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 73: Blacksmith
The next day, Kaiser got to work. He made his way into the administrative tunnels of Sprouts Heaven—a dense, humid sector beneath one of the Federation's mid-tier survival domes. The lighting flickered. The air was thick with oil and ozone, and yet this was where the city breathed.
He slipped into a dusty office, connected his handheld terminal to the outdated network system, and began making calls.
"Yes. This is Kaiser. I need a building, five floors minimum, retrofitted for pod infrastructure. No surveillance access. Yes, I said no surveillance."
The woman on the other side hesitated. "That'll be flagged."
"I know. Use the Greenlight Override from Councilor Heaven's file. You know which one."
A pause. Then: "Understood. It'll be done by the end of the week."
Kaiser leaned back, rubbing his temples. That was only the first step. Next, he contacted his logistics team. "I need twenty-four full-dive pods from Rangers Tech. Start transporting them to the location."
"And what about maintenance?"
"Set up three layers. Dummy crew, public crew, and real staff. I want no gaps."
One by one, the pieces began falling into place.
Later that day, he sat inside his family's repurposed storage hall, eyes glowing with faint strain as he patched into the underground net. His voice was calm but firm as he relayed the message to each of the three main team leaders.
Kaiser sent a single message in a secure group chat: "Yuki, Ryuko, Mio—are you all willing to relocate and help build something bigger than any of us could alone?"
The replies came quickly, and the gist of it was that all of them agreed...sure it was a bit of a hassle since some of them lived at the OPPOSITE END of the world. But hey, leaders order.
He began arranging their transport to Sprouts Heaven immediately.
Back in my tiny room, nestled under a rattling ventilation pipe, I sat with my parents. For once, the three of us shared a warm, quiet meal.
"So you're spending all your time in that ninja game," my mom muttered, giving me a side glance. "It's... nice to see you smiling again, but it worries me."
I leaned forward, my chopsticks pausing mid-air. "It's not just a game. It's a whole world—with politics, villages, stories that go back generations. You wouldn't believe how deep it gets."
My dad raised an eyebrow. "You're really into it, huh?"
"It's more than just playing," I said. "I've met people from all over. We've formed teams, made plans. It's helped me figure out what I want to do, and where I want to be."
My mom gave me a look, soft but skeptical. "Still sounds like a lot of time for something that isn't real... but I am glad you're happy, honey."
I chuckled. "Maybe. But I want you both to give it a shot. The next cycle of pod admissions is coming up. Think of it like... an immersive vacation. Plus, I'll be there to guide you."
My dad folded his arms. "A vacation inside a machine?"
I shrugged. "One with better food, stories, and sword fights than out here. Just let me show you the lore sometime. There's real meaning behind it. It's about people, clans, peace versus war—how we hold onto hope when everything's falling apart."
That night, I told them some of the world lore to get them interested.
As I spoke, I watched my dad's skeptical expression slowly soften, and my mom's eyes narrow with interest.
…
The past week has been strange.
Not quite, not peaceful, but different—split between two worlds. I'd been logging in and out of the game, mostly to maintain appearances, manage operations, and oversee what my clones couldn't. But the majority of my time had been with my parents.
We shared meals, something I hadn't done in what felt like years. I told them stories—about the Senju, the Uchiha, the rise and fall of Konoha, the mystery of chakra, and the wars etched into the earth of the Shinobi world. Their eyes slowly stopped seeing it as a child's fantasy. They listened and sometimes even asked questions.
They started to understand.
Every evening, after the stories, I'd find myself staring at the pod in the corner of my room. I'd enter the game for a few hours, check in with my shadow clones, receive intel, nudge missions forward... and then I'd return to reality to sit with my family.
In a way, it reminded me of who I was before all of this began—before Shikomu.
But that couldn't last. Not now.
Kaiser sent a message early in the morning. A simple one: "It's done. The guild base is secured. Pods, four fallback bunkers. First wave arriving tomorrow."
I stared at the screen, rereading it more times than necessary.
The preparations were complete. The infrastructure, the squads, the safehouse.
We were becoming something that could shape this world—this reality that had once been just a game.
I looked toward the hallway, wondering if I might catch a glimpse of my brother. I hadn't seen him in days. He was out working most of the time, disconnected from the game and everything I had fallen so deeply into.
Part of me wanted to wait just a little longer—one more dinner with my parents, one more chance to sit beside my brother and pull him into this world I believed in.
But time was no longer a luxury.
Especially now that I knew what was about to happen in the Land of Iron.
The summit.
In just two days, the 4 Kages would gather in secret. Their meeting—ostensibly about peace—was anything but. My clone stationed in the area had already caught whispers of mobilizations, secret scrolls being transported, and ANBU units moving without flags.
Something big was coming. And I needed to be there.
Not as an observer. As a player.
As a leader.
I stared at my pod. The soft hum beckoned like a whisper.
I slid in, sealing the lid. The hiss of the atmosphere pressurizing around me marked the transition.
This time, I wasn't leaving until it was over.
My vision blurred as the neural link synced. Then came the darkness. Then...
Light.
Wind.
The cold bite of snow hit me before anything else. My vision cleared as the neural sync completed, and the world around me solidified into a windswept, steel-gray expanse.
I opened my eyes in the Land of Iron and immediately dispelled all the shadow clones I had stationed around the region. A cascade of memories and observations flooded my mind—visuals, chakra signatures, guard rotations, environmental quirks, minor conversations. But above all that noise, one thing stood out. One clear discovery amidst the fog of surveillance and subtle whispers.
I had finally found what I had been looking for.
A major hint. A critical thread leading toward something I had been desperate to understand: weapon style.
Inside the Land of Iron, unlike in the shinobi villages, ninjutsu was largely irrelevant. Here, the people revered weapons. Blades, polearms, curved scythes and weighted chains. This was a land of the sword, not the seal. A place where discipline meant mastery over steel, not chakra.
And buried within that tradition, was a system. One which even players could access—if they knew the right doors to knock on.
I had managed to coordinate with another player weeks ago, someone who had embedded themselves among the samurai ranks. They weren't affiliated with any guild. Just an explorer, a lore diver. The kind of player who existed not for fame or power, but for the mystery.
He had told me something simple, something easy to overlook:
"Weapons here are commissioned through the blacksmiths. They won't hand you one unless you've earned it—or paid for it. And every smith is logged and monitored by the Shogunate. You get a blade here, they know who you are."
It made sense. In a land ruled by a Shogun, knowing who was armed and how well was a necessity. They regulated it all. Even the process of sharpening a blade could be recorded. Players might have thought they were buying freedom, but they were stepping into a trap of control.
Still, it was strange—why would a single Shogun oversee a region like this? A land not just of samurai, but wandering monks, exiled nobles, and mercenaries? The answer eluded me.
Regardless, the region's population was heavily samurai-based. Real-world players had embraced a variety of weapon styles—naginta, tessen, katanas, dual scimitars. But they all followed the same process:
Pick your weapon. Submit a request. Get basic proficiency. Then wait for commission approval.
And that was my problem.
I didn't have time to grind basic proficiency. Not only that, I didn't have the right too...I was not a member of the Land of Iron.
But I had spent the last month carefully digging. And I had found him.
The blacksmith who didn't care.
The one who worked for the joy of the craft, not the rule of the Shogun.
He didn't ask questions about guild affiliations or bother recording every transaction. He worked out of a forge built into the cliffside, smoke billowing out into the freezing sky. There was no sign—just a blank cliff face only visible to those who'd been told exactly where to knock.
And now it was time.
Time for my real body—Shikomu—to meet this mysterious figure. To commission the weapon that would change the shape of every battle that came next.
I stepped off the ridge and began the slow descent toward the hidden forge.
...
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator