In this chaotic era, no matter what form battle takes—whether it is an open clash between nations or a silent struggle in the shadows—it always gives birth to both obstacles and opportunities. War is cruel, but for those who understand it, war is also a ladder.
After Moyu grasped this truth, he quickly came to another realization: to survive and thrive, he needed to elevate his social standing at any cost. Only by securing status could he gain enduring respect and admiration. That conviction burned clearly in his eyes.
The two young genin standing beside him could not comprehend the look in their master's gaze. They only watched, wide-eyed, as Moyu calmly severed the heads of the defeated bandits and sealed them within a space scroll. It was an efficient, methodical act—clean, quick, and cold.
When the time came to report the mission, such efficiency would make the accounting simple. Moyu always thought ahead.
This time, his slaughter exceeded all expectations. More than a thousand outlaws had fallen by his hand. The tally was staggering. Other ninjas, still standing amidst the carnage, could only look on with envy and disbelief. They had joined the battle, but none could match the sheer number Moyu claimed alone.
As the corpses were counted and spoils divided, murmurs rippled through the ranks. Even seasoned shinobi could not hide their jealousy. They imagined what they might have earned if those heads had been theirs. But Moyu had outclassed them all.
The mission supervisors confirmed the count and authorized his reward. When Moyu received his payment—a bag so heavy with ryo that it strained his arm—he felt a deep, quiet satisfaction.
Making money in this world, he thought, might not be so difficult after all.
He returned home that night with the easy confidence of a man who had earned his keep through blood. He used part of his bounty to renovate his residence, adorning it with fine furnishings and solid woodwork until it resembled a nobleman's estate rather than a mercenary's shelter.
Afterward, he turned his attention to the two children who had fought by his side. Both were resting, wrapped in bandages. Moyu checked their injuries with care, noting their progress and resilience.
Their wounds were minor. In three days, they would recover completely. Yet what pleased him more was not their healing—it was their growth.
Actual combat had awakened something within them. They had faced death, and in doing so, glimpsed their own potential. Naruto, ever reckless and impulsive, had finally begun to feel the movement of chakra within his body with new awareness. Sasuke, silent and sharp as a blade, had learned how to refine his strength, to sense the edge between control and chaos.
Watching their progress filled Moyu with genuine satisfaction. The two had taken a small but vital step toward true power.
Then his gaze shifted to the heap of silver and gold before him. Never had he imagined that such a simple mission could yield a reward this vast.
Strictly speaking, Moyu was still a newcomer to this world. He lacked the deep understanding of its politics and hidden rules that older shinobi possessed. Yet even he could tell that a mission of this scale was no easy task. Few in the village had the strength to accomplish it.
That he had completed it alone only proved his worth.
No one dared question the reward he had received.
For the next few days, Moyu set his sights on a simple goal: to continue working, continue earning, and raise his station further. He would build not merely a home but a symbol—something grand enough to rival even the mansions of the Uchiha clan.
Wealth, strength, influence—these were all tools. And Moyu intended to master them all.
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