Power Stone Goals from now on: I always post a minimum of 5 chapters. Henceforth the following are the goals:
Every 150 powerstones, I upload an extra chapter.
If we hit top 30 in the 30-90 days power stone rankings, thats 1 more chapter
If we hit top 10 in the 30-90 days power stone rankings, thats 1 more chapter
If we are top 5...well lets get to that first. Happy readings!
Chapter 68: Fuinjutsu Advanced Rank
The inn I stayed at was small, quiet, tucked deep in the snowy edge of the Land of Iron. I had rented it out for a while...
But I definitely had to be safe with my finances henceforth. It wouldn't be easy to get money anymore.
I had sealed every inch of the inn in Fuinjutsu.
From the window shades to the bedposts, every surface bore fine lines of chakra-sensitive ink. Some activated on motion, others flared if chakra signatures unfamiliar to me crossed into proximity.
All of this was simply preparation for what is to come...
I sat in the center of the room—cross-legged, still—with the scroll in front of me.
The scroll contains the Root agent's soul.
Or rather, the echo of their soul. Their fragmented memories.
A culmination of nearly everything I had learned in Fuinjutsu.
By now, I figured I could call myself an Advanced rank Fuinjutsu user. If I had to compare:
Jiraiya? Without a doubt, a Master.Tsunade? Likely Proficient, with specialized applications like medical sealing.
The difference between these ranks? Substantial.
Each tier was like a cliff face—impressive to scale, but always revealing another vertical wall once you thought you reached the summit.
All my work, months of effort, tens of shadow clones a day pouring over scrolls, applying formulas, and testing reactive materials—all of it had led to this.
The ability to capture the final echoes of a dying mind and bind them to a scroll.
To most, it would sound overpowered.
But to me? It was laughable.
This wasn't the Reaper Death Seal.
I wasn't pulling out souls and sealing them into my body. I wasn't extracting karmic chains or rewriting fates.
This was a mimicry. A delayed Yamanaka-style technique, performed not in the heat of battle, but carefully, after death, with time and preparation.
And this was with me as the caster—someone with natural talent, unfiltered access to resources, and guidance from one of the most brilliant Fuinjutsu minds alive.
Not to mention the shadow clone method.
A technique that turned hours of study into weeks of cumulative experience.
So, yes. I had no illusions about where I stood.
I wasn't some sealing god.
But I was... prepared.
And preparation was power.
I looked at the scroll again. Seals pulsed softly across its surface, glowing faintly with the chakra signature of the Root agent. I hadn't yet dared to open it.
Not because I feared what I'd find—but because I wanted to approach it with precision.
Every line of ink around me, every glyph on the floor, had a purpose.
A ring of containment. A barrier of stabilization. An outer layer of memory translation filters.
All waiting.
With a breath, I pressed my fingers to the central seal.
The scroll quivered.
And the flickers of someone else's life began to unravel before my eyes.
And right as the memories began to deepen—as the fragmented echoes started aligning into clarity—they cracked.
Visions froze.
The imagery shattered like glass, splintering and fading.
I didn't panic.
I had prepared for this.
The moment the feedback started to collapse, dozens of seals etched into the walls and floor flared with chakra. They formed a containment dome around the sealed scroll, trapping the spiritual residue, preventing it from dispersing entirely.
Danzo had prepared his soldiers well.
The soul was wrapped in layers of protective Fuinjutsu—not defensive, but reactive. Designed to self-destruct on tampering.
And from the look of it, Danzo was probably Proficient in Fuinjutsu himself. Maybe even as strong as Tsunade in the sealing arts.
Not that it mattered.
I had anticipated sabotage.
And I had learned how to counter it.
I steadied my breath and tried again.
This time, I didn't look broadly.
I didn't search through the chaotic ocean of fragmented memories.
I targeted a single thought.
A moment that pulsed with resistance.
The one memory the remnant will of this Root soldier most wanted to hide from me.
I pressed deeper, chakra wrapping around the protective seal. I ignored the false images and the meaningless memories. I dove straight for the scarred thread of thought flickering like a dying star.
And then it hit me.
My eyes opened.
I was no longer in the inn.
The memory pulled me into a dark chamber—the hidden Root headquarters.
Danzo sat behind his desk, rigid and composed, the light casting harsh shadows across the bandages on his face. His hands were folded over a file as he stared down at the figure in front of him.
"Natimo," Danzo said calmly, "I need you to follow Shikomu Senju."
There it was.
Confirmation.
He knew.
Danzo already knew I was a Senju. But from the tone of his voice, I could tell he didn't know everything.
Not yet.
He didn't know about Matatabi.
He didn't know how far I had gone.
"Hiruzen has not been sending any high-ranking ninja to monitor Shikomu for some time now," Danzo continued. "That means he trusts the boy. Or he's become complacent."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I need you to simply observe and report back. Do not engage. Do not interfere. If discovered, your priority is escape. Understood?"
Natimo said nothing.
He didn't need to. That was the Root way. Obey, act, vanish.
Then, out of nowhere, a small black snake slithered into the chamber, weaving its way toward the desk.
Danzo raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting it.
The snake stopped, hissed, then regurgitated a scroll onto the floor before disappearing in a puff of smoke.
Danzo bent down, retrieved the scroll, and began to read.
And I saw it.
A subtle tremble in his hand.
Not much.
But it was there.
His expression twisted—not just in anger. Something else. Something closer to fear.
"What a good Raikage," he spat bitterly, slamming the scroll onto the desk with force.
Then, without waiting, he turned toward the exit.
"Natimo, move out."
Natimo disappeared in a flicker.
But from the corner of his eyes he had seen the contents of the scroll.
Just a glimpse.
But he saw the scroll's contents.
And because of that... so did I.
As the memory solidified in my mind, my pulse quickened.
I didn't expect this.
I wasn't ready for what I read next.
The Raikage had called for a summit.
Not just any political gathering, but a summit of all major shinobi factions across the continent—an unprecedented event. And it was to be held in the Land of Iron.
The same place I was heading.
That damn snake messenger—it wasn't just random. Orochimaru knew about this summit. That much was obvious now. And if Orochimaru was the one delivering that intel to Danzo...
They were working together.
Which meant whatever was coming wasn't going to be simple.
But the Raikage planning to target the Leaf?
That wasn't like him.
He wasn't the subtle type. He was the type to punch first and burn your gates down after.
So why the summit?
Why the patience?
Something was holding him back. Something big. And it was something I didn't know—this version of him was clearly different from the one I remembered.
What had changed?
And why now?
The timing made my skin crawl.
I had already chosen to go to the Land of Iron.
And now, all the strongest players on the board were gathering there.
Convenient.
Too convenient.
…
The air inside the massive dome was still.
The Akatsuki meeting chamber was colossal in scale—its roof arched high above like the inside of a planet, smooth black stone. It was a sacred space, buried far from the eyes of any nation, a place of whispers and war-born plans.
Two figures stood in the center of the chamber. Clad in matching Akatsuki cloaks, black with red clouds, they stood motionless before a raised circular platform. Their forms were mostly obscured by the shadows and their high collars, but their outlines were unmistakable: one tall and broad, the other slender, calm.
Despite the shadows, any shinobi worth their salt would recognize the pair.
Kisame Hoshigaki.
Itachi Uchiha.
Between them lay a body, placed on the ground. It was completely wrapped in cloaks and bandages, no skin, hair, or shape visible. The identity of the person beneath was a mystery—gender, age, status, everything hidden.
And before them stood another.
A projection stood above the dais.
He had orange hair, a pierced face, and eyes that glowed with the haunting concentric rings of the Rinnegan.
Pain.
Leader of the Akatsuki.
He stood with his back turned to the other two, his arms folded behind him.
No words were spoken at first.
The body remained at the feet of the projection, and Kisame and Itachi stepped back once it was laid in place.
The silence lingered, thick as thunderclouds.
Then, slowly, Pain turned.
His eyes swept across the room, scanning the body, then the two figures.
His voice echoed, neither loud nor soft, but commanding with its weight.
"I think it is time to begin."
...
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator