"Patriarch!"
The moment the Three Tails vanished beneath the shattered lake, my Susanoo unraveled in a shower of fading light. The last traces of Amaterasu snuffed out like someone flicked a switch. Convenient, considering the forest didn't need a second sunrise.
A squad of our clan's Anbu skidded to a halt beside me, masks cracked with panic.
"I'm fine," I said, waving off the fuss. "Seal off the entire lake. No one gets within throwing distance."
My ribs felt like they'd made a blood oath with a boulder, but whatever. Pain is basically the Warring States national anthem.
I took a slow breath. The lake felt wrong. The air itself hummed with lingering chakra. Three Tails wouldn't stay quiet forever.
"Konoha Alliance has no sealing corps," I reminded myself, and the words tasted bitter. "Even if I beat it again, it'll just slip away when it regenerates."
Which meant one horrible thing:
I had to rely on someone else.
"I'm heading to the Land of Whirlpools," I ordered. "Forget the Three Tails for now."
A couple of Anbu jolted upright like I'd just told them the sky was on fire.
"Raizen-sama… you plan to leave now?" one asked.
"Unless you'd like the Uchiha or some freelance warlord to pick up a fresh Tailed Beast like a roadside souvenir," I said. "We move now."
South Fire Country wasn't far from Whirlpool territory. If I sprinted fast enough, maybe fate would forget to throw another boss fight at me.
"Third and Fourth Teams hold the lake perimeter," I instructed. "Second Team, with me."
They bowed, masks dipping. No one argued this time.
We slipped into the trees, feet silent. The world blurred into waves of green, mud, and memories of a giant turtle monster screaming in my face. Peak reincarnator life.
THE LAND OF WHIRLPOOLS
The southern coast hit me like a strange joke.
Three sides of ocean. Mild wind. Warm air.
A place so peaceful it felt illegal during the Warring States.
The Uzumaki weren't just shinobi here. They were royalty. This was their home turf, and it showed.
Uzumaki Village sat right on the coastline, shimmering under the sun. Kids with bright red hair chased each other across wooden walkways while bored guards slouched at their posts.
Seriously?
War everywhere else… and these people were running a seaside festival.
"They're going soft," I muttered. "A village that forgets war gets swallowed by it."
Harsh, sure. But watching their guards nearly snore standing up made it feel less like wisdom and more like prophecy.
We stepped closer.
Then the ground lit up.
A ring of sealing runes surged around us like someone spilled ink that came alive. The sigils snapped upward, forming a dome before I could blink.
An ambush. Finally some professionalism.
"Identify yourselves! State your purpose in Uzushio Village!"
Dozens of red-haired Uzumaki shinobi appeared from the brush and rooftops, surrounding us with kunai ready.
Their reaction time was good… too bad the village gate guards had been auditioning for daytime naps.
One of the men barked, "How did you approach without detection?!"
Because your front guard was two breaths from death by boredom, that's how.
But fine. Diplomacy.
"I am Amamiya Raizen, from the Land of Fire," I said formally. "I request an audience with the Uzumaki patriarch."
A ripple went through the group.
"Amamiya Raizen…?"
"The one who beheaded the Kaguya patriarch?"
"The one who fought Uchiha Izuna at the Daimyo's mansion?!"
Yes, yes, gather 'round, admire the disaster that is my life.
"What proof do you have?" another demanded.
I reached for a scroll—
"I can confirm he's not Amamiya Raizen."
A clear voice cut in.
I froze.
Stepping through the ranks was a girl maybe my age. Vibrant red hair braided on both sides, glazed-ceramic eyes, skin pale enough to glow.
Uzumaki Mito.
The future First Hokage's wife.
Future jinchūriki.
Future terrifyingly elegant adult.
Right now?
A smug gremlin.
Her lips curled, barely hiding a grin.
"Ahem," I muttered. "You haven't changed."
Her expression sharpened mischievously. "Quite bold for an impersonator."
The surrounding shinobi tensed.
"The nerve! Capture him!"
"Oh come on."
My Sharingan opened before they even got a step closer. Red washed over my vision, tomoe spinning into familiar arcs.
Every Uzumaki within my sight froze mid-step, eyes unfocused. Like puppets with their strings cut.
Silence dropped over the field.
The dome of sealing runes crackled.
Mito stared at me, smile fading into something more serious.
The Warring States were loud.
But this moment… dropped like the eye of a storm.