For this alone, Kaede held a shred of respect for Aburame Ryoma.
"At least the man pays for services rendered."
Ryoma would cling to power until the day Sasuke slaughtered Danzo and disbanded Root. His eventual fate?
Vanished without a trace.
(Or more likely—silenced by the countless souls he'd wronged.)
"This window of opportunity won't last. Once my usefulness expires, I'll be discarded."
Kaede returned to his ramshackle home, conserving energy.
As expected, his "feat" of slaying a Kiri chunin and rescuing three comrades sparked zero attention. No summons from the Hokage, no commendations—just Ryoma's cold transaction.
The next morning, Kaede arrived at Training Ground eastern valley—a sprawling graveyard veiled in incense ash.
Blank memorial stones dotted the landscape, wilted flowers littering the ground like discarded promises.
The Corpse Disposal Unit's headquarters resembled Root's crematorium more than a medical facility.
"Disappointing sanitation standards."
Crows scattered as he entered, their wings stirring up dust from the rafters.
A middle-aged shinobi—Morino Isuke—greeted him while dissecting a Suna-nin's chest cavity.
"New transfers are rare... especially those recommended by Lord Ryoma."
Dark blood dripped into a steel basin with morbid rhythm.
Kaede bowed. "I'm honored to assist. Though we seem... understaffed?"
"Five is enough. Any more would be wasted on this grunt work."
Isuke pointed to a workstation. "Your first task: polish yesterday's heads. Suna-nins especially—their hair's so awful they wrap it in cloth."
Kaede's fingers brushed a chilled metal tag on the autopsy table. Three corpses lay shrouded, the last one's sand-caked toes peeking from the sheet.
"Familiar territory."
Pulling back the cloth revealed a Suna-nin frozen in terror, his right arm charred black by fire release—perfect raw material for Corpse Release.
Over weeks, Kaede honed his craft—stitching, preserving, and occasionally reanimating under the guise of "Dead Soul Technique" practice.
His colleagues, all moral grey zones themselves, turned blind eyes to his "eccentricities".
Yet one thing eluded him:
"Still no kekkei genkai corpses."
Isuke scoffed at his inquiry. "You think we'd let enemy villages snatch our bloodlines? Any Hyuga or Uchiha killed gets cremated on-site."
A pause. Then—
"Though... last year in Ame, several Uchiha went missing post-battle. Orochimaru turned the battlefield upside down..."
"Surely we reclaimed them during peace talks?" Kaede feigned ignorance.
"If only."
Kaede knew better.
Madara had taken them.
With Nagato awakening the Rinnegan earlier in this timeline, the dried-up husk of Uchiha Madara would need fresh eyes.
"War distorts truth like a funhouse mirror."
But such grand schemes were beyond his paygrade. For now, Kaede focused on his ultimate goal:
A new body.
Rain pattered against the memorial stones as Kaede carved false epitaphs for unidentifiable corpses.
"Killed an Iwa chunin"—
The lie etched into stone mirrored the black ledger of war finances.
Each phantom casualty meant extra compensation from the Daimyo—funds funneled into clandestine experiments.
Tonight's subject: a Kumo genin dragged into Kaede's private lab.
Blue chakra snaked into the corpse's meridians. Rotting vocal cords vibrated with unholy life.
"Experiment 37: Postmortem degradation rates. Genin corpses last 15 minutes in combat before spinal collapse. Fresh chunin retain 80% jutsu proficiency—though finger bones snap during seals..."
The crown jewel? A Suna jonin puppeteer—its corpse fingers still weaving chakra strings.
*"Optimal conversion window: 10 minutes post-brain death. Such specimens replicate peak combat ability... briefly."*
A shame about the puppet shortage. Perhaps he could use lesser zombies as disposable marionettes?
SLAM!
The door burst open. Two Root operatives hauled in a convulsing figure—Tobitake Tonbo, his veins black with poison.
"Can't save him," Isuke declared after a glance. "Suna's latest toxin. Why bring him here alive?"
"Hospital gave up. Tsunade's away. Lord Ryoma wants a live dissection—for research."
The Root agent's mask hid all empathy. "This is a B-rank mission. Succeed, and it goes on your records. Leak it... and you become our next subject."
Tonbo's wide, betrayed eyes locked onto Kaede.
"...You."
"You know him?" Isuke gloved up.
"Worked together once."
"Then you know what's required."
As Tonbo's breaths grew ragged, Kaede placed a hand on his forehead—not in comfort, but as a restraint.
"Welcome to the real Konoha, Tonbo. Where the Will of Fire casts long shadows."
This was merely the "gentler" era.
The true atrocities would come post-war, when Hiruzen greenlit human experiments under the banner of "progress".
"Your fate's sealed. If I don't do this, someone else will. At least I'll make it quick."
Tonbo's body became data points on a scroll—another piece in Tsunade's future antidote research.
(To be continued...)