Prologue

Sunagakure

Ryoma, Recently Promoted Ninja

“Congratulations on your promotion, Jonin Ryoma.” The man on the other side of the desk was not a particularly intimidating man, on first look. His messy hair was a desaturated shade of rust-red, his features rather plain, and his frame distinctly average. He was neither a tall nor a broad man, and his robes were rather plain save for the emblem on his wide-brimmed hat.

That emblem read ‘Wind Shadow’, and that was reason enough to fear him.

Ryoma looked down at the new standard-issue Jonin vest held in his hands. Another desaturated shade, this time of olive-green, with a high collar and wide pauldrons. The vest itself was somewhat thicker than the standard issues of the previous years and of other hidden villages, a manufacturing decision made in hopes of keeping their dwindling numbers of elite ninja alive for a bit longer than normal.

Doubtlessly, he’d be spending some of his paycheck on adding some bracers and greaves to the set. It would look a bit odd on its own and the extra protection would be welcome.

“Respectfully Lord Kazekage, I really don’t believe I’m qualified for this.” Ryoma brought his gaze back up to his sworn-lord, brows furrowed and lips pulled down in a concerned scowl.

“Explain your reasoning.” The master of Sunagakure demanded, swiftly and casually. He reached for the pipe-end of a delicately carved hookah, inhaling with a practiced draw, then exhaled slowly. The smoke that came from his lips was flecked with gold, and smelled faintly of scorpion-venom.

“I believe the traditional requirements for Jonin is mastery of two elemental releases and to be reasonably capable of completing A-rank missions without support. My abilities with earth-release techniques are rudimentary at best, and my ability to complete A-rank missions is usually uncertain.” Ryoma explained diligently, keeping his head slightly bowed as he spoke. Best to not be rude to one’s uncontested military commander.

“Your lacking ability in a secondary element is amended by your capabilities in puppetry and sealing, and you have completed three A-rank missions successfully thus far.” Said military commander was hearing none of his concerns today, dismissing both points with sharp rebuttals. “Do you have any other concerns?”

Ryoma has a great many concerns, most of which would be laughed off. There was no need to elaborate on all the many reasons those last three missions were won on luck more than anything, or talk about his various nerves and jitters that high-stakes fast-paced combat would naturally bring, or anything else that the child-soldier-turned-military commander would raise a brow in a most unimpressed manner at.

Most pressingly, however… “Lord Kazekage, I’m fifteen.” He said this knowing full-well what the response was going to be.

“Many are more capable than you at a younger age.” The Kazekage repeated an age-old truism, often repeated by veteran shinobi time and time again for any number of reasons. There was always someone younger and more skilled, so any kind of slacking off was a sin. There was always someone younger and more talented, so you better not get an ego.

And of course, there was always someone younger and more powerful, so you’ll just have to rise to the occasion.

Ryoma was careful to contain his sigh, merely nodding instead and quietly responding. “I have no further concerns, Lord Kazekage.”

A promotion in most careers was normally a very good thing. Better pay, more privileges, and once you leave middle-management, less responsibilities. As a special-operations child soldier, a promotion simply meant responsibility for the completion of more dangerous tasks with less support from allies.

That alone wasn’t great, but at least the pay was somewhat better than before.

As he was a special-operations child soldier in service to a hidden village with a currently retracting economy, the increased pay just meant higher taxes, which meant it evened out to about the same amount of personal budget as he had before. There were no real positives other than the fancy title and nifty jacket, if he was being critical.

He was going to have to keep stealing random bits and bobs while on missions, if he wanted to have enough spending money to keep all his equipment in good repair. Puppets and poisons were expensive, but they were easily the most useful things he owned.

“Your first mission is tomorrow, be present again at o-eight-hundred. Dismissed.” The Kazekage brought the tube of the hookah back to his lips with the final word, reaching into his desk-drawer as he did.

Ryoma saluted and turned sharply, leaving the Kazekage’s office and stepping into the sandstone halls of the Sunagakure command-center. His old vest had already been stripped off in the office, and the new vest slipped easily over his arms. It was nice and weighty, which would be excellent during the cold desert nights and horrible during the blazing desert days. Much as he had been expecting, the vest was perfectly sized for his barely-pubescent frame, credit to the… tailors?

Tailors or armorers?

After a moment of walking and debating the question, he settled on ‘manufacturers’.

He stopped at a window and looked out over the Village Hidden in the Sand. A densely-packed urban space filled with various oblong buildings made of packed earth and dotted with many very small windows. Windows in the lower, well-shaded stratas of the stacked-earth buildings were filled with many types of colorful glass, but the upper layers only tolerated tiny deep-set portholes.

The whole of the village was set in the basin of an immense crater, the walls of which sheltered the buildings from much of the flaying desert sandstorms and the furious heat of the sun. The command center was set in the dead center of the immense circular basin, and connected all parts of the village with eight raised and shaded roadways.

Its primary export was glass, gold, and violence. Its primary import was food, water, and stolen goods. An impoverished military-city with a daimyo that preferred their neighbors and prospects that weren’t going to improve any time soon unless some tremendous and dramatic change in their fortunes occurred.

The Third Great Shinobi War was declared finished one week ago.

In a year, the son of the legendary Fourth Hokage would be born and have a great fox demon sealed within him. In thirteen years, that son would graduate from the Konohagakure ninja-academy and begin a long series of shenanigans that would eventually conclude in a rabbit-goddess being reborn and almost destroy-enslaving the entire world complete with kaiju, lasers, and teleporting reincarnated gods.

Ryoma, average shinobi of Sunagakure and mere reincarnee with knowledge of future events, had basically nothing he could do to contribute to that particular clash. It was kinda overwhelming if he stepped back to think of it all, and there were doubtlessly a billion tiny ripples he was already making simply by being alive in this particular time period that he couldn’t possibly completely account for.

So the best policy was to simply not worry about all that bigger-picture stuff, and worry much more about his pressing issues of paying for rent and preparing for the upcoming mission- whatever it would happen to be.

Good for him, he got a free daily ration of water and foodstuffs simply by being in the military.

…Oh! That’s a benefit! He gets three ration-shares per day as a Jonin instead of two as a Chunin!

Everything was coming up ‘Ryoma’!

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

—

His apartment was pretty nice, all things considered. Decently spacious for the price-point, something he could reasonably afford to live in, and with all the basic utilities required to live in a desert. The higher apartments were cheaper, because they were more exposed to the sun and sand and provided shade for the somewhat higher-end apartments below him.

He opened the door with a lazy twitch of the finger, carrying two bags of not-quite groceries into the door. One bag of his daily allowance of rations, which was nice to have, and the other bag full of replacement bits and bobs. Blocks of wood and steel screws and otherwise, ready to be carved and attached to ball-joints that were in turn attached to other wooden blocks and so on.

The apartment was rather crowded with these bits and bobs, drawers and drawers of scrap wood and metal bits that might be useful in some other crafting somewhere else one day. Currently all they were useful for was crowding up his already scant living space with boxes of labeled things.

That was usually fine, it was rare that he had visitors. The last person to regularly come over was his senpai, and he went rogue three years ago. That was the same year that the previous Kazekage went missing, and that he graduated to become a Genin. It was a somewhat awkward affair, being heavily investigated and interrogated about the whereabouts of his now missing-nin acquaintance for his first year of ninja-duty.