Shanks made his way through the busy streets of the capital, his footsteps steady and unhurried. As he walked, he occasionally stopped to ask patrolling guards for directions to the bounty exchange office—specifically, the one authorized to handle payments for the elimination of Kirigakure shinobi. The directions led him toward the administrative quarter of the city, a district filled with low, official-looking buildings made of weathered stone and reinforced wood.
After a short walk, he arrived at a modest government structure tucked between two larger offices. The sign above the entrance was plain, bearing the emblem of the Daimyo's administration and the words "Bounty Processing Division." Without hesitation, Shanks stepped inside.
The interior was functional rather than ornate—a wide hall with high ceilings and rows of wooden benches. At the far end, behind a long counter, sat three officials, each absorbed in their own paperwork. There were no other visitors; the room was quiet, almost oppressively so. It was clear that bounty claims were rare here now.
Shanks approached the counter with confident strides and stopped before the lead clerk. His presence, casual yet firm, immediately drew the attention of the room.
"I'm here to submit the bodies of Kirigakure ninjas and collect the bounty," he said plainly, his voice echoing slightly in the still hall.
The officials looked up, startled. Their eyes widened when they took in Shanks's appearance—no mask, no hood, no attempt at concealing his identity. He stood tall and exposed, clearly unconcerned about who saw him.
A ripple of unease passed among them. Is he mad? they wondered silently. Does he not fear retaliation from Kirigakure?
Despite the Daimyo's declared bounty on Kirigakure operatives, the Hidden Mist Village had responded with brutal threats. They had publicly vowed to hunt down any bounty hunter who dared collect on their fallen. Not only the hunter, but their families and even their home villages could become targets. As a result, most bounty hunters had either abandoned such claims or taken extreme precautions to remain anonymous. Masks, false names, and secret drop-offs had become the norm.
But this man? He stood here in full view, calm as if he had just come to pay a bill.
Noticing the alarmed expressions on their faces, Shanks tilted his head slightly and asked, "What? Is there a problem?"
The lead official, collecting himself quickly, shook his head and replied, "No... no issue at all, sir. You may place the bodies in the center of the hall. We will begin verifying their identities immediately and calculate the bounty owed to you."
Shanks gave a brief nod, his eyes scanning the wide, open space in the center of the hall. After a moment of quiet assessment, he turned back to the lead official and remarked, "The hall is certainly large... but I doubt it's spacious enough to hold hundreds of bodies."
His calm, almost casual tone made the words all the more jarring.
The officials—who had just stood up, prepared with clipboards, inked pens, and gloved hands—suddenly froze in place. Even behind their masks, their expressions shifted from professionalism to disbelief. A heavy silence fell over the room.
The man at the center desk, clearly trying to maintain composure, cleared his throat and asked cautiously, "Pardon me, I think I may have misheard... Did you say hundreds of bodies?"
Shanks looked at him with a quizzical expression, as though the question itself were odd. "No," he replied simply, "you heard correctly. I said hundreds. I've brought several hundred corpses of Kirigakure shinobi. And while I'm not particularly fond of them, that doesn't mean I intend to pile their bodies like trash in a gutter. Even enemies deserve at least a semblance of order in death."
The room felt colder in that instant. The officials, who just moments ago had viewed Shanks as a respectful and perhaps even affable young man, now stared at him with new eyes. He no longer looked like a bounty hunter—they saw something else. Something old. Something dangerous. A man who had walked through a battlefield soaked in blood and emerged without flinching. A silent beast wearing the skin of a human.
The lead official exhaled slowly, as if trying to release the tension from his chest, and steadied his voice before responding. "Understood. In that case, you may begin releasing the bodies one at a time. We will count and identify them as they come. If there are corpses we cannot verify here, they'll be transferred to the medical and intelligence divisions for further inspection. There may be a delay in processing those, but rest assured—you will receive full payment for every confirmed bounty."
Shanks gave another small nod, seemingly indifferent to their unease. Reaching into the inner lining of his overcoat, he withdrew a tightly rolled summoning scroll. The dark fabric whispered as he knelt and unrolled a portion of it across the polished floor.
With practiced ease, he formed a single hand seal. A puff of chakra-tinged smoke erupted from the scroll, and with a faint whoosh, bodies began to materialize on the floor—row by row, perfectly aligned. In mere seconds, the first wave of corpses had appeared.
Forty Kirigakure shinobi now lay stretched across the hall, their lifeless forms clad in torn or bloodstained uniforms, some still bearing the mist insignia. The room was filled with an oppressive silence as the officials stared in stunned awe.
They no longer doubted Shanks's words.
The officials wasted no time in beginning their work. Methodically, they moved from one body to the next, peeling back hoods or brushing aside blood-matted hair to expose the forehead protectors—each engraved with the unmistakable symbol of Kirigakure. Despite the gore—severed heads, torsos marred by deep, vicious blade wounds, and limbs twisted at unnatural angles—none of the workers hesitated. Their hands moved with calm precision, eyes scanning and recording every detail with professional detachment.
This was their job, and they were well-trained for it.
There was no murmuring, no signs of disgust or horror. They worked in practiced silence, jotting down the names of the identified, cataloging symbols, marks, and ranks where visible. These clerks had seen death many times before, but rarely in such volume or intensity. Still, they remained composed, a testament to their discipline.
Once the initial batch of bodies had been verified and logged, a team of guards arrived from outside, moving in with stretchers. With quiet efficiency, they began transporting the corpses out of the hall, two at a time. The metallic rattle of the stretcher frames and the muted thud of heavy boots echoed through the room as they passed.
Shanks, standing silently nearby, furrowed his brow slightly. He had sensed something strange the moment the guards arrived. Tapping into his Observation Haki, he extended his perception beyond the walls of the building.
A rush of sensory information poured into his mind.
He could feel the shifting crowd outside—their movements, their emotions, their presence. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of people gathered just beyond the entrance. Whispers, tension, curiosity... even fear. The area had drawn attention, and not just from officials or shinobi. Civilians were present too.
Shanks sharpened his focus, his Haki filtering through the noise until one detail caught his attention.
The guards weren't covering the bodies.
As each corpse was wheeled out into the open air, it was left fully exposed. No cloth, no shroud, not even a token gesture of concealment. The lifeless forms of the Kirigakure shinobi—some gruesomely mangled—were displayed openly to the public as they were escorted toward the intelligence division's facility.
It wasn't a mistake. It was deliberate.
Understanding dawned in Shanks's eyes.
So that's it, he thought, a quiet nod forming in his mind. The Daimyo of the Land of Hot Water isn't just collecting these bounties for military gain—he's sending a message. A bold one.
Shanks's expression remained unreadable, but his thoughts continued with quiet admiration.
He's showing his people that justice has been served. That the tormentors—the ones who killed, threatened, and oppressed them—are no longer invincible shadows. They're corpses now. No longer monsters in the mist, but bodies laid bare in daylight. And with this... he's giving the people closure. Empowerment. Even hope.
It was psychological warfare of a different kind—directed not at enemies, but for the morale of the citizens. A symbol of strength. A statement that the era of fear might finally be ending.
The Daimyo has guts... and a sharp mind, Shanks concluded, watching another stretcher disappear through the door.
----
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