Chapter 37: The Priestess's Price
The woman's smile was a subtle, knowing curve of her lips, a silent acknowledgment of the power she held in this negotiation. "However," she began, her voice still a soft, melodic hum that belied the steel beneath, "my assistance is not given without expectation. A favor for a favor. That is the way of the world, is it not, Ryouma-kun?"
Ryouma's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. The term of address, so familiar yet laced with condescension, grated on him. He was an S-Class rogue ninja, a title he had earned through a defiant act against one of Konoha's most shadowy figures, and yet here he was, being treated like a wayward child by a woman whose depths he couldn't fathom. He forced himself to nod, a short, sharp gesture. "State your condition."
"Perceptive," she praised, though it didn't feel entirely complimentary. "My daughter, Shion, is the heir to a sacred lineage in this land. She possesses a… unique destiny. My condition is simple. Once your business in Kirigakure is concluded, you will return here. You will become her personal guardian and combat instructor for a period of one year. You will teach her to defend herself, to truly harness the power she will one day inherit."
Ryouma's mind raced. A year? That was a significant commitment, a chain that would bind him to this place and delay his other goals, chief among them earning enough Almighty Points to resurrect Fei'er. But the offer was pragmatic. Chōjūrō's location was a moving target; he could be anywhere in the Land of Water or on a mission abroad. The intelligence network this woman commanded would save him weeks, possibly months, of futile searching.
He looked at Shion, who was watching the exchange with wide, hopeful eyes. There was a naive strength in her that reminded him painfully of the sister he had failed to protect. Swallowing the bitter pill of his pride, he met the woman's gaze squarely.
"Agreed," Ryouma said, his voice firm. "I will be her guardian for one year. Now, tell me where to find Chōjūrō."
"He is currently not in Kirigakure," the woman revealed, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. "My sources indicate he is on a mission in the Land of Rain. The constant conflict there provides ample cover for a… confrontation."
The Land of Rain. Ryouma's lips pressed into a thin line. It was a treacherous place, caught between warring great nations and shrouded in perpetual downpour. It was also the rumored base of the Akatsuki. A dangerous destination, but a precise one.
"Thank you… for the information," Ryouma said, the words tasting foreign. He did not ask for her name, sensing she would not give it.
The woman merely inclined her head and turned, her form melting back into the shadows of the ornate chamber as silently as she had appeared, leaving Ryouma alone with a beaming Shion.
The journey to the Land of Rain was a blur of forced marches and damp discomfort. The woman had provided a route that skirted the most heavily patrolled borders, and within two days, Ryouma found himself beneath the nation's characteristic grey sky, a cold, relentless drizzle soaking through his clothes.
This damned rain, he thought, pulling his travel cloak tighter. It was a constant, mournful drizzle that seemed to seep into one's very soul. He was tired, the strain of his flight from Konoha and the emotional toll of his choices weighing on him. Spotting the faint orange glow of a fire from the mouth of a cave, he moved towards it. As he drew closer, he could hear voices—a man and a woman—engaged in a familiar, teasing banter.
Pushing aside a curtain of hanging vines, Ryouma stepped inside. The two occupants, a wiry man and a curvaceous woman, fell instantly silent, their postures stiffening with alarm.
"Who's there?!" the man, Jiehe, barked, scrambling to his feet.
"Just a traveler seeking shelter from the despair outside," Ryouma replied, his voice calm. He shrugged off his dripping cloak and hung it on a rocky outcrop, the water pooling at his feet. He made no effort to hide the Konoha forehead protector on his arm, the deep gouge across the symbol marking him as a nukenin for all to see. He offered a disarming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I saw your fire. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
The woman's initial fear quickly morphed into a different kind of interest as her eyes traveled over him. "A shinobi?" she breathed, a slow smile spreading across her face.
Jiehe's gaze flickered to the defaced headband, and a nervous tic started under his eye. He forced a strained smile. "N-No, not at all. Make yourself at home."
"Don't mind if I do," Ryouma said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He moved to the opposite side of the fire and sat, the warmth a welcome sensation against his chilled skin. He kept his senses extended, his World Eye passively analyzing the two. They seemed like ordinary civilians, perhaps bandits or deserters, but their ignorance of the headband's significance was either a very good act or genuine.
"Where are you from, handsome?" the woman asked, her voice a purr as she deliberately shifted closer to him, ignoring Jiehe's disapproving glare.
"From elsewhere," Ryouma answered vaguely, his attention on the flames. He was wary. The world was full of traps, and a pretty face was often the most effective bait.
"Oh, don't be so shy," she cooed, edging closer still. "You're all wet. Come, share my warmth. Am I not beautiful?"
Ryouma didn't move, his expression unreadable. His mind, however, was already far away from the cave, cutting through the rain towards his target. Chōjūrō was here, somewhere in this sodden country. And soon, the Mist ninja would learn the price of being a stepping stone on Akizuki Ryouma's path to power.