"Sigh, I worked so hard to save up that energy, only to burn half of it in one go. I hope these new bugs have so unexpected utility."
Shisui contemplated the findings in his Petri dish. First, there was the Virus. It certainly couldn't be applied directly to his own body yet.
However, based on the observations during accelerated evolution, this "Primal Virus" seed to have a distinct chance of acting as a vector for gene grafting.
Though an accidental discovery, its potential was staggering. Theoretically, if one could graft the genetic traits of the Uchiha, Senju, Uzumaki, Kaguya, and Hyuga clans into a single vessel, it might be possible to reconstruct the biology of an Otsutsuki.
But the success rate was abysmal. The genetic collapse rate stood at a staggering 97.7% for just one set of genes.
For six overlapping sets, the probability of failure grew exponentially, approaching zero.
"It looks good on paper, but it needs exhaustive research and fine-tuning," Shisui thought. He had a long road ahead.
At the very least, he would need to develop high-precision microscopic instrunts to understand the virus's chanics.
Such technology didn't exist in the current era; he would have to learn, create, and innovate on his own. Perhaps, eventually, he'd even need to "cultivate" a team of scientists.
Shisui felt a phantom headache coming on. "Forget it. I'll worry about that later."
He had defected specifically to find so peace and "lie flat." He'd wait a few years for the world's general scientific level to advance before hunting for researchers.
Doing all the heavy lifting himself was not part of the plan.
As he mused, the sky turned a misty grey. Before long, a light, persistent drizzle began to fall.
The once-dry road turned slick with mud, slowing the caravan's progress. They were less than a hundred miles into the Land of Waterfall, and no villages were in sight.
The path ahead was suddenly blocked by a landslide triggered by the rain. A section of the road had washed away, buried under a heap of mountain stone and mud. It would take at least half a day of heavy labor to clear.
"Let's rest here," Shisui said, leaping down from the carriage and addressing Ryuji. "It looks like we're not getting through today. Better to set up camp early."
Ryuji nodded frantically. "You're right, Master Takigawa. Keita, tell everyone to stop. Let's get a fire going."
The caravan pulled over to a relatively dry clearing. The three ronin were surprisingly helpful, assisting with the cargo and gathering branches to start the fires.
Their deanor was far friendlier than before, and they even helped the servants pitch the makeshift tents.
Shisui leaned against a tree, watching them quietly. He noticed the pudgy ronin glancing at him periodically while working, his eyes harboring an unpleasant, calculating glint.
By mid-afternoon, three campfires were crackling. Iron pots were set up to boil a simple grain porridge.
Ryuji pulled out so hard flatbread and pickles from the carriage to distribute among the group.
Shisui took a piece of the bread, broke off a small chunk, and chewed. He frowned slightly.
"Master Takigawa, is it not to your taste?" Ryuji asked nervously. "I'm terribly sorry. For us traveling rchants, these simple rations are all we have on the road..."
"It's not your fault, Mr. Ida," Shisui said, offering a gentle smile. "This bread is just a bit bland. Tell you what, I'll head into the woods nearby and see if I can bag so fresh ga for us."
He stood up and dusted off his clothes.
Ryuji tried to protest. "Oh, that's not right! You are a Master Ninja; we can't have you hunting for us..."
"It's fine. I'm bored anyway," Shisui laughed. "I'll be back soon. Get the pots ready."
His gaze drifted casually over the three ronin before he turned and disappeared into the trees. His footsteps gradually faded into the sound of the rain.
Near one of the campfires, several black insects sat motionless on a branch, seemingly feeding on sap. Farther away, the three ronin huddled around their own fire.
"Big brother," the pudgy ronin, Nakamura, whispered, his eyes fixed on the spot where Shisui had vanished. "The opportunity of a lifeti. It's now or never."
The ronin leader, Ichiro Kurosaki, chewed his bread in silence, his eyes dark.
"The kid went into the woods alone. It's the perfect chance to strike," Nakamura continued. "Look at him—soft skin, pretty face.
He clearly hasn't lived through a real life-and-death struggle. If the three of us jump him together, he won't stand a chance."
The tall, thin ronin, Kenta, licked his lips. "A ninja always carries good loot... kunai, scrolls, maybe even jutsu manuals. If we get our hands on those, we could beco ninja ourselves."
Beco a ninja?
The words echoed in Ichiro's ears like a siren song. He was thirty-three, once a guard for a minor noble family.
Seven years ago, his master had perished in a political purge, and he had fled with two colleagues, falling into a life of wandering.
They had been bodyguards, thugs, and occasional bandits. They lived with their heads on the line every day, yet they still struggled to stay fed.
He had seen real ninja—beings who looked down on him from above, who could take dozens of lives with a single gesture and earn years' worth of wages in a single mission.
Why them and not him? He had practiced his sword for twenty years. He had even learned to refine chakra. He was just missing the jutsu! If he could take them from this Waterfall brat...
"Big brother, stop hesitating," Nakamura urged. "Even if he doesn't have jutsu scrolls, killing him and turning in his forehead protector for a bounty is worth a fortune.
Plus, that rchant Ryuji has so valuables left. We take it all and live like kings for a while."
Ichiro's breathing grew heavy. He rembered the years of wandering, the contempt in the eyes of every ninja who looked at him.
He looked at his hands, calloused and scarred. The dry bread in his mouth suddenly tasted like ash.
"Fine," Ichiro spat out the bread. "We've lived with our heads on our belts for years. One more risk won't kill us."
Nakamura grinned. "Wise choice, brother."
"But be careful," Ichiro warned. "The kid dared to go in alone, he might have a trick up his sleeve. We strike as one.
Nakamura, you use shuriken for a side ambush. Kenta, you circle around the back. I'll pin him down from the front. Strike fast—don't give him a chance to weave a sign."
"Got it!" Kenta nodded, his eyes gleaming with greed. He had noticed earlier that "Takigawa Shu" carried three scroll-like objects on his person. Those were either jutsu... or storage scrolls filled with wealth.
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