Uzushio Island was everything Kenjaku had hoped for and more.
The inner harbor opened into a village that sprawled across the mountainous terrain like a living organism, buildings connected by bridges and pathways that followed the natural contours of the land. Red-haired Uzumaki moved through the streets with the confident ease of people who had never known invasion, their spiritual signatures bright with the vitality that characterized their bloodline.
And everywhere—absolutely everywhere—there were seals.
Kenjaku's trained eyes picked them out immediately: carved into doorframes, painted on walls, woven into fabrics, embedded in the very stones of the pathways. Protection seals, alarm seals, reinforcement seals, storage seals. The entire village was a masterwork of fuinjutsu, layer upon layer of spiritual engineering that would take a lifetime to fully catalog.
It was beautiful.
Hiroshi led them through the village to a compound on the eastern slope, where visiting scholars were apparently housed. The building was comfortable but modest, with paper screens and tatami floors in the traditional style. More importantly, it was absolutely saturated with monitoring seals—Kenjaku counted at least seventeen distinct surveillance techniques within the first minute of entering.
"You'll stay here during your visit," Hiroshi explained. "Meals will be provided. A guide will escort you to any approved locations. The library is available for general research, but access to advanced materials requires specific permission."
"Understood. When may I begin my studies?"
Hiroshi's lips twitched in what might have been approval at his directness. "Tomorrow morning. I'll send someone to collect you at dawn. Until then, rest from your journey."
The scholar departed, leaving Kenjaku and Hana alone in their new accommodations. The moment the door closed, Hana began a systematic sweep of the room, her training taking over as she identified exits, sightlines, and potential threats.
"Seventeen monitoring seals," she reported quietly. "Possibly more that I can't detect. They'll know everything we do and say while we're here."
"Eighteen," Kenjaku corrected absently, his attention on a particularly elegant seal carved into the ceiling beam. "There's one monitoring spiritual pressure specifically, probably designed to alert them if I use cursed energy aggressively. Sophisticated work."
He sat down on the tatami, crossing his legs in a meditation posture.
"Let them watch. I have nothing to hide—at least, nothing they'll recognize as threatening. My goals here are exactly what I stated: academic exchange and the acquisition of sealing knowledge. If they choose to share that knowledge freely, excellent. If not, I'll find other ways to obtain it."
Hana finished her sweep and knelt beside him, closer than strictly necessary. Kenjaku noted the reduced distance but made no comment. Her attachment was progressing faster than he'd anticipated, but that wasn't necessarily problematic.
"What should I do while you're studying, Master?"
"Observe. Learn. Map the village as thoroughly as security allows. Identify key individuals, power structures, potential weaknesses." He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze directly. "Most importantly, establish yourself as my devoted assistant rather than a separate operative. The Uzumaki will be watching you as closely as they watch me. Give them nothing to be suspicious of."
"I understand."
She didn't move away. If anything, she shifted slightly closer, her shoulder almost brushing his.
Kenjaku studied her face, reading the emotions that played beneath her carefully controlled expression. The fear was still there, buried deep, but it had transformed into something else—something that fed her growing attachment rather than fighting against it. She was afraid of losing him now, afraid of being discarded, afraid of returning to a world where she didn't have a purpose.
Classic trauma bonding, accelerated by his deliberate manipulation and her own psychological vulnerabilities.
He should feel guilty about what he'd done to her mind. The part of him that had once been Marcus Chen—the decent, ordinary man who had consumed villain narratives without ever imagining himself as one—whispered that this was wrong, that he was destroying a person's autonomy for his own convenience.
But that whisper was very quiet now, nearly inaudible beneath the weight of Kenjaku's ancient consciousness.
Besides, he rationalized, he was giving her something valuable in exchange. Purpose. Protection. A place in history, even if she didn't understand the full scope of what they were building.
That was more than most people in this era could hope for.
"Rest," he told her, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Tomorrow will be demanding. I'll need you at your best."
Hana nodded, but she didn't move toward her own futon. Instead, she remained kneeling beside him, her eyes fixed on his face with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable from anyone else.
"Master... may I ask you something?"
"You may ask. I don't promise to answer."
"When we were traveling—when you told me about your abilities—you said you'd been alive for centuries. That you'd worn many bodies." She hesitated, gathering courage. "Is that true? Are you really that old?"
Kenjaku considered the question. The monitoring seals would record his answer, which meant he needed to be careful about what he revealed. But the truth—or a version of it—might actually serve his purposes better than a lie.
"I am... older than I appear," he said finally. "The techniques I practice include methods of extending life beyond normal limits. The specifics are complicated, and I won't explain them here. But yes, I have existed for a very long time."
"How long?"
"Long enough that the concerns of individual lifetimes have become somewhat abstract to me." He smiled, that distinctive expression that never quite reached his eyes. "Long enough that I've forgotten more about human nature than most people ever learn. Long enough that very little surprises me anymore."
Hana absorbed this information silently, her expression unreadable.
"Does that frighten you?" Kenjaku asked, genuinely curious.
"No." The answer came without hesitation. "It makes me feel... safe. Like nothing can threaten you. Like nothing can take you away."
Interesting. Her attachment had progressed even further than he'd estimated.
"I can be killed," he corrected gently. "I'm not immortal in the absolute sense. But you're right that very few beings in this world pose a genuine threat to me. And I have no intention of dying anytime soon."
"Good." Hana's voice was fierce, almost possessive. "Good."
She finally moved toward her own futon, but her eyes remained fixed on him until sleep claimed her—watching, always watching, as if afraid he might disappear the moment she looked away.
Kenjaku observed her descent into slumber with clinical interest, cataloging the symptoms of her deepening obsession. In another context, he might have been concerned about the instability such attachment could create. An obsessed subordinate was unpredictable, potentially dangerous, liable to act against orders if they believed they were protecting their object of fixation.
But Hana wasn't that far gone yet. And properly managed, obsessive loyalty could be just as useful as rational loyalty—possibly more so, since it didn't require constant justification.
He would need to monitor the situation carefully. Balance encouragement against restraint. Give her enough attention to maintain the bond without pushing her into complete psychological dependence.
It was a delicate dance, but Kenjaku had been manipulating human emotions for centuries. One damaged Yamanaka kunoichi was hardly a challenge.
With that matter settled, he turned his attention to more pressing concerns.
The monitoring seals presented an interesting problem. He couldn't practice his techniques freely without alerting the Uzumaki to abilities they weren't supposed to know about. But he also couldn't afford to waste time—every day spent idle was a day that could have been used for training and development.
The solution, he decided, was to practice in plain sight.
Not his most dangerous abilities, obviously. Not Idle Transfiguration or Cursed Spirit Manipulation or any of the techniques that would mark him as a threat. But basic cursed energy control, meditation, the foundational exercises that any spiritual practitioner might perform—these were safe enough to demonstrate.
And while the Uzumaki watched him practicing innocent techniques, they wouldn't be watching for the subtle manipulations happening beneath the surface.
Kenjaku settled into meditation, his breathing slowing, his awareness expanding. To external observation, he was simply centering himself after a long journey, preparing mind and body for the studies to come.
But internally, he was working.
Idle Transfiguration didn't require visible manifestation. The technique operated on the soul directly, bypassing physical reality entirely. As long as he was subtle—as long as he kept the changes small and contained—he could practice without anyone detecting what he was doing.
He started with himself, making microscopic adjustments to his own soul-configuration. Strengthening neural pathways. Optimizing energy channels. Refining the connection between consciousness and cursed energy until every thought translated into power with perfect efficiency.
The changes were cumulative, building on each other like compound interest. Each session made him slightly faster, slightly more precise, slightly more attuned to the spiritual reality underlying the physical world.
By the time dawn arrived, Kenjaku had improved his baseline capabilities by approximately three percent.
It didn't sound like much. But compounded over weeks, months, years—over the centuries of existence he anticipated—those small improvements would add up to something extraordinary.
The Uzumaki had no idea what they were hosting.
And by the time they realized, it would be far too late.
The scholar who arrived to escort him was not Hiroshi but a younger woman named Uzumaki Miko, apparently a junior researcher assigned to babysitting duty. She had the characteristic red hair of her clan, worn in a practical braid, and eyes that sparkled with barely contained curiosity.
"Shimoda-san! I hope you rested well. Hiroshi-sensei asked me to show you to the library and help you get oriented. Is there anything specific you wanted to study first?"
Kenjaku rose smoothly, leaving Hana to follow at an appropriate distance. "I'm interested in the theoretical foundations of Uzumaki fuinjutsu. Particularly the relationship between spiritual energy and physical manifestation—how your seals translate intent into effect."
Miko's eyes widened with enthusiasm. "Oh, that's fascinating! Most visitors just want to learn practical applications, but the theory is really where the interesting stuff happens. Hiroshi-sensei says that understanding why a seal works is more important than memorizing how to draw it."
"Your sensei sounds like a wise man."
"He's brilliant. A little absent-minded sometimes, but absolutely brilliant. He's been working on a unified theory of spiritual mechanics for decades—trying to explain how all the different traditions of spiritual manipulation are actually expressions of the same underlying principles."
Kenjaku's interest sharpened. A unified theory of spiritual mechanics would be invaluable for his own research, providing a framework for combining jujutsu and shinobi techniques more effectively.
"I would very much like to discuss his work, if he's willing."
"I'm sure he will be! He loves talking about his theories. The problem is usually getting him to stop." Miko laughed, then caught herself, apparently remembering that she was supposed to be a professional escort rather than an enthusiastic student. "Anyway, the library is this way. Follow me, please."
The Uzumaki library was a revelation.
It occupied an entire building near the center of the village, three stories of scrolls and books and tablets, organized according to a system that Miko explained as they entered. General theory on the first floor, practical applications on the second, restricted materials on the third.
Kenjaku would need access to that third floor eventually, but for now, the general theory section offered more than enough to occupy his attention.
He spent the first day simply reading, absorbing the foundational texts of Uzumaki fuinjutsu with the voracity of a starving man at a feast. The concepts were alien to his jujutsu-trained mind, approaching spiritual manipulation from an entirely different angle, but that alienness was precisely what made them valuable.
Where jujutsu treated cursed energy as a raw material to be shaped by will and technique, fuinjutsu treated spiritual energy as a language to be spoken through symbols and structures. The seals were words, the arrangements were grammar, and the completed techniques were sentences that reality itself was compelled to obey.
It was, Kenjaku realized, a fundamentally more elegant approach than anything his own tradition had developed. Jujutsu sorcerers relied on talent and power, achieving their effects through brute spiritual force. Fuinjutsu users achieved similar effects through precision and understanding, requiring less power but more knowledge.
The combination of both approaches—the raw power of jujutsu filtered through the precision of fuinjutsu—could theoretically produce effects beyond anything either tradition could achieve alone.
And that was exactly what Kenjaku intended to develop.
The days that followed settled into a productive rhythm. Mornings were spent in the library, studying theory and taking extensive notes. Afternoons were devoted to practical demonstrations, where Kenjaku showed the Uzumaki researchers his "curse techniques" in controlled settings while they shared their own methods in exchange.
The academic exchange was genuine, at least on the surface. Kenjaku learned proper brushwork for seal inscription, the mathematical relationships between symbol size and effect magnitude, the spiritual principles that allowed seals to persist without constant maintenance. In return, he taught the Uzumaki about cursed energy generation, the nature of cursed spirits, the theoretical basis for techniques like barriers and binding vows.
He was careful to hold back his most dangerous knowledge—no mention of Idle Transfiguration, no demonstration of Cursed Spirit Manipulation, no hint of the true scope of his abilities. But what he shared was valuable enough to maintain the Uzumaki's interest and cooperation.
Hiroshi, in particular, became increasingly engaged with their discussions.
"Your tradition's approach to negative emotional energy is fascinating," the senior scholar said one afternoon, as they shared tea in his personal study. "We've always treated such energies as contaminants—forces to be sealed away or purified. The idea that they could be harnessed directly, shaped into techniques..."
"It requires a certain mindset," Kenjaku acknowledged. "Most people find it uncomfortable to deliberately cultivate negative emotions. But the power available through such methods is substantial."
"And the risks?"
"Considerable. Prolonged exposure to cursed energy can corrupt the practitioner, twisting their psychology toward the very emotions they're channeling. Many curse technique users become monsters themselves, unable to distinguish their own identity from the darkness they wield."
Hiroshi nodded thoughtfully. "That aligns with some of our historical records. There are accounts of practitioners who attempted similar approaches and... deteriorated. We classified their methods as forbidden, too dangerous for continued research."
"A reasonable precaution." Kenjaku sipped his tea, considering how much to reveal. "But perhaps overly cautious. The dangers can be mitigated through proper training and mental discipline. The Shimoda developed techniques specifically to maintain psychological stability while working with cursed energy."
"And you would share these techniques?"
"In exchange for comparable knowledge, yes. I'm particularly interested in your clan's methods for creating persistent spiritual effects—seals that continue functioning indefinitely without maintenance. My tradition lacks equivalent approaches."
The negotiation continued over several more sessions, each side carefully probing the other's limits while maintaining the pretense of friendly academic exchange. Kenjaku was patient; he had centuries of practice at this game. And the Uzumaki, for all their caution, were scholars at heart—the opportunity to study a genuinely novel tradition of spiritual manipulation was too tempting to resist.
By the end of the second week, Kenjaku had been granted limited access to the restricted third floor of the library.
It was there, among the most dangerous techniques the Uzumaki had ever developed, that he found what he was looking for.
The scroll was old—centuries old, perhaps even predating the clan's settlement on Uzushio Island. Its contents described a theoretical seal configuration that had never been successfully implemented: a method for binding spiritual effects directly to the soul rather than to external media.
The implications were staggering.
Normal seals required physical anchors—ink on paper, carvings in stone, patterns woven into fabric. The anchors could be destroyed, disrupting the seal's effect. They could be moved, displaced, altered. They were inherently limited by the durability of their physical medium.
But a soul-anchored seal would have none of these limitations. It would persist as long as the soul itself persisted, immune to physical destruction, invisible to normal detection, essentially permanent.
The Uzumaki had abandoned the research because they couldn't figure out how to apply seals directly to souls. Their techniques required physical contact with a physical anchor, and the soul was definitionally non-physical.
But Kenjaku had Idle Transfiguration.
He could perceive souls directly. He could touch them, shape them, modify them at will.
If he could combine that ability with Uzumaki sealing principles, he could create techniques that transcended anything either tradition had ever achieved.
Kenjaku spent three days studying the abandoned soul-seal research, memorizing every detail, extrapolating from the incomplete notes to fill in theoretical gaps. The Uzumaki researchers thought he was simply fascinated by a historical curiosity—an interesting failure in their clan's developmental history.
They had no idea he was planning to succeed where their ancestors had failed.
During the evenings, back in his monitored quarters, Kenjaku practiced.
Not the seal techniques themselves—those required materials and space that he didn't have access to. Instead, he practiced the mental frameworks, the conceptual mappings that would allow him to translate fuinjutsu principles into applications compatible with Idle Transfiguration.
It was difficult work. The two traditions had developed from completely different philosophical foundations, with terminology and concepts that didn't translate cleanly. But Kenjaku's centuries of experience and his merged consciousness—combining modern analytical thinking with ancient spiritual expertise—gave him unique tools for bridging the gap.
Slowly, painstakingly, a new technique began to take shape in his mind.
He called it the Seal of Transfiguration.
The concept was elegant in its horror: use Idle Transfiguration to access a target's soul, then inscribe fuinjutsu-style seal patterns directly onto the soul's structure. The seals would become permanent features of the target's existence, impossible to remove without destroying the soul itself.
The applications were virtually unlimited.
He could seal away abilities, locking portions of a target's power behind spiritual barriers they couldn't break. He could implant compulsions, seal-enforced commands that the target would be physically incapable of disobeying. He could create kill switches, seals that would destroy the soul on command or under specific conditions.
He could, theoretically, even seal himself—inscribing protections and enhancements directly onto his own soul, making them immune to external interference.
The technique would require extensive testing before he could use it safely. But the theoretical framework was sound, and Kenjaku was nothing if not patient.
In the meantime, he continued his cover activities, playing the role of the earnest academic while secretly developing weapons that would make him unstoppable.
Hana watched him with increasing intensity as the weeks passed.
She had adapted to their situation with remarkable speed, her shinobi training providing a foundation for the espionage role Kenjaku had assigned her. During the days, she accompanied him to the library and demonstrations, taking notes and observing with apparent passivity. During the evenings, she reported her findings—guard rotations, security weaknesses, political dynamics within the clan.
But her reports were becoming increasingly... personal.
"Uzumaki Miko seems attracted to you, Master," she mentioned one evening, her tone carefully neutral. "She finds excuses to touch your arm, laughs at your jokes, positions herself to maximize proximity during demonstrations."
"I'm aware," Kenjaku acknowledged absently, most of his attention on the seal diagram he was memorizing. "She's young and impressionable, and I've been deliberately charming. It's useful for maintaining access."
"Should I... do something about her?"
Kenjaku looked up, genuinely surprised by the question. Hana's expression was blank, controlled, but something dark flickered in her eyes—a possessiveness that went beyond simple loyalty.
"Do something?" he repeated. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"She's a potential security risk. If her attraction becomes too obvious, the Uzumaki leadership might become suspicious of your intentions. It might be prudent to... discourage her interest."
"Discourage how?"
Hana's silence was answer enough.
Kenjaku set aside his scroll, giving her his full attention. This was a concerning development—not because he cared about Miko's safety, but because Hana's attachment was reaching levels that could compromise her effectiveness as an operative.
"Hana," he said, his voice carrying the gentle authority that he'd learned triggered her compliance response. "Look at me."
She obeyed instantly, her eyes locking onto his with desperate intensity.
"Miko is not a threat. To me, or to you. Her attraction is useful because it makes her more cooperative and less suspicious. If I wanted to pursue physical intimacy with her, I would do so—and it would be none of your concern."
Hana flinched as if struck.
"However," Kenjaku continued, "I have no such intentions. I told you before: physical pleasure doesn't interest me. Not with Miko. Not with anyone. The centuries have... dulled certain appetites."
He watched her process this information, watched the jealousy war with relief across her features.
"Your loyalty is valuable to me, Hana. Your skills, your dedication, your willingness to serve. But that loyalty becomes a liability if it pushes you toward actions I haven't authorized. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master." Her voice was small, chastened. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"I do." Kenjaku's smile carried no warmth. "You're becoming obsessed. It's a natural psychological response to our circumstances—trauma bonding, amplified by genuine admiration and the intensity of shared danger. I've seen it many times before."
He reached out and touched her face, a gesture that was simultaneously intimate and clinical.
"I'm not going to pretend I haven't encouraged it. Your devotion is useful. But useful and uncontrolled are different things. I need you sharp, Hana. Focused. Capable of independent judgment when I'm not available to direct you."
She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly.
"I won't fail you again."
"See that you don't." He withdrew his hand and returned his attention to his scroll. "Now. Tell me what else you've learned about the clan's internal politics. I'm particularly interested in any factions that might be dissatisfied with the current leadership."
The conversation shifted back to business, but Kenjaku noted the encounter for future reference. Hana's obsession was approaching a critical threshold—the point where it might begin interfering with her judgment and effectiveness.
He would need to manage it carefully. Too much discouragement might trigger withdrawal and resentment. Too little might allow the obsession to spiral into something genuinely dysfunctional.
The ideal balance would keep her devoted but functional, passionate but controlled. It was a narrow target, but Kenjaku had spent centuries manipulating human psychology.
One obsessed subordinate was hardly an insurmountable challenge.
The breakthrough came in the fifth week.
Kenjaku had been working on the Seal of Transfiguration in secret, testing small applications of the technique on his own soul during meditation sessions that the Uzumaki monitoring seals read as simple spiritual exercises. The progress had been slow but steady, each session refining his understanding of how fuinjutsu principles could be adapted to Idle Transfiguration's soul-manipulation framework.
But theoretical understanding wasn't enough. He needed practical testing—testing that required subjects other than himself.
The opportunity arose during a routine demonstration session with Hiroshi and several junior researchers.
"Today," Kenjaku announced, "I'd like to show you something new. A technique I've been developing based on the principles we've discussed—an attempt to bridge our traditions in a concrete way."
Hiroshi leaned forward with visible interest. "You've made progress already? Impressive. What does the technique do?"
"It's a method of cursed energy projection, enhanced with sealing principles. Observe."
Kenjaku extended his hand, allowing cursed energy to gather in his palm. Normally, he would have simply released it as a raw blast—the Maximum: Uzumaki technique that represented the baseline application of his stored cursed spirits' power. But this time, he added something extra.
As the energy gathered, he traced seal patterns in the air with his other hand, using the brush techniques he'd learned from the Uzumaki. The patterns were simple—basic containment and direction seals—but they served to focus and amplify the cursed energy in ways that raw projection couldn't achieve.
The resulting attack was noticeably more powerful than his baseline, the energy beam tighter and more coherent, the impact against the training dummy significantly more devastating.
"Fascinating," Hiroshi breathed, examining the destroyed dummy with academic wonder. "The seal patterns contained the dispersal typically associated with projected energy attacks. The efficiency improvement must be at least forty percent."
"Closer to fifty," Kenjaku confirmed. "And this is only the beginning. I believe further integration could produce even more dramatic results."
The demonstration had served its purpose, giving him an excuse to practice seal-enhanced techniques openly. But more importantly, it had planted an idea in the Uzumaki researchers' minds: that combining their traditions could produce powerful new capabilities.
That idea would make them more willing to share advanced knowledge.
And that advanced knowledge would feed into Kenjaku's real project—the Seal of Transfiguration and the soul-binding techniques it would enable.
Over the following days, Kenjaku accelerated his research, pushing for access to increasingly restricted materials. The Uzumaki's caution remained, but their academic excitement was beginning to override their security instincts. They wanted to see what further combinations might be possible.
Kenjaku gave them just enough progress to maintain their interest while keeping the true scope of his development hidden.
The Seal of Transfiguration was nearly ready for testing. He just needed subjects.
Fortunately, the Warring States Period offered no shortage of expendable enemies.
"We're leaving tomorrow," Kenjaku announced one evening, surprising Hana with the sudden change of plans.
"Leaving? But your research—"
"Has progressed as far as it can without practical testing. I've learned enough theory; now I need to experiment." He began gathering his scrolls and notes, organizing them for travel. "I told Hiroshi that I need to return to the mainland for personal matters, but I'll be back within a month. He seemed disappointed but understanding."
Hana moved to assist him, her movements automatic after weeks of serving as his assistant. "Where are we going?"
"Hunting." Kenjaku's smile carried an edge of anticipation. "I need test subjects for my new techniques, and the mainland offers plenty of candidates. Enemy shinobi, bandits, the occasional unfortunate traveler who witnesses something they shouldn't."
He paused, considering.
"Also, I want to check on developments elsewhere. We've been isolated on this island for over a month; the political situation on the mainland may have shifted. I need current intelligence before finalizing my longer-term plans."
"I understand, Master." Hana's eyes glowed with enthusiasm at the prospect of returning to active operations. The academic environment of Uzushio had been comfortable but limiting for someone of her skills.
They departed the next morning, with Hiroshi and Miko seeing them off at the outer harbor. The crossing back to the mainland was smooth, and by evening, they had returned to the fishing village of Shioichi.
But they didn't stay long.
Kenjaku led Hana inland, toward the contested territories where minor clans fought endless skirmishes for advantage. It was the perfect hunting ground—chaotic enough that disappearances would go unnoticed, violent enough that potential subjects were readily available.
Their first test subject was a missing-nin they encountered on the second day, a former Shimoda shinobi who had gone rogue after killing a clanmate in a dispute over a woman. He was moderately skilled, dangerous enough to require caution, but nowhere near a match for Kenjaku's abilities.
The capture was simple. A cursed spirit to distract, Idle Transfiguration to disable, and the man was bound and helpless within seconds.
"What—what are you?" he demanded, struggling against restraints that were biological rather than physical—his own arms and legs reshaped to prevent movement.
"Something old," Kenjaku replied, settling into a seated position before his captive. "And something new. You're going to help me with an experiment. If it works, you'll probably die. If it doesn't work, you'll definitely die. Either way, your contribution to my research will be appreciated."
He placed his hands on the man's head, feeling for the soul beneath the flesh.
"Now. Let's see what happens when I inscribe a seal directly onto your spirit."
The experiment was... informative.
The first attempt failed catastrophically, the seal pattern destabilizing as Kenjaku tried to inscribe it onto the rogue shinobi's soul. The subject died instantly, his body going limp as his soul collapsed under the strain of the malformed inscription.
Kenjaku examined the corpse thoughtfully, analyzing what had gone wrong. The seal pattern had been too complex for direct soul-inscription; the spiritual "surface" of the soul couldn't maintain the level of detail required.
He needed simpler patterns. More elegant designs that achieved the same effects with less complexity.
The second subject was a bandit captured the following day. This time, Kenjaku used a much simpler seal pattern—a basic binding that should theoretically prevent the subject from speaking.
It worked.
The bandit's mouth moved, but no sound emerged. His soul had been successfully modified, the seal pattern now a permanent feature of his spiritual structure. He would be mute forever, or at least until someone with Kenjaku's abilities chose to remove the seal.
"Excellent," Kenjaku murmured, genuinely pleased. "The principle is sound. Now let's test the limits."
Over the following week, he captured and experimented on a dozen more subjects, refining his technique with each iteration. He learned that emotional seals—compulsions targeting feelings rather than actions—were more stable than physical seals. He discovered that larger, more detailed patterns could be constructed by layering simple seals on top of each other. He confirmed that soul-bound seals were indeed immune to physical interference, persisting even when the subject's body was damaged.
By the end of the week, Kenjaku had developed a working prototype of his Seal of Transfiguration technique. It wasn't perfect—the success rate was still only about seventy percent, with failures resulting in immediate subject death—but it was functional.
And the applications were even more versatile than he'd originally imagined.
The final test of the week was the most ambitious: an attempt to combine Idle Transfiguration's body modification with a sealing pattern that would make the transformation permanent and heritable.
The subject was a young man captured from a minor clan's patrol, chosen for his apparent good health and unremarkable spiritual composition. Kenjaku reshaped his body extensively—adding muscle, reinforcing bones, optimizing organ function—then inscribed a stabilizing seal onto his soul that would prevent the changes from reverting.
It worked.
The young man, released as an unwitting experiment, returned to his clan carrying modifications that would breed true in any children he might father. Kenjaku had just proven that he could permanently alter human bloodlines at will.
The implications were staggering.
He could create new kekkei genkai. He could enhance existing bloodlines or destroy them entirely. He could design custom shinobi, breeding populations optimized for whatever purposes he desired.
He could play god with the human species itself.
Hana watched these experiments with an expression that had evolved beyond horror into something like religious awe. She had seen her master perform impossible feats, had witnessed the casual destruction of human beings who stood in his way. But this was different.
This was creation.
"You're making new types of people," she said quietly, as they prepared to return to Uzushio Island. "Not just changing them—actually creating something that didn't exist before."
"In a sense." Kenjaku finished packing his experimental notes, satisfied with his progress. "The modifications are still within human parameters. I'm optimizing rather than transcending. But yes, the technique could theoretically be extended further."
"How much further?"
Kenjaku considered the question. "Unknown. The human soul has limits I haven't yet defined. But the theoretical ceiling is quite high. Given enough time and subjects, I might be able to create beings that only nominally qualify as human."
"New species?"
"Something like that." He smiled, that distinctive expression that Hana had learned to read as genuine pleasure. "It's an interesting direction for future research. But for now, I have more immediate applications in mind."
He stood, ready to depart.
"The Uzumaki are waiting. I have more sealing knowledge to acquire, more techniques to develop, more preparations to make. This world is about to become very interesting, Hana. And we're going to be at the center of all of it."
Hana fell into step behind him, her devotion now so complete that she couldn't imagine any other existence.
She had watched him reshape reality itself, had seen him create and destroy with equal casualness. He was more than human, more than any shinobi she had ever encountered. He was something approaching a god.
And she was his.
The thought brought a warmth to her chest that bordered on painful. She knew, intellectually, that her feelings were artificial—manufactured by trauma and manipulation, cultivated by deliberate psychological techniques. She knew that a healthy person would resist such attachment, would fight against the erosion of their independent identity.
But she couldn't bring herself to care.
Being Kenjaku's was better than being her own. Serving him was more fulfilling than any purpose she had served before. Loving him—and she did love him, she had finally admitted it to herself—was worth any price.
Even the price of her own sanity.
Even that.
The return to Uzushio Island was smooth, Hiroshi welcoming them back with enthusiasm for continued collaboration. Kenjaku resumed his research with renewed focus, now working toward specific applications of his Seal of Transfiguration technique.
He had weapons to develop.
He had plans to lay.
And somewhere in the future, heroes were waiting to be tested against the darkness he was becoming.
Kenjaku couldn't wait to meet them.