It didn't take long before Kanna had questions.
"Kaguya-hime… why are there so many bandits around? Shouldn't the shinobi villages have dealt with them long ago?"
"A good question," I said, before pausing, considering how detailed my answer should be.
However, since we still had a long walk ahead of us and didn't have much else to talk about, I figured I might as well educate her on the whole story. It would likely be passed down to Karin in the future, making it well worth it.
"It's not an easy subject, but I can tell you. It's not like we have much else to do while we walk," I began with a sigh.
"Thank you, Kaguya-hime." Kanna bowed her head in thanks.
"Bandits have been around since the dawn of man — the outcast and the greedy, those whose only tools are force and fear," I began. "Long, long ago, there was a single woman who brought an end to them. With her overwhelming strength, she slaughtered them all."
My mind flashed back to memories of before my sealing.
"However, as all things do, that woman passed away, and with her passing ended the bloody peace she brought with strength alone. While her sons had the strength to continue her work, they didn't have the cruelty to do it. They used words, not force," I went on.
"They preached, and they guided, but they were unwilling to do more. Eventually, they had children of their own. Two of those had children, who formed together into clans. Those two were the Senju and the Uchiha clans," I explained.
"Wait! The Senju and Uchiha clans are connected?" Kanna couldn't help but interrupt. "Then… why have the two clans had such a rivalry for so long?"
"A good question," I said patiently. "Their clans followed very different philosophies. One followed that of peace and guidance, as their father had. The other clan was more willing to use force to do what had to be done."
"The Senju guided, and the Uchiha killed?" Kanna asked.
"Indeed," I nodded. "They had two paths. Eventually their clans grew into kingdoms — territories as vast as the Land of Earth or the Land of Fire. And within the Uchiha clan's land, there were no bandits."
I paused for a heartbeat.
"Because all were killed," I finished.
Kanna shuddered. Not from fear — more from the enormity of what she was hearing.
"Then… the Senju lands?" she asked quietly.
"Still peaceful. After all, the Senju clan was as strong as the Uchiha. But there were bandits. Not many, but there were bandits, and where there are bandits, there are victims — even if not many," I replied, then paused and looked at Kanna.
"And tell me, wouldn't you agree that even one victim is one too many? Had I not been with you, what do you think yours and Karin's fates would have been in their hands?" I said, motioning back towards where we encountered the bandits.
Kanna's face went pale. The unspoken truth of my question settled over her like a shroud, the memory of those leering faces and rough hands still fresh. She hugged Karin closely to her chest.
"I… I don't want to think about it," she finally whispered, her voice thin.
"And you shouldn't have to," I said softly, releasing her arm. "But that is the cost of a philosophy that relies on guidance rather than absolute control. The Senju believed in building a world where people would choose to be good. The Uchiha believed in building a world where they had no other choice. Both, in their own way, sought peace."
Indeed, I too had used force… but hadn't it brought peace? Those who said using force was bad — those were the ones wishing to be the strongest just so they could use force.
"But Kaguya-hime, what does that have to do with today?" Kanna asked while I thought about the past.
"Everything," I replied.
We walked over a low rise, the wind blowing dust and grass around our feet. Karin babbled softly in her sleep against Kanna's shoulder. My chakra stretched far, tasting the land, the people, the countless small cruelties woven into the world.
"Bandits exist," I said, "because this current world inherited the Senju philosophy, but without the Senju strength. The First Hokage believed in forgiveness — but he forgot that forgiveness only works when backed by overwhelming power."
Kanna frowned. "But Hashirama Senju was the strongest man alive… wasn't he?"
"He was," I agreed. "But his descendants were not. His successors were not. And the system he created depended entirely on the idea that everyone would always be reasonable."
I gave a soft, humorless laugh.
"When has humanity ever been reasonable?"
Kanna lowered her gaze.
"The Uchiha ruled through domination," I continued. "The Senju through persuasion. But both philosophies require strength. When the clans weakened, when the people grew soft, the filth returned."
Kanna grimaced. "So… the villages should have done more?"
"They won't," I said simply. "What I talked about worked for the clans, but their age is long gone. Today… a different set of rules applies. Not strength, not force… but coin."
"Coin?" Kanna echoed, confused.
"Yes," I said. "Today peace is not maintained by strength or moral virtue. It is maintained by economics."
Kanna blinked. "I… don't understand."
"Of course you don't," I said gently. "You were never taught the true nature of these nations. Shinobi do not hunt bandits because it does not pay to hunt them."
She stiffened.
I continued walking, letting the truth settle into her like cold rain.
"Bandits do not threaten the power of the villages. They do not destabilize the economy. They do not interfere with missions contracted by daimyo or nobles. They prey only on peasants, travelers, and the weak."
Kanna's mouth tightened, shaken by the implication.
"And the villages?" she whispered. "They know this happens?"
"Naturally. But unless paid, they won't do anything," I said, then sighed. "A village will only kill a band of bandits when someone pays them enough. But the victims of bandits rarely have any coin, so bandits can sometimes operate for years before offending someone who can afford to post a mission."
Kanna's steps faltered.
Her jaw worked soundlessly for a moment.
"So… so the villages only act when it profits them?"
"Correct."
"And… the daimyo?" she asked hesitantly.
"They care even less," I said. "Peasants are replaceable. Merchants can hire guards. Nobles simply travel with shinobi escorts. So long as the bandits do not target someone important, no one meaningful suffers."
Kanna shuddered at the cold pragmatism.
"But — Konoha, Kumo, Iwa… they all could wipe them out if they wanted to, couldn't they?"
"Of course," I said. "A single mid-ranking team could clear a region in days. A Kage-level shinobi could do it in an afternoon."
"Then why don't they?" she demanded, voice cracking with outrage.
"Because," I said, "shinobi are tools, and tools only act when wielded. That is the current system — has been for centuries — and everyone is too scared of the consequences of trying to change things."
Kanna hugged Karin tighter, her expression tense.
"Consequences…?" she echoed.
"Yes."
I stepped over a cracked stone in the path, the wind tugging at the ends of my blindfold.
"Imagine," I said, "a Kage deciding to exterminate every bandit within their borders. Within days, banditry would vanish. Trade routes would flourish. Civilians would be safe."
"That sounds good," Kanna whispered.
"It is," I agreed. "But doing so proves something dangerous: that the Kage governs the land — not the daimyo."
Kanna stopped walking.
"Oh."
"Yes," I said. "The moment a shinobi leader begins protecting the people without being ordered or paid, they stop being a tool… and become a ruler."
I turned my head slightly toward her.
"And the daimyo cannot allow that."
Kanna's lips parted in shock.
"So… the villages don't wipe out bandits… because it would make the daimyo afraid of them?"
"Precisely."
"That's…" She struggled for words. "…That's insane."
"No," I corrected. "It is politics. It is fear. It is weakness wearing a crown."
We continued down the path, mountains fading behind us, plains stretching outward like an endless parchment.
"That… that's cold… cruel even…" she finally said after a moment of silence.
"Yes, it is… it's what happens when the weak rule. They have to fear. The strong need to be in charge, because they don't have to fear the strong — they are the strong. They have no fear and so can act when it is needed," I said, explaining my philosophy.
Kanna swallowed hard.
"And if… if someone strong enough did decide to change things… what would happen?"
"That," I said, "depends on whether they fear the consequences — or whether the consequences fear them."
Kanna's steps slowed.
She looked at me with wide, uncertain eyes.
"Kaguya-hime… are you trying to change the world?"
I did not answer immediately.
The path curved gently, distant city walls just barely visible on the horizon.
The wind carried dust and the faint smell of tilled fields.
Karin slept peacefully against Kanna's shoulder, blissfully unaware.
When I finally spoke, it was quiet.
Absolute.
"I am walking toward a world," I said, "where Karin will never fear bandits… because there will be no bandits."
Kanna's breath caught.
"A world where the strong lead," I continued, "and the weak are protected — not exploited."
I looked forward, voice unwavering.
"If the world must change for that to happen… then it will change."
Kanna didn't speak again for a long time.
…
"Now, we will rest in this town. Maybe spend another day here. It's been a while since we did any real shopping, so it would be a good time. Plus, you haven't seen the local specialty here," I said as we approached a town, the wide road no longer as lonely.
"You really seem to like shopping, don't you, Kaguya-hime?" Kanna asked, her voice lighter now, softened by the familiarity she'd grown comfortable enough to let show.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
"Of course. Shopping is the greatest of human inventions."
Kanna blinked, caught off guard. "R–really?"
"Before bartering, there were only two ways to acquire something: to make it, or steal it — which often involved killing or harming whoever owned it before. But with bartering, there was a new way. A way to acquire good food, comfortable clothes, beautiful fabrics, and everything needed to live pleasantly."
"I guess that is one way to think about it," Kanna said thoughtfully.
The road widened ahead of us, flattening into a well-traveled path lined with small stone markers. And beyond it, rising from the gentle slope of the plains, was the first large city we had seen in the Land of Earth.
Earth cities had no walls of wood or plaster like those in the Land of Fire.
Their walls were stone — massive, thick, carved from the mountains themselves.
Unyielding. Unadorned. Practical.
Kanna stared at them with wide eyes.
"It looks… so different from Fire Country towns," she murmured.
"Wood costs a lot more here, so they use more stone, which gives it a more earthy look." And indeed, here everything was built of stone, which did somehow translate into larger buildings, though with less effort used on aesthetics.
We passed through the outer gate without trouble — civilians were not often scrutinized, and with my blindfold and fine clothes, they likely assumed I was simply a noble traveler with a servant and child.
A reasonable assumption.
A deeply mistaken one.
(End of chapter)
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