Interlude 6

When he was younger, he leapt through the great branches that bordered Fire Country and the Land of Rivers, a dozen meters or more with each great bound as he raced, playing with the monkeys that favored his clan and under the watchful eyes of elder apes. He could still remember the day that they were called together by the elders and nurses, to dress in their best robes and to get ready for an important meeting.

The Fire Daimyo was meeting with a pair of clans, long enemies and now allies, who wanted to lease a plot of land for the establishment of a new township. The Sarutobi, as chief retainers of the Daimyo, were expected to be present at this meeting. He and cousin Hiruzen, neither of them older than ten, fumbled with their robes the entire time.

The meeting was long, he remembered, long and full of boring elders talking about boring things. He didn’t realize what a momentous occasion it was until much later, all he was concerned about was that half of his cousins were moving away to join the new village. A request of the Fire Daimyo to strengthen his influence in the new settlement, by installing a clan loyal to himself into the local politics.

And with that, Konohagakure, the first great ninja village, was born. Initially an alliance of two great ninja clans, then a compromise between those clans and the local lord, and eventually a model that the rest of the world would follow. Within the next ten years, the other great ninja villages would all be established, along with a fair few lesser villages that did not survive the march of time.

But Sanjuro did. He grew in stature and stride, he grew in posture and bearing, and he grew in wisdom. The wisdom that he was part of a dying world.

Samurai, as they were, could not survive the changing era. Strong as they were, they were too rigid, and this rigidity made them brittle. One great hammerblow in the correct spot, and their entire structure would shatter. The Shinobi were once weak, but their strength grew with each passing generation and their flexibility remained as immense as ever. More and more did Daimyo look to their strength to fight their wars, and Sanjuro was not blind to the reasons. He was wise enough to know this, but he was an old man by the time he realized this. Too old to change, to adapt. Every great leap brought long-familiar pain to his knees and every breath was shallow and strained.

The tempers of his youth had long cooled into steel, and cold steel could not be reforged. All that was left for him was to crumble in a dignified fashion. Commander Tenchi, it seems, was young enough to not understand the misfortune a coup would bring.

The great shaggy Ninken barked, nose pointed squarely forwards and leaps carefully restrained to keep the noble ladies upon his furred back. Sanjuro was not learned enough in the tongue of dogs to understand him, but the immediate emergence of familiar young ninja in the distance told him enough. They were painted in a faint green light- the poisonous radiance of the immense Moth that now softly hovered above the courtyard of the Daimyo’s fortress.

Nothing less than a declaration of war, a scene Sanjuro had seen depicted time and time again in ancient scrolls. Great beasts, titans of their clans, clashing over old cities as ancient warriors battled upon streets and fields around them. In the oldest days, before the Daimyo and the Samurai, the primitive warriors and clans were at the mercy of the world and its troubles, and made war among each other with primitive technique and blade.

Titans of nature and towering demons trampled the world in their clashes, and humans were furtive, fearful things. It was Queen Himiko who first bargained with the Animal Clans, and with their strength she conquered her neighbors and established herself as shamaness-queen. Soon other clans mimicked her actions, and alliances between man and beast were many, and the position of ‘shaman’ came to mean ‘Daimyo’. The warriors that followed these Daimyos were called Samurai, and in this way man escaped his furtive fate and emerged as rulers of the world.

Her line did not survive, but her legacy did.

A moth of such scale, hanging over the capital? “The Daimyo has been captured.” Sanjuro asserted with controlled breath as the young ninja reached them.

“What! How do you know, Sanjuro?!” Precocious Gozen used his name flippantly. His friend’s granddaughter was brattish, the natural result of how thoroughly she had been spoiled.

“He would’ve summoned something else to counter the moth- if he was currently capable.” Young Asuma declared with furrowed brows and tense looks around. “The fact that he hasn’t already means he’s out of commission right now.”

“You mean that brute already has him?!” Lady Ikeda wailed fearfully, rubbing at her cheeks and staring at the immense beast. Its wingspan was greater than the fortress itself, and its calm wingbeats did nothing to diminish the instinctive terror such a large animal naturally wrought.

“This is bad…” Young Kurenai growled nervously, looking up at the immense moth and its green aurora. “We don’t have anything that can even damage that- do we?”

Maybe if he could fly, but even the-

“I can.” The young Kunoichi from Sunagakure declared, one-armed and warfan hefted, staring up at the fortress-eclipsing insect with hard eyes. “I’ll need somewhere high, but I can cut it down.”

It is the way of things that the new will surpass the old. Sanjuro let out a low breath.

“Like that tower?” Madam Gozen asked suddenly, pointing up in the distance. Her gesture led towards the highest spire of the Tea Daimyo’s fortress. The guardian-tower.

“That’s the military tower- Tenchi’s soldiers are going to be swarming there.” Asuma noted with a tense frown, before shaking his head. “None of this is relevant- it’s not our job to save anyone here but you. We need to get out of the city and get you two to safety.”

“The boy is correct.” Sanjuro growled, even as his honor snarled. “Your safety is paramount, Madam Gozen.”

“Then the Konoha team can carry us out while you and Mari go up and save the day!” She countered with a pointed finger. “I can see how much you want to go up there and cut these villains up, Sanjuro! Don’t even try to lie to me!”

“What I want has nothing to do with what’s right!” He snapped, making Gozen and Ikeda briefly recoil from him. He forced himself to calm once more, closing his eyes and letting out a long exhale. “The Sarutobi clan has a duty to you, Madam Gozen. I will not see it discarded for something as petty as a Coup.”

And indeed, petty was the best word to describe this mess. Sanjuro could almost picture the expression on the commander’s face with the battle going on. The sounds of clashing blades, warring elements, and nervous shouts were heavy in the evening air. All under the immense wings of a foreign Daikemono.

“…Then entrust it to me.” Young Asuma declared after a low, tense moment. Sanjuro turned an old baleful eye towards the boy. He raised a hand to gesture at himself. “Sarutobi Asuma, son of Sarutobi Hiruzen. If the Sarutobi clan has a duty to her, then I can step in as a substitute.”

“T-the third Hokage!?” Madam Gozen asked, shaking the shoulders of Lady Ikeda in astonishment. “He’s your father?!”

The boy swallowed, grinding his back teeth as he stared at the battle in the distance. “I don’t like the thought of leaving everyone here to their fates, but I can’t do anything to help them. If helping you can help them, I’m more than willing to put it on my head.” He nodded firmly, raising a thumb to drag across his neck. “Me and my team will keep them safe. I’ll stake my life on it.”

Sanjuro stared at the boy for a few moments more, eyes tracing the contour of his jaw and shape of his eyes.

He let out a low exhale. “You really are Hiruzen’s boy.” He grumbled quietly.

He had heard that there was a birth recently, but the boy looked almost grown already. The years slip away from his fingers no matter how tightly he holds on.

He deliberately ignored the pleading look Madam Gozen was giving him, and focused instead on the tops of the military tower in the distance. That was the most likely place for the Daimyo to be held, if he had been captured. A scream echoed.

That was the most likely location for Commander Tenchi to be stationed. His grip tightened around the hilt of his blade.

“…Fan Warrior.” He growled, bringing her attention to him. “The top of that tower is what you need? Are you certain you can bring down the moth from that position?”

She nodded firmly. “Absolutely.”

“Then I will take you there.” He declared, sheathing his katana and reaching for the hilt of his field-sword. A much longer blade sheathed upon his back. “Young Sarutobi- their lives are in your hands. Fail in this task and I will personally ensure Emma-o assigns your soul to the greatest of torments.” He wasn’t sure how he would accomplish that yet, but he would.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“I understand.” The boy responded with a firm nod, then a smirk. “I’d hate to be frozen forever, so please make sure my punishment involves fire instead, if I fail.”

“Begone, brat.” Sanjuro growled, drawing his field-sword and letting it fall to a rest by his side. A long cutting instrument, with a four-foot blade and one-foot handle. The ninja-kids jumped away, followed quickly by the dog and the noble women upon its back. Sanjuro took several long and deep breaths, regulating the flow of his chakra and readying himself for proper physical exertion.

A few moments later, the other ninja-elite leaped towards them. One of the Inuzuka, and partner of the dog that now carried the noble ladies away. “…Team is escorting the clients away?”

“That’s right.” The Warfan warrior replied. “I can take down the moth, but I’ll need to get to the top of that tower and have the space to work with. We’re going as soon as mister Sarutobi is ready.”

In. Cycle. Out. Cycle. In. Cycle. Out. Cycle.

“The elderly, crippled, and injured siege a tower… Sounds like the start of a bad joke.” The Inuzuka growled, cracking his neck twice and crouching low. “Top of the tower huh?”

“We will deliver her to the tower’s peak, and free the Daimyo from his bonds.” Sanjuro declared, opening his eyes. Bands of glowing red chakra wove their way from his eyes, ears, and mouth. They wrapped their way in overlapping crosses down across his face, his neck, and down to the tips of his fingers.

Monkey-Field Prince was not a technique to use lightly, but Sanjuro found himself wroth enough to disregard any concerns.

“I will carve the path.” Chakra-light spilled from his mouth as he spoke, before making a small flex and rotation of the foot. The rooftop he stood upon shattered, and the leap carrying high and far into the air.