a boring task, but his meticulous records and the liberal use of mud clones to sift through the reports made it doable.
Roughly thirty percent of the specialized equipment the fallen lord was purchasing came from lands across the continent. Still, the rest, a staggering seventy percent, originated from the Land of Whirlpools. Consistent reports detailing cargo spillage strongly suggested that bribes were being paid out to the Mist Village, guessing on precisely where the spillage was happening. This confused me: if he was bribing the Mist Village so consistently for safe passage, then who else in the area was he doing business with that required such a costly level of secrecy?
I lucked out again when one of my mud clones discovered that the previous lord had given the harbor master a few opulent gifts. One of them immediately told me what I wanted to know. Once I got my first clear clue, they started to appear everywhere. The Harbor master’s wife had an expensive jewelry case, the kitchen held some impressive dishware, fine leather boots were tucked away in the closet, and more. All of them bore maker marks. Different families, minor style changes, but I recognized where they came from. All these businesses originated from the Land of Whirlpools, but more than that, they all had deep and undeniable connections to the Uzumaki clan. Before he died, Sōsetsu Kazahana was looking into Uzushiogakure, the fallen village of whirlpools.
