But Nagato was not one to give up easily.
He was like an obsessed mountain climber; no matter how many obstacles lay ahead, he would claw his way to the summit. He had vowed to save the shinobi world, and he knew that possessing sufficient knowledge and wisdom was essential. In his eyes, knowledge was the ultimate power—the only lens through which he could perceive the essence of the world and find the path to its salvation.
If he didn't understand it once, he read it again. Twice? Three times. He was like a diligent craftsman, relentlessly polishing his own rough edges, hoping to transform himself into something smooth, refined, and valuable.
To be weak was not a crime; everyone starts as a sapling, fragile and swaying in the wind. But to be weak and unwilling to learn or adapt was a death sentence. Like a bird that refuses to fly, such a creature would eventually be culled by the cold hand of nature.
This sustained period of reading had yielded rewards. Though his ninjutsu hadn't increased in raw power, his wisdom had seen a marked improvement. He was learning to view issues from multiple angles, analyzing the root causes of conflict rather than just the symptoms.
Today, as he opened the book again, the text—which once seemed as indecipherable as a heavenly script—began to offer profound questions:
In a world of constant struggle for power and profit, how can the fighting be stopped?When hearts are filled with hatred, how can we prevent its spread?If peace is the goal, what are the concrete steps to achieve it?
These questions were like keys, unlocking doors to unknown worlds within his mind. Nagato appreciated Hiruko's dialectical style of posing problems and offering potential solutions. Even if Hiruko's answers were flawed—or even fundamentally wrong—they at least provided a direction. And in a world of total chaos, even a wrong direction was better than wandering aimlessly.
Nagato cleared his mind and immersed himself in the text. Time blurred.
Suddenly, a series of high-pitched voices broke through the curtain of rain. "Excuse me, sir! Are you a ninja?"
Nagato looked up. Peering out from a passing carriage were several small children, eyeing him with intense curiosity.
The Land of Rice Fields had a weak industrial base and primitive infrastructure. In the countryside, it was often more practical to use a horse-drawn carriage than one of the cars Hiruko's labs had developed. Judging by the boys' clothing, they were scions of a local gentry family—not ninjas, but landowning rural nobility.
Due to complex political reasons, Rice Fields lacked a home-grown ninja force. Shinobi were rare here; those that appeared were almost always foreigners. These kids were smart enough to recognize the profession.
Nagato gave them an indifferent nod. He didn't want to get involved with children. Too often, those he grew close to ended up dying before his eyes. The current Nagato preferred to deal with the wicked, using their ruthlessness to his advantage. He loathed the idea of a pure child suffering because of his presence.
An older man in the carriage—a family servant, likely—urged the children to stay quiet and keep moving, warning them not to meddle in the affairs of strangers. But one boy was stubborn. He didn't just ignore the servant; he warmly invited Nagato to stay the night at their manor.
It was an incredibly presumptuous invitation. Bringing a potential killer into one's home was a recipe for disaster. But the boy eventually won Nagato over—not with hospitality, but with an offer to watch a new videotape he had purchased.
The film appeared to be the classic: Seven Samurai.
The story began with a group of impoverished villagers who sent representatives to the city to find samurai to protect them from bandits. Because they were poor, they could only offer white rice as payment, earning them the mockery of most warriors. That was until they met Kanbei—an experienced, kind-hearted Ronin.
Touched by their plight, Kanbei agreed to help, noting that they would need seven samurai to complete the task. Thus, the group was formed: Kyuzo, the laconic master swordsman; Katsushiro, the spirited youth; Gorobei, the wise strategist; Shichiroji, Kanbei's loyal old friend; Heihachi, the jovial archer; and Kikuchiyo, the wild-tempered man who claimed to be a samurai but was actually a farmer's son.
The samurai worked with the villagers, designing defenses and training the farmers to fight. Cultures clashed and frictions sparked, but over time, a deep bond of trust and friendship formed.
The peace didn't last. The bandits launched a massive assault. In the thrilling defense, several samurai gave their lives—Heihachi, Gorobei, and Kyuzo among them. The final showdown took place on a rainy night. It was a bloodbath. Kikuchiyo died heroically, but the samurai held the line.
Afterward, Kanbei looked at the graves and sighed, "In the end, we lost this battle too. The victory belongs to the farmers, not us." He knew that despite their sacrifice, the true winners were the people who remained united to rebuild. The surviving samurai quietly departed, returning to their wandering lives.
The film's themes—class struggle and the radiance of humanity—were stark. It showcased the friction and eventual fusion between the warriors and the tillers. It lauded justice and sacrifice while delivering a scathing critique of the chaos of the Warring States period. It was a masterpiece of the Chanbara genre.
When the film ended, the boy wasn't satisfied. He pulled out more tapes, inviting Nagato to continue.
Nagato realized the boy was a superfan of Jiraiya; nearly every film featured him as the lead. However, Nagato noticed a shift. The earlier films focused on Konoha-centric narratives, while the newer ones were pure Chanbara (swordplay) films emphasizing spectacular action.
Nagato mused on the reason. The "Millet War" had tanked Konoha's reputation. In many small nations, the sight of a Leaf headband in a movie would trigger an immediate chorus of curses. Konoha's marketing department was clever; they had pivoted to genre-heavy action films to maintain their cultural export while distancing the content from the controversial village brand. People still loved the fight scenes, so they accepted the change.
Konoha is an opponent that knows how to adapt, Nagato thought.
The boy was glowing with joy. "Do you like Master Jiraiya's movies too?" he asked excitedly. "He's so cool, right? Everyone says Konoha is bad, but how can someone as righteous as Master Jiraiya be a villain? When I grow up, I want to be a hero like him, helping the weak and crushing the strong!"
The boy mimicked a heroic pose. Thanks to Hiruko's push into the film industry, Jiraiya had become a literal superhero to the children of the world.
Nagato escorted the boy to his room. As he prepared to return to the guest quarters, the middle-aged servant approached him. After a brief talk, Nagato realized the man wanted him to leave early the next morning.
It wasn't that he disliked Nagato; it was that the Fujiwara family was being squeezed. Two powerful local lords were demanding the family pick a side. The conflict had raged for years, leaving a trail of bodies. If the Fujiwaras joined either, they would simply be used as cannon fodder.
"The Land of Rice Fields is too chaotic now," the servant sighed. "You should leave before you're dragged into it. My master and mistress invested in factories in the Land of Fire and made a fortune, but we can't hold the ancestral lands anymore. We're moving the young master to the Land of Fire in a couple of days. Leaving one's home is a tragedy, but the ancestors would understand. A world at war is a hell for the weak."
The irony bit deep. The Land of Fire—one of the sources of the world's turmoil—was now posturing as a benevolent sanctuary for those displaced by the very wars it helped fuel. Nagato's lip twitched, but he remained silent, his heart a mix of fury and helplessness.
The next morning, while the young master was still sleeping in his warm bed, Nagato packed his bags and bid farewell to the household.
He started down the road, but an inexplicable sense of dread gripped him. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing his heart, an omen of impending disaster. He hadn't felt this way since Konan was kidnapped.
Nagato stopped. He was already a great distance away, but he spun around and began to sprint back toward the Fujiwara estate.
The manor was already a sea of flames. The red glow stained the sky. Despite the light rain, the fire raged on, fueled by some unknown accelerant. Masked raiders moved through the grounds like ghouls, their blades dripping. They were killing, looting, and raping with total abandon. The screams of the dying and the pleas for mercy turned the estate into a living purgatory.
"Save the boy! Save the young master! He's in the room below the temple... please!"
It was the servant from the night before. A massive roof beam had skewered his chest, pinning him to the earth. Blood soaked the soil beneath him. He was held together by pure willpower, his eyes wide with desperation.
Nagato looked at the dying man and gave a solemn nod. The servant's grip loosened; his eyes remained open as his breath left him. He had held on just long enough to pass the torch.
Nagato plunged into the inferno. Heat lashed at his skin and smoke choked his lungs, but he ignored the pain. He found the basement entrance.
Inside, the young boy was cornered. Dozens of vicious bandits surrounded him, their faces twisted into sadistic grins. They hadn't come for gold; they were here to extinguish the last of the Fujiwara bloodline.
In the chaos, the boy saw Nagato. "Mr. Nagato, help me!"
The scream was heart-wrenching. Nagato...
A single relevant follow-up question: How does Nagato's use of the Rinnegan to slaughter the bandits in the basement reflect the darker "justice" he is beginning to adopt?
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