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Chapter 327-New Jichuriki?
🕑 Added 2024-12-21 20:36:10 +0000 UTCThe caravan master, a grizzled man with a missing tooth and an air of perpetual suspicion, called out to the group. “We’ll reach the gates by sundown! Keep your wits about you—city guards are quick to seize anything they think ain’t right.”
Renjiro adjusted his cloak, pulling the hood further over his face.
The bustling checkpoint of Miyahira sprawled before them. Guards moved with military precision, their flak jackets gleaming under the sun as they scrutinized every entrant.
The scent of roasted meat and spices wafted from nearby food stalls catering to travellers, blending oddly with the tension in the air. A group of shinobi was stationed at the entrance, each scanning the incoming crowd with unwavering focus.
'This is such a secure place for such an ordinary town,' Renjiro mused under his breath, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
His sharp eyes darted from one shinobi to another, noting the smooth coordination between their movements. Despite the serene façade of the town, the security was anything but typical.
Although he couldn’t use his chakra field, Renjiro’s instincts served him well. He carefully assessed the strength of each shinobi by the way they carried themselves, their subtle auras, and the precision in their gestures. 'Jonin, Jonin, another Jonin... far too many for a place like this.' His thoughts lingered on the unspoken implication.
Renjiro was not surprised, though. Kumo’s unique military structure made this plausible. Unlike Konoha, which centralized its power within the village, Kumogakure dispersed its forces strategically across the Land of Lightning.
This decentralization ensured that, in the event of a major attack, the village could quickly reestablish control from another location. Miyahira, as a vital trading hub, was naturally fortified.
The caravan inched forward. Travellers ahead of Renjiro were being checked in small groups, five columns dividing the influx of people. Each column led to an open area where sensory nin monitored chakra signatures.
Renjiro’s gaze lingered on the sensory team. Their faces were calm, but their hands moved in intricate seals as they processed each individual.
He adjusted his hat slightly, hiding the furrow of his brow. From the information he had gathered, Kumo had developed a method to detect hidden shinobi among civilians by analyzing chakra patterns. The seal on his body—it had to work.
Renjiro stepped forward when his turn arrived. The shinobi in charge, a wiry man with sharp eyes, patted him down methodically. “What’s in the bag?” the guard asked, motioning to the satchel slung over Renjiro’s shoulder.
“Dried fish and salt,” Renjiro replied with an easy grin, his tone relaxed but unassuming. The guard opened the satchel and gave it a quick inspection before waving him toward the open area.
As Renjiro crossed the threshold into the sensory zone, his heart thudded once, but his expression betrayed nothing. He had spent hours preparing for this moment, using a self-created seal that completely suppressed his chakra.
Unlike a chakra-draining seal, this seal didn’t absorb energy; it merely locked it away, rendering him indistinguishable from an ordinary civilian, at least that was the intended effect.
From the corner of his eye, Renjiro noticed one of the sensory nin, a young shinobi with an air of nervous energy, whispering to his companion. “That merchant...” the sensory nin, whose name tag read Riku, murmured, “...he doesn’t have a lick of chakra on him. That’s strange, isn’t it?”
The senior shinobi beside him, a burly man named Tetsu, chuckled. “Relax, kid. Some civilians have such low chakra reserves it barely registers. It’s your first week on duty, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t overthink it,” Tetsu interrupted, clapping Riku on the shoulder. “Not everyone’s out to get us. You’ll get used to the anomalies soon enough.”
Riku hesitated before nodding. “Right... I’ll let it go this time.”
“Good. Now focus.”
Renjiro allowed a faint smile to ghost across his lips as he continued into the city without issue. Once inside, he exhaled a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Renjiro moved deeper into Miyahira, blending seamlessly into the throng of merchants and townsfolk. He passed bustling market stalls, their vibrant wares on display, and children darting between the crowd, their laughter adding to the city’s lively atmosphere.
The seal he had employed was a testament to his ingenuity. It was designed to lock away his chakra entirely, making him seem like a mundane individual. Such a tool had immense potential—not just for espionage missions like this one but also for containing dangerous shinobi.
'Maybe I should consider selling it to the clan', Renjiro thought, his mind wandering to the possibilities.
ANBU missions were his primary duty, but they were far from his only source of income. Crafting and selling seals was a lucrative venture, one that allowed him a modicum of financial independence.
Yet, the seal was not without its drawbacks. Even now, he felt an uncomfortable bloat, as though his suppressed chakra was pressing against the confines of his body.
The sensation was manageable for him, but it would likely be unbearable for someone with a larger chakra pool.
'I wonder how Kushina would react if she used this seal,' he mused with a faint smirk.
'Though I doubt it’d even work on her.'
Renjiro stopped in a secluded alley and created a shadow clone, channeling a significant amount of chakra into it. The clone retained the seal’s effect, appearing equally devoid of chakra, which ensured it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. The clone remained behind to mingle with the crowds, while the original Renjiro slipped away into the shadows.
Renjiro moved like a phantom through the less populated areas of the city, his steps light and deliberate. The air carried the mingling scents of roasted meat, spilled alcohol, and the faint tang of smoke from the taverns that catered to exhausted shinobi and merchants alike.
He kept to the edges, slipping between the shadows cast by tightly packed buildings, his presence a whisper in the noise of the evening.
His eyes scanned the surroundings constantly, cataloging every detail—the placement of patrolling guards, the subtle positioning of defensive seals etched into the walls, and the occasional rooftop silhouette that betrayed a sentry’s hidden perch.
'Kumo isn’t taking any chances. This isn’t just paranoia—it’s preparation.'
Renjiro’s ears caught snippets of conversation here and there, most of it trivial: complaints about long shifts, boasts of exaggerated exploits, or grumbles about prices at the market. But he didn’t stop until he heard something that piqued his interest.
Rounding a corner near the back of a smoke-filled tavern, he spotted two shinobi leaning against the wall, their postures relaxed but their voices laced with tension.
A faint curl of smoke wafted from the pipe one of them held, its ember glowing like a watchful eye in the dim light. Renjiro eased closer, keeping to the shadows, his breath measured and his footsteps silent.
“Man, things’ve been crazy lately,” one of them grumbled, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. His voice was raspy, the kind of tone that suggested too many late nights and far too little rest.
“Tell me about it,” the other replied, his tone lighter but edged with frustration. He rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a day’s worth of tension.
“More patrols, tighter security... I can’t even remember the last time we got a break.”
Renjiro tilted his head slightly, focusing his attention on their words while keeping one eye on their body language.
The first shinobi chuckled darkly, a sound devoid of real humor. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re about to host a big event. All eyes are on us now.”
Renjiro’s brow furrowed slightly 'A big event?'
His mind raced through the possibilities. Kumo’s leadership didn’t often make public moves without reason, and if this was enough to warrant increased security in a hub like Miyahira, it was likely critical.
“What event?” the second shinobi asked, his brow furrowing as he leaned in slightly.
“You haven’t heard?” The first leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Renjiro strained to catch every word, his instincts sharpening like a blade on a whetstone. “Word is, we’re about to get a new Jinchūriki.”
The world seemed to slow for a moment as the words sank in. Renjiro’s eyes widened slightly, his body tensing instinctively in the shadows.
'A new Jinchūriki?'
His mind raced, piecing together the implications. Jinchūriki were the heart of any village’s military power—a living weapon capable of turning the tide in any conflict. If Kumo was in the process of selecting or creating a new one, it was an event of monumental importance. It explained the heightened security, the restless shinobi, and the palpable tension in the air.
The second shinobi let out a low whistle, his expression a mixture of surprise and unease. “No wonder they’ve been running us ragged. Still, a new Jinchūriki, huh? I thought the Raikage was satisfied with how things were.”
The first shrugged, taking another long drag from his pipe. The ember flared briefly before dimming again. “Things change. Besides, with all the whispers of unrest and rogue groups sniffing around, it makes sense to shore up our defenses. A new Jinchūriki would be a serious deterrent.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like we don’t already have B—”
“Shh,” the first cut him off sharply, glancing around. His eyes lingered on the shadows for a moment, narrowing as if sensing something amiss. Renjiro froze, his body melding further into the darkness, his breath barely a whisper.
After a tense moment, the first shinobi exhaled and shook his head. “Don’t go blabbing about that here. You never know who’s listening.”
The second nodded sheepishly. “Right. Sorry.”
