Chapter 69: Black Fire, Burning Silently
A certain town in the Land of Rain had now become a Sunagakure stronghold.
In the open area outside the town, a massive, Tanuki-shaped machine sat quietly.
Even in its bowed, crouching posture, this puppet was over ten meters tall. If it stood fully upright, it might exceed twenty meters.
Around the puppet, a frame constructed of spliced lumber neatly encased it. The empty spaces were divided into six platforms for storing supplies and allowing maintenance personnel to stand.
As the first large-scale puppet Hiiro Rinko had personally built in this world—a so-called 'theory-verification prototype'—this 'Shukaku Type-Zero' was equipped with data recording functions throughout its body, allowing him to log the operational status of each system for adjustment and optimization.
Since the war officially began, Rinko spent nearly sixty percent of his day here.
Whether it was calibrating the unit's performance from the gathered data, analyzing intel on Konoha shinobi, or just wanting a quiet place to think and rest, the cockpit was a good spot for him.
Just as he liked 'Vegeta's' office on the fifth underground floor.
So when the messenger ninja came clattering up the stairs, shouting and looking for Rinko, Rinko—who was still calibrating the machine inside the cockpit—poked his head out so abruptly he nearly knocked the man flying.
"What?!"
The external neural cable at the back of Rinko's neck was stretched taut, nearly snapping, but he didn't even notice. Hearing the messenger's words, he frowned, an expression of disbelief on his face.
"Jōnin Yūsa and Jōnin Chōko were attacked by Konoha's White Fang. The puppet unit they were with... was completely wiped out."
Over the past year or so, the Suna shinobi had come to thoroughly understand their genius's temperament. If he hadn't heard clearly, he would have said, "Sorry, I didn't catch that." Words like "What?" meant he needed a more detailed explanation.
Quickly adjusting his breathing, the messenger expanded on his previous statement and handed Rinko a more detailed paper report.
"Konoha's White Fang... Then it's not strange... Yeah, it's not strange."
Rinko's movements froze. Then he ripped the connector cable from the back of his neck, took off his plain glasses, and lowered his head, endlessly wiping the lenses that didn't have a speck of dust on them.
"After all, it's that White Fang..."
Accompanying his noticeably ragged breathing, he muttered softly, as if trying to convince himself.
As a fellow taijutsu specialist, Rinko could not deny the Shinobi World's general view on taijutsu.
The human arm, or rather the hand, evolved over a long period to be adept at using tools, eventually becoming the flexible, convenient form it is today. Correspondingly, this evolution made the human hand unsuited to be a weapon, unsuited for 'unarmed' combat.
Every outstanding taijutsu master must endure pain, bear risks, and grind away day and night, dulling their sense of pain, dulling their flesh, and reforging their limbs into the weapons that suit them best.
To complete such a work requires an unimaginable amount of effort for those not on this path.
And training with weapons is no easier than honing one's fists and feet. Compared to ninjutsu or genjutsu, taijutsu, which requires longer, repetitive grinding, indeed has a very low cost-performance ratio.
Of course, this is also because shinobi in the past generally didn't live that long.
But conversely, if a shinobi can rise to Jōnin rank or even gain infamy solely through taijutsu, what that represents is self-evident.
Talent far beyond the ordinary, the hard work to realize that talent, and even a bit of luck. A guy who has grasped all these things and polished them to the extreme is definitely not someone to be trifled with.
Konoha's White Fang, Hatake Sakumo, was a man who shook the Shinobi World with just his fierce kenjutsu.
Rinko knew his cheap older brother's skills well. Even if Yūsa considered himself lacking in talent, that was only compared to Chiyo.
In fact, Yūsa's skill as a Puppet Master was completely first-rate. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been promoted to Elite Jōnin in just a few years. While that wasn't an official rank, Jōnin who held important duties in the village usually had something worth praising.
After Chiyo became one of Suna's new Elders, the authority over the Medical and Puppet Corps was handed down. Yūsa took over the Puppet Corps.
You could call it nepotism, but there really wasn't anyone among the conventional Puppet Masters who was stronger or understood puppet technology better than him. After all, Yūsa was a man who hadn't given up on puppetry even after being crushed by his mother's skill and his adopted brother's talent for so many years.
And Chōko, as Yūsa's wife and deputy, while not outstanding among Suna Jōnin, was by no means weak.
But if the opponent was that man... being wiped out in a surprise attack was truly unavoidable... wasn't it?
Silently putting his glasses back on, Rinko flipped through the report again and again, almost crushing the paper into dust.
Although the recorders from the few surviving puppets confirmed that Hatake Sakumo had been injured in both arms and seemingly blinded in his left eye during the puppet unit's counterattack... was that something to be proud of?
If my mechanisms were better... If my armor was more effective... If... If... If...
The faint sound of teeth grinding together was masked by the crinkling of paper, leaving only a slight tremor.
"...Does the Old Hag know?"
A moment later, Rinko looked up, his nose twitching slightly. He asked softly, in a tone so flat it was almost inorganic.
The weather today was good; the sunlight, usually rare in the Land of Rain, had made a scarce appearance. His large, round glasses reflected the light, hiding Rinko's eyes.
But this bright sunshine could not bring a single shred of warmth to the Suna messenger. Even standing in the light, he felt an inexplicable palpitation.
A chill crept up from the soles of his feet, bit by bit, as if vowing not to stop until it had stolen all his warmth.
"...Yes. Lady Chiyo... she already knows."
Taking a deep breath to calm his uneasiness, the Suna shinobi answered, his voice trembling without him realizing it.
"Good. Thank you for your hard work."
Rinko nodded. He meticulously organized the documents he had scattered in his haste and handed them to the ninja. "I have to go see her. Please put these in that box for me."
Then he vaulted out of the cockpit, walking softly.
His footsteps were very light, just like his voice.
However, in the eyes of that Suna shinobi, Hiiro Rinko seemed to be engulfed in flames.
A raging, pitch-black, freezing fire.