Whether it stemmed from emotional impulse or rational judgment, Hane Genma couldn't turn a blind eye to his clansmen in distress.
This wasn't just about his personal feelings, preferences, or will—it was also tied to the collective understanding of those around him.
Though he had abandoned the surname "Hanemiya," that didn't mean he could sever the blood ties with his clan. Nor had he ever intended to.
Surface-level changes remained just that—on the surface. At his core, he was still the same. A person's essence doesn't shift with a single declaration.
The distress message they'd received had come from Chihori of the Hanemiya Clan, but that didn't necessarily mean she was the only one in trouble. It was entirely possible that several, even a dozen, clan members were involved.
After Genma made the decision to launch a rescue, though the surrounding clansmen still wore stern expressions, he could clearly sense a wave of relief sweeping through the group.
"Rescue is a given," he said, "but as always, I'll go alone."
He raised a hand to stop those who looked ready to argue and continued calmly:
"I can move more flexibly on my own. If something goes wrong, I can either advance or retreat freely. But if too many people are involved, it'll only complicate things."
To be honest, their collective strength wasn't nearly enough to support a mission that required a blend of reconnaissance, infiltration, and extraction.
The word "burden" might sound harsh, but the truth was, bringing everyone along would likely create more problems than it would solve.
"So, here's the plan: given the complexity of this operation, I'll head in first to scout the situation. You all stay ready. If I need support, I'll contact you immediately."
Genma adjusted his phrasing to make it easier for them to accept.
"But if the captain goes alone and runs into something urgent with no one to back him up... the consequences could be catastrophic," someone pointed out.
Genma's response was to casually demonstrate his ability to pass straight through a massive tree trunk bare-handed.
"Unless I run into a completely airtight sealing jutsu," he said, "there's no way I'm getting trapped."
The gesture was more than convincing.
In the end, this was the only way. No one could sway Genma's decision once he'd made up his mind.
A few couldn't help but mutter under their breath—if only that Senju shinobi were still around, maybe they could've lent a hand.
"That's settled, then," Genma said. "I'll go ahead and conduct preliminary recon. Given the urgency, we act sooner rather than later."
Even though he didn't plan to bring the others into the actual rescue, he still gave them a sense of participation—something to expect and contribute to.
Everyone had to feel like they were working to save their own. Everyone had to have a stake in the outcome. Otherwise, if some did the work while others just watched, what would that be?
After all, the weight of their kin was the same in every heart.
Truth be told, whether it was back in the days when they were just disposable cannon fodder, or now, as elite cannon fodder, Genma had never been comfortable with joint operations. He was more accustomed to fighting solo.
He gave brief instructions for managing the camp, packed his ninja tools and some soldier pills, then set off.
Thanks to the Sarutobi clan's generosity, Genma was at least well-stocked with weapons and wartime supplies.
Over the past month or two, his power had surged dramatically.
He was still far from matching the top-tier, but compared to those below him, he was more than capable.
He couldn't exactly fight like a powerhouse—but when it came to running, he could vanish in a flash.
After leaving camp and crossing the forest into the outside world, Genma didn't sprint at full speed. A battle could break out at any moment, so he had to maintain his chakra levels carefully.
To avoid attracting attention, he draped a tattered blanket over himself, concealing the tools on his waist. This made him look less like a shinobi and more like either a modernist avant-garde artist—or a displaced refugee from the classical era.
After three days, Genma arrived at the coordinates listed in the distress message. It was an unassuming little town.
Shrouded in the gray mist of early morning, the place looked dilapidated. The mismatched buildings were crumbling, and the residents moved about lifelessly.
On the surface, there didn't seem to be anything unusual. Most places in the ninja world were like this now.
Geographically speaking, this town sat at the border of the Land of Fire, the Land of Rivers, and the Land of Rain—an infamously lawless "no-man's-land."
Genma observed the town for a while but couldn't find anything suspicious. So he stepped forward and entered.
That was when he noticed something off.
Normally, in a closed-off town like this, a stranger's sudden appearance would draw wary, probing stares. But here, the townspeople looked at him like he was just another face in the crowd.
His clothing might've been generic, but his face was undeniably unfamiliar.
"Definitely not normal…"
Circling the town's main crossroad, Genma soon sensed he was being watched.
Could his clansmen really be hiding—or imprisoned—somewhere like this? He had no answer yet. The only clue he had was the coordinate on that message. So this town was where he had to start digging.
After a second loop through town, Genma slipped a coin pouch from a man who looked relatively well-off. For ordinary folk, shinobi were basically professional thieves—expert pickpockets with years of honed skill.
It was the first time in months he'd laid hands on actual money.
Currency was still counted in ryō, but unlike the paper bills from the Hidden Village era, wartime economies used metal coinage minted by various regional daimyō.
Naturally, metal currency had different purchasing power than paper bills.
Genma opened the pouch to find five gold coins that looked like the koban from the Edo period.
Each was stamped with the value "1 ryō." Genma weighed one in his hand—it felt like it was about fifteen grams.
During the shinobi village era, 1 ryō was pegged at about 10 yen. But it was clear that these wartime ryō coins were worth far more—these were high-denomination coins.
A quick estimate told him a single gold ryō now held the purchasing power of at least 5,000 yen.
With that newfound wealth, Genma headed toward the town's only inn.
He'd scoped it out earlier—this was the sole lodging establishment in town.
Inside, a gaunt middle-aged man sat behind the counter facing the entrance. Genma approached and dropped one of the gold coins onto the counter.
"I'll stay for now. If it's not enough later, I'll pay the difference," he said.
The innkeeper picked up the coin and held it to the light at the door, then blew on it and gave it a vigorous polish with his sleeve before replying:
"Minted by the Enichi House. Pure red gold… This could cover you until the end of time."
As he spoke, he tucked the coin into his sleeve and tossed a set of keys to Genma.
Genma's eyebrow twitched. He hadn't caught how the man hid the coin—that sleight of hand didn't come from a typical innkeeper. Could this guy be some hidden master, a "sweeping monk" type?
But Genma didn't press him about his clansmen. He'd just arrived, and caution was still the priority.
Taking the key, he headed upstairs to one of the inn's rooms.
Once the door was shut, he inspected the room thoroughly. Only after confirming nothing was amiss did he allow himself to relax a little.
From here on, Genma would patiently observe the town.
If there was something wrong with this place, the truth would reveal itself eventually. Sooner or later, some crack would appear—and when it did, Genma would be ready.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my patreon:
pat reon .com/yuuwand