The executors had no objections to the strategic plan proposed by Hiruko. Establishing a corporation was, after all, simply a matter of hiring a few more practitioners.
However, a question lingered: Was it appropriate for the Great Nations to intervene directly in the Land of Rice Fields?
Currently, the Land of Rice Fields was being torn apart by four major internal factions, and the situation was exceedingly thorny. These four forces had been locked in a bloody stalemate for years, with no clear victor in sight.
Furthermore, strictly speaking, these factions all lacked a solid legal basis for their rule. On one side were descendants of the rulers of the Land of Heaven from two hundred years ago; on another, descendants from a hundred years ago; and the others were puppets propped up by outside interests. All of them unilaterally claimed the Land of Rice Fields as their sovereign territory.
Yet, there were no advanced laws here—like those in Spain—where one could simply walk in and claim occupancy after forty-eight hours. Everyone had their own version of the truth, making it nearly impossible for outsiders to intervene legitimately. Of course, someone was likely causing trouble on purpose; it was estimated that all five Great Hidden Villages had meddled there at some point. After all, the "if I can't have it, I'll destroy it" mentality was a standard geopolitical play. For various reasons, the Great Nations simply feigned ignorance.
In the shinobi world, while violence is often the most direct solution, the position and responsibility of a ninja are far from simple. Konoha had always maintained a deep understanding of this: relying solely on forced violence only treats the symptoms, not the root cause, and often seeds future calamities.
Other nations had experienced similar dilemmas. Usually, the chaos only subsides if one of the major factions steps forward with a posture of "justice" to invite outside mediation. But that was a pipe dream. The delicate balance and tangled interests between the factions meant no one wanted to break the deadlock—and certainly no one wanted to invite outsiders to meddle in their "sovereignty."
If they were to invite only one "Lord" from among the Five Nations, the situation would become even more delicate. Under the suspicious gaze of the world, one could easily fall into a "compromising position " situation—facing baseless accusations of bias. No matter the explanation, it would only make the mud murkier.
Hiruko felt this deeply. Propping his chin in his hands, he knit his brows and let out a long, weary sigh.
"In the end," Hiruko murmured to himself, "these matters still have to be handled personally."
Elsewhere.
A light drizzle drifted from the sky, casting a soft, misty veil over the world. The Deva Path, draped in a black cloak—Nagato—was walking through the verdant landscape, carrying a blade through the rainy night.
The Land of Rice Fields, famous for its grain production, possessed fertile soil perfectly suited for agriculture. From a distance, the interlocking green fields looked like a beautiful painting. However, even in this land of life, the scars of conflict were everywhere. One could see the marks of fire on the ridges of the fields and the wounds of war lingering in the villages. Despite this, the earth radiated a stubborn vitality, and the crops grew tall as if testifying to the resilience of life.
The Deva Path, however, had no heart for scenery. He moved with a singular focus toward a clear objective. He had traveled a thousand miles to Tingzipo for two reasons:
First, to recruit subordinates to bolster the strength of his ideals.
Second, to pacify the Land of Rice Fields, restoring peace to the soil to create a favorable environment for his own faction's growth.
Nagato planned to select one individual with potential from among the four warring factions, prop them up, and turn them into a lever for his ultimate goal. Since Yahiko's body had been seized by Jiraiya, Nagato had immersed himself in relentless cultivation. His heart held both the grief of loss and the burning embers of revenge, which only steeled his resolve to realize their shared dream.
His recent thrashing by Jiraiya had forced him to re-evaluate the board. From a purely power-based perspective, he held no real advantage against a coordinated group of Leaf elites. During that battle, several top-tier masters had pinned down his Six Paths, isolating him for a 1v1 duel with his former teacher.
In the heat of that exchange, a thought had occurred to him: If he had a teammate beside him—someone skilled in deception and distraction—could the outcome have been different? The answer was a resounding yes. But such masters weren't as common as cabbage; they were nearly impossible to find.
Konan had grown up with him and was willing to help, but two people were not enough to realize Yahiko's dream. Furthermore, the battlefield was a place where blades had no eyes; Nagato was reluctant to let Konan risk her life. Thus, the idea of recruitment took root.
Can I really find a worthy teammate in a place like Rice Fields? a sliver of doubt flickered in his mind. The people here had been mired in conflict for too long, their characters varied and often lacking. To find someone capable, loyal, and ideologically aligned was a monumental task. But he had no other options and no intelligence channels to search elsewhere; he had to try his luck with these four factions.
These four powers had plagued Rice Fields for years, using any means necessary for profit and causing the deaths of countless innocents. In a sense, they deserved to die. Nagato felt zero moral burden in "cleansing" them; rather, he felt he was removing a cancer from the land.
Simultaneously, Nagato planned to seize the massive wealth held by these noble families. That capital would be vital for developing his own forces and purchasing advanced equipment. He knew these people were often of poor character and wouldn't serve him out of loyalty alone. Fear and power were enough for temporary submission, but at the first sign of a better offer or a looming crisis, they would betray him. Therefore, wealth was a necessary leash. Even if the process was troublesome, it was a price he was willing to pay.
Konan had expressed slight reservations, suggesting a more cautious, hidden approach to recruitment. In a world this complex, being too flashy invited unwanted attention.
Nagato understood that a quiet, methodical plan would minimize risks. Laying a foundation in the dark allowed one to accumulate strength until the moment was ripe for a fatal strike. But reality bound his hands. He didn't have the luxury of the "ideal" tempo.
He was out of time.
In this shifting shinobi world, time was life and opportunity. Building a plan like an impregnable fortress—stone by stone, link by link—was safe, but the enemy wouldn't give him the chance to finish the masonry. They were like a pack of starving wolves, hunting for a crack in his armor. The moment he slowed down, they would tear the plan to shreds.
Moreover, in some cases, a fearsome reputation wasn't a bad thing. In this cruel world, people respected strength and feared power above all else. Whether doing good or ill, one needed a foundation of might. If a man wants to save people from the fire but lacks the strength to hold the hose, his kindness is seen as weakness and his actions are easily thwarted. Demonstrating overwhelming power to inspire awe was often more efficient than trying to make people realize the "power of kindness." Kindness took time to infect; power was a blade hanging over their heads.
With these thoughts, Nagato accelerated his pace. The ground beneath him had turned into a muddy mire from the days of rain, splashing with every heavy step. As he walked, the misty drizzle suddenly shifted, as if an invisible hand had yanked open the clouds, turning the light rain into a torrential downpour.
Fat raindrops slammed into the ground like angry bullets. Fortunately, he wore a straw hat; its wide, drooping brim shielded him from the brunt of the storm. But the rain only intensified, and the temperature began to plummet. A biting wind lashed at him, sharp as a knife.
Nagato hadn't expected such a fierce storm. After a moment's thought, he decided to have the Deva Path find shelter. Though the puppet was a corpse, the rain was heavy enough to drown the world. He needed to preserve his strength and avoid unnecessary wear and tear on the vessel before the coming battle.
The Deva Path soon found a dilapidated, abandoned shack standing lonely near a forest. The roof tiles were shattered in several places and the walls were riddled with cracks, looking as though they had been ravaged by years of neglect. But it was enough to block the wind. It looked like a shelter once used by local hunters.
Nagato stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of dampness and rot. He found a relatively dry spot and lit a fire. Picking up some scrap wood, he flicked his finger; a spark of blue flame ignited the pile, and the dancing light began to chase away the cold and darkness.
Then, he pulled a book on economics from his robes.
It was a text distributed by Hiruko to the ninjas of the world. The pages were yellowed and the corners curled, but the content fascinated Nagato. Normally, one shouldn't trust the words of an enemy—they are often laced with traps or misdirection. But Nagato felt he had to read Hiruko's work to truly understand his opponent.
The logic of the "emotional path"—relying entirely on "Talk No Jutsu"—was useless against Hiruko. In the face of a mind dominated by scientific and engineering principles, empty rhetoric fell flat. Hiruko was like a rigorous scientist who believed only in data, logic, and rational analysis, not flowery words or emotional manipulation.
Nagato knew that in a battle of wits, he was no match for Hiruko. In the book, Hiruko appeared as an eloquent orator, a man whose words could stir a storm. If he wasn't careful, a few sentences could scramble Nagato's internal peace.
In truth, Nagato had never received a formal, systematic education. He learned ninjutsu as a set of procedures—like a robot programmed to execute commands—but he knew nothing of the principles behind the arts, the deeper rules of the shinobi world, or the intricacies of human nature.
Thus, lately, he had begun to study.
At first, it was agonizing. He recognized every individual word, but when those simple characters were combined into complex sentences and profound concepts, they became a tangled mess. He would read a viewpoint and feel an unexplainable sense that the author was right, but he couldn't grasp why. He felt like a man groping in the dark who suddenly saw a flash of light without knowing the source. He felt small and helpless before this ocean of knowledge.
But still...!
A single relevant follow-up question: How does Hiruko's economic "propaganda" specifically begin to change Nagato's worldview as he sits in that rainy shack?
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