The process dragged on for nearly two hours as the officials diligently cataloged and examined the corpses—one after another—until they had processed a staggering total of one hundred and twenty Kirigakure shinobi. Though trained for this sort of grim work, the sheer volume of bodies was beyond what most of them had ever handled in a single session. The atmosphere in the hall had shifted from clinical efficiency to weary determination.
The once-silent officials were now visibly fatigued. Beads of sweat dripped down their faces, soaking through collars and dampening gloves. The scent of dried blood and death hung thick in the air, but they pressed on, scribbling notes, cross-checking identities, and preparing reports. Every available staff member had been pulled into the task. Even some of the guards had temporarily joined in to assist with basic documentation and moving the remains.
And through it all, Shanks stood still and silent—like a monument. Calm and composed, he watched from a quiet corner of the hall, showing no signs of impatience. He had wanted to leave after handing over the storage scroll, but protocol required the bounty submitter to remain on-site until the entire transfer and documentation were complete. So he waited, unmoving, like he had all the time in the world.
Eventually, the last of the sealed bodies was summoned. The scroll that had once contained the remains of over a hundred shinobi now lay completely unmarked—its final storage seal faded. The work was finally done.
A collective breath of relief swept through the room. Clerks slumped slightly, removing gloves with tired hands, while others leaned on nearby desks, letting the moment of stillness settle into their bones.
Outside, the city had begun to change with the fading light. Dusk had fallen, and the sun dipped low over the rooftops of the capital, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. The crowd that had gathered outside the building, once buzzing with tension and curiosity, had begun to thin. After witnessing corpse after corpse pass by, the public had grown numb—exhausted not by activity, but by the sheer emotional weight of what they had seen. Quietly, they began to disperse.
Back inside, the lead official straightened his back, still maintaining his formal tone despite the fatigue. He looked over at Shanks and asked politely, almost as an afterthought, "Are there any more bodies?"
The question was casual, spoken with the weary confidence of a man who assumed the answer was obvious. After all, how could there possibly be more?
To his—and everyone else's—surprise, Shanks nodded without hesitation.
"Yes," he replied calmly. "There is."
A moment of stunned silence followed.
Then, as Shanks reached into his coat and produced a second storage scroll, a collective groan swept through the room.
"Eeeehhh…!" several people exclaimed in unison, the disbelief practically echoing off the walls. Some pinched the bridges of their noses. Others leaned back as though the weight of their exhaustion had just doubled.
Shanks, amused by the reaction, chuckled softly and held up the scroll. "Don't worry," he said with a light-hearted grin. "This one only has eleven. You've already processed over a hundred—eleven more is nothing."
Despite their weariness, a few of the officials cracked tired smiles at his words. The job wasn't over yet—but at least the end was in sight.
After his calm reassurance, Shanks knelt down and unrolled the second scroll across the floor. As the parchment unfurled, eleven distinct sealing marks became visible. Without delay, he formed a single hand seal.
A moment later, eleven more bodies materialized in the hall, emerging from bursts of smoke with heavy thuds. The air grew still as the officials stepped forward to inspect the new arrivals.
At first, there was visible relief—only eleven more. A manageable number compared to the grueling count they had just finished.
But that relief evaporated the moment they looked closer.
The room shifted from tired to tense in a heartbeat.
These weren't ordinary shinobi. Their attire was distinctive—elite black vests bearing the Kirigakure insignia, and flak jackets reserved for only the Jonins.
They were all Jōnin.
Several of the officials paled. Cold sweat trickled down more than one brow. Gloves trembled in hands that had previously been steady. The realization was undeniable—and terrifying.
Shanks remained silent, his expression unreadable as he observed their reactions. He understood the shift in atmosphere perfectly. He had anticipated it. There was no need to explain anything. The bodies spoke for themselves.
Finally, the lead official gathered the nerve to speak, though his voice was noticeably more cautious this time.
"You... you killed all of these people yourself?" he asked, trying to maintain composure.
Shanks gave a small nod in confirmation.
The man swallowed hard. There was no longer any doubt about the kind of person standing before him. "I'll be blunt," he said, his tone now careful, deferential. "This exceeds my jurisdiction. These bodies will need to be handed over to both the intelligence division and the medical research unit for further analysis. As you know, the bounty for Jōnin is not fixed—it varies depending on their skills, ranks, and strategic importance. So I hope you understand what this means."
Shanks nodded again, unbothered. "I understand. I'm aware of the protocols. You'll have to assess them and assign value accordingly. I'm in no hurry."
Then, he added matter-of-factly, "Also, I assume you're familiar with the additional reward granted for repelling S-rank threats. In Yu Village, I fought and repelled one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen—Jūzō Biwa. You can forward that information to your intelligence department for verification."
The moment he said the name, a visible shock rippled through the room.
The lead official's mouth parted slightly in disbelief. "Jūzō Biwa?" he echoed, eyes wide.
Shanks gave a faint smile. "Yes."
The man quickly composed himself and bowed slightly in respect. "I'll make sure to include this in the report and inform the intelligence department. They'll confirm the encounter through their own channels. If validated, the additional reward will be added to your overall remuneration."
Then, in a slower, more formal tone, he continued, "But I must ask for your patience. This phase of the process may take several days—possibly even up to a week, depending on the departments' workload and the depth of analysis needed."
Shanks nodded once more. "That's fine. I'll wait."
The official bowed again, even lower this time. His voice carried genuine humility. "Thank you for your understanding."
He wasn't just being polite—he was showing deference.
Earlier, the clerks had guessed Shanks to be around the level of an elite Jōnin based on the sheer volume of corpses. But now, with so many confirmed Jōnin among the dead—and news that he had successfully repelled a monster like Jūzō Biwa—their estimation had shifted entirely.
There was no longer any doubt.
Shanks was at least at the level of an S-rank shinobi—perhaps even above.
A force to be respected. And feared.
Shanks gave a small nod, understanding the necessity of the formalities. "Alright then," he said calmly. "I'll return in three days to check on the progress. In the meantime, if there's any urgent need to reach me, I'll be staying at one of the hotels or inns here in the capital. I'm sure your people can find me if needed."
The head of the bounty division nodded quickly in acknowledgment. "Yes, of course. I'll ensure you're contacted if anything important comes up."
With nothing more to be said, Shanks turned and made his way out of the building. The sun had long since set, and the capital was cloaked in the quiet hush of night. Lamps flickered along the streets, casting long golden shadows on the cobblestones as he walked.
After a few minutes of casual searching, Shanks found a modest but well-kept hotel nestled between two shops on a quieter street. The front desk clerk, though initially surprised by his appearance, quickly arranged a room for him.
Once checked in, Shanks had a simple meal—bread, meat stew, and a cup of warm tea. It was enough to ease the fatigue from the long day. After dinner, he made his way to his room and locked the door behind him, allowing himself a brief moment of silence.
But before he allowed his body to rest, he closed his eyes—and entered his mental space.
Within that inner realm, he stood once more before the towering figure of the red-haired Emperor of the Sea—Shanks from the world of One Piece.
Steel clashed against steel as they exchanged blows—measured, fierce, and full of intention. Every strike, every counter, was built upon the insights Shanks had gained during the recent battles against the Kirigakure shinobi. Those encounters had sharpened him. They had helped him a lot. And now, in this internal duel, those lessons were being forged into skill.
It wasn't just training. It was refinement.
The mental battle was more intense than any he had engaged in recently—his movements more precise, his reflexes more instinctive. The Emperor pressed him hard, and Shanks responded with newfound clarity and resolve.
Eventually, the battle came to a close, and his inner world faded into stillness.
Opening his eyes once more in the quiet hotel room, Shanks lay down on the bed. His breathing was steady, his mind clear. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.
----
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