The morning air smelled of salt and damp wood. The cries of seagulls echoed faintly over the waves as I stood at the top of the half-built estate, looking out over the stretch of land that was now—by law and coin—mine.
Below, workers moved like ants. The framework of walls rose where grass and stone once slept. My five guards kept watch over the construction, blending in with the laborers, their eyes scanning for threats that weren't there yet—but would come soon enough.
I had learned already: in this world, peace was simply the moment between one death and another.
---
Inspection
After breakfast, I decided to begin my inspection of the entire territory. The map I had drawn days earlier guided me: three small fishing villages, two forest clearings suited for farming, a rough coastal road that connected everything to the inland trade path.
Sano and Kina accompanied me on horseback while the others followed on foot. The morning sun rose lazily behind a curtain of mist.
The villagers, startled at first, bowed awkwardly as we passed. Their clothes were patched, their eyes hollow. Decades of exploitation had drained even their curiosity. I didn't blame them. Nobles came and went like tides—most left nothing but higher taxes and deeper graves.
As we crossed a bridge made of rough planks, I slowed the horse and looked down at the stream below.
"Water's clean," Sano commented.
"For now," I said quietly. "It'll need to be channeled. Irrigation could double the yield in the upper farms."
He gave a brief nod, not quite understanding the significance. But that was fine. They didn't need to understand why—only how.
We continued through the farmlands. The soil was dark, fertile, and thick with salt from the sea breeze. Good for rice if managed carefully, better for tea if I invested in time and care. The Land of Tea lived on its namesake; perhaps I could profit from that too.
I noted everything down on a scroll: resources, potential roads, forest routes, defensible high ground. A habit from another life—modern, analytical, efficient. Autistic obsession with order, perhaps, but in chaos like this, order was survival.
---
Autocracy in Motion
By midday, I gathered the village heads and a few elder fishermen in the half-built main hall. The scent of sawdust mixed with sea air filled the room.
They stood nervously in a line, whispering among themselves until I raised a hand.
"I will make this clear," I began, my voice calm but absolute. "You live under my protection now. That protection will not be free—but it will be fair. No raids, no forced conscription, no theft."
Their murmurs quieted.
"Every household will pay one-tenth of their catch or harvest in tax. In return, you'll receive guards, medicine, and food reserves during famine. Any thief, murderer, or corrupt collector will hang."
Silence. Some eyes widened, others narrowed in doubt. One old man finally bowed.
"Milord… you mean to rule… directly?"
I nodded. "Yes. Through me. Not through a council or middlemen. You will report to me, or to my appointed steward. No more chains of greed."
I wasn't building democracy—I was building an autocracy, one where every command flowed from a single mind. Efficient. Predictable. Incorruptible—if maintained carefully.
It was the only system that worked in an age like this. The clans fought because they all wanted power but never control. I wanted control, but not for glory—for stability.
I dismissed them with orders to record population, farmlands, and boats. The data would let me calculate production and potential taxes. Numbers meant foresight. Foresight meant survival.
---
Modern Management
After they left, I sat in my temporary office—a wooden table, ink, scrolls, and a small cup of tea.
The parchment before me slowly filled with words and diagrams. A structure of governance unfolded.
Central Command (Myself): Decision-maker, financial controller, supreme judge.
Administrative Division: Steward for daily affairs, treasurer for taxes, scribe for documentation.
Military Division: Head guard overseeing defense and patrols, logistics officer for supplies.
Information Division: Operatives tasked with surveillance, recruitment, and external intelligence.
Civil Division: Overseers for farming, fishing, and local trade.
I smirked slightly. It was absurdly modern for this age—like introducing bureaucracy to the feudal dark ages. But even primitive gears could turn if aligned properly.
The key was loyalty. And loyalty, in this world, could be bought with gold and ensured through fear.
I would pay well. Feed them better. But should any of them betray me—the sea would take them quietly.
---
Forming the Army
That evening, I gathered my five guards again. The construction workers had gone home; the estate stood eerily quiet, save for the crash of waves outside.
"I'll be forming a force," I said, unrolling the plan before them. "Not an army for conquest—but a shield. We will recruit villagers willing to train as soldiers and guards. Sano, you'll oversee discipline. Kina, weapons training. Riku, chakra conditioning."
They exchanged glances.
"Chakra?" Riku asked. "Most of these people don't even know how to sense it."
"I'll find someone to teach them," I replied. "A shinobi, perhaps. Money opens more doors than bloodlines ever will."
The truth was simple: I needed eyes, ears, and blades that answered only to me. A personal military—half samurai, half shinobi. Enough to deter bandits or minor clans, yet small enough to stay unnoticed by the great powers.
I would start with fifty. Later, perhaps hundreds.
Each unit would be trained in shifts—physical drills, survival, and simple formation tactics borrowed from what I remembered of modern military manuals. Efficiency was everything.
---
The Shadow Network
But I knew raw force wasn't enough. Knowledge ruled long before swords did.
The next morning, I called Kina privately. She was sharp, silent, and already distrusted by the others—perfect for the job.
"I need information," I told her. "Everything that happens in this land, I want to know. Who trades what, who whispers to whom, which messenger passes which road."
She frowned. "You want me to spy on villagers?"
"Not just villagers," I said. "Merchants. Travelers. Guards. Even me, if it helps you stay sharp. I want you to build a network—recruit a few locals, pay them to listen. Discretion above all."
Her eyes gleamed slightly at the challenge. "Understood."
Thus, the foundation of what would later be called the Shadow Division began—a network hidden beneath the structure of my small lordship, feeding me secrets like veins carrying lifeblood.
In time, they would gather more than gossip. They would collect scrolls, ninjutsu, techniques, and bloodline rumors. I would use them to build the ultimate safeguard: knowledge.
---
Acquiring Shinobi Assets
In the following days, travelers began arriving—some merchants, some wandering ninjas looking for employment between wars.
I made it known quietly, through the Golden House, that the new lord of the coastal region was looking to "sponsor skilled shinobi in need of stability."
It was bait, wrapped in gold.
The first to respond was a grizzled man in his forties, wearing a torn forehead protector with no symbol. He called himself Daigo, once a jonin from a destroyed clan in the Land of Rain. He had a faint killing intent even while bowing.
"What's the job?" he asked bluntly.
"Training and protection," I said, sliding a bag of ryo across the table. "And loyalty."
He weighed the bag in his hand, then met my eyes. "You're not from any clan. You smell like a noble, but you think like a merchant."
"Then consider me both," I replied.
He smirked. "Fine. I'll train your men. But I won't die for you."
"That's fine," I said. "Just make sure I never have to."
With Daigo, I secured something I hadn't had before: legitimacy. A real shinobi—trained, experienced, and respected enough to attract others. Within a week, three more came—two genin, one chūnin-level mercenary. They didn't ask about my wealth. They just wanted to be paid.
---
Seeds of the Future
Weeks passed. The coastal territory began to transform.
Fishing villages paid taxes willingly for the first time, now that bandits were being hunted down by Daigo's team. Roads were widened, storehouses filled, and new guards patrolled in formation instead of chaos.
Every night, I sat by candlelight, reading reports from Kina's network. Small things—who visited whom, rumors from nearby lands, whispers about the Senju expanding north, and Uchiha raids in the west. The pieces were small, but patterns were forming.
In one report, she mentioned a rumor—a clan experimenting with seals to enhance chakra capacity. Another spoke of a hidden archive of jutsu near the border of the Land of Fire.
I smiled faintly.
My organization was no longer theoretical. It was growing. Quietly. Silently. Efficiently.
The Shadow Division for intelligence, the Guardian Corps for defense, and the Administrative Bureau for control.
It was a state in embryo—small, but alive.
---
Reflection
One night, standing by the sea again, I watched the moon ripple over the water. The salt wind brushed against my hair as I thought back to everything that had led me here.
I came into this world by accident. No purpose. No power. Only fear and survival.
And now, I had built the first foundation of something greater—a sanctuary, a mechanism, a self-sustaining order that would outlast me.
But still, I could feel it—the faint tremor in the distance. Wars brewing. Clans sharpening their blades. Madara and Hashirama not yet born, but their shadows already forming.
Fifty, maybe sixty years before Konoha's founding. Enough time to prepare. Enough time to survive.
I clenched my fist and whispered to the sea, "This time, I'll build something that doesn't crumble."
The waves answered with a low crash, as if promising both fortune and doom.