Chapter 27: The Gate Tax
Within the Land of Fire, a Konoha headband was the ultimate guarantee of safety. The caravan faced no delays. But the moment they crossed the border and set foot in the Land of Tea, the merchant's men grew tense.
Shūji began dispatching Shadow Clones to scout the road ahead. Small groups of bandits hiding in the forests were eliminated by the clones before they could even make a move.
Shūji's Shadow Clones occasionally returned with proof of their work, making Hiroyama Makoto's smile more genuine. However, as the caravan neared the old forest known as Wild Tea Hill, the light atmosphere vanished, as if swallowed by the woods.
"We're approaching Wild Tea Hill, Captain Shūji." Hiroyama urged his horse closer, his voice tight with unconcealed nerves. "The Tea Mountain Gang..."
"Their camp is empty," Shūji said flatly, his gaze on the distant, verdant slope. His Shadow Clone had reported back: a massive bandit fortress, large enough for hundreds, was completely abandoned. There were no signs of a fight; it looked like an organized withdrawal.
Hiroyama's face paled further. "Empty? Then... where did they go?"
"I don't know." Shūji's reply was curt. His gaze swept the dense forests flanking the road, his senses pulled taut. Hundreds of bandits, vanished. It hung over them like a dark cloud. His sensory net spread out silently.
The tension didn't break until the caravan had safely passed Wild Tea Hill and was on the final, open road to Izuke Port. Hiroyama finally let out a long breath. "We're past it! Thank you, Captain Shūji!" He assumed the threat was over.
Shūji said nothing, his eyes fixed on the port city taking shape ahead—Izuke Port. Gray-white walls faced the sea, its harbor thick with the masts of ships. Yet, the closer they got to the city gate, the symbol of safety, the sense of wrongness that began at the empty fortress grew stronger.
The caravan joined the queue approaching the tall city gate. A checkpoint was set up, manned by several guards in the leather armor of the Land of Tea's local garrison, holding halberds. They slouched lazily, but their eyes were hawk-sharp as they scanned the cargo, glinting with greed.
It was Hiroyama's turn. The guard captain, a lean man with a faint scar, glanced lazily at the tarps and the travel papers, his mouth pulling into a smirk.
"Cloth merchant? Hiroyama Makoto?" the captain drawled. "As per the city's new regulations, all incoming cargo is subject to a... 'Special Passage Tax' of forty percent of its value."
"Wh-what?!" All the blood drained from Hiroyama's face. His voice cracked. "Forty percent?! There's no such rule! Sir, you must be mistaken!"
The shout was like a signal. From the shadows of the gate, dozens more armed men in the same armor swarmed out, quickly surrounding the six carts and the merchants. The atmosphere plunged, thick with a silent threat.
Anko, at Shūji's side, tensed. Her eyes flashed. This is highway robbery! But she held her ground.
Itachi, at the rear of the caravan, coldly scanned the men. Their stances, the calluses on their hands, the faint tattoos peeking from under their armor, the feral look in their eyes... all subtly different from real guards.
Hiroyama was pouring sweat, but his merchant's survival instinct took over. He forced a fawning smile. "Sir... please, my apologies! I... I really can't pay forty percent! I've spent everything I have! Please, be flexible! Or let me sell the cargo in the city and pay you then?"
He didn't expect his shinobi escorts to fight official government guards. Hiroyama knew that no hidden village ever accepted public missions that involved confronting a nation's official government. Especially not Konoha. After the Nidaime Hokage, Senju Tobirama, established the Anbu system, "dirty" missions like that were never posted on the public board. They were handled directly by the village leadership, who would either assign them to a trusted squad or just give the job to the Anbu. The only missions shinobi could pick up at the Mission Center were "clean" ones, like escorts and subjugations.
"Flexible?" The guard captain sneered, his eyes devouring the cargo. "No money? Fine by me." He waved his hand. "Leave two carts' worth of goods to cover the tax! Take it!"
"Sir!" the "guards" cheered, lunging for the tarps like hungry wolves.
"Stop."
The voice wasn't loud, but it had a cold quality that cut through the noise, instantly freezing the hot air.
Shūji's figure had already moved, appearing like a ghost in front of the two targeted carts. He wasn't in a combat stance. His hands were at his sides. He just stood there, as immovable as a boulder. The sun at his back cast his long shadow over the approaching men.
The first two men to charge stopped short, their momentum broken by his silent presence.
The scar-faced captain's eyes narrowed. He sized up Shūji, his gaze lingering on the Konoha headband. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "A Konoha shinobi?" he barked, his voice loud and full of false authority. "I am this city's Guard Captain! I am collecting taxes as per regulations! What, are you going to interfere in the Land of Tea's internal affairs? Are you going to attack an officer of the law?!"
"We accepted a mission," Shūji's voice was even, but his gaze was an icicle, aimed straight at the captain. "Our contract is to escort this merchant and his cargo safely to their destination in Izuke Port."
"Or, to put it another way: Are you attempting to rob a client under the protection of Konoha?"
The moment he finished speaking, an invisible, chilling aura erupted from him—an intent forged on a hundred battlefields. The air grew thin and cold. The "guards" closest to the carts turned pale, stumbling back as if choked by an invisible hand, their grip on their weapons faltering.
The captain's bravado evaporated, leaving only a pale, stunned expression. He swallowed hard. A chill shot up his spine. This kid... he felt a hundred times more dangerous than the most ferocious bear. The captain had no doubt that if he gave the order, this kid would slaughter them all.
Anko had already moved, silently blocking a flanking angle. From the rear, Itachi was watching the guards who had hung back.
A heavy silence fell over the gate. The only sounds were the snorting of the horses and Hiroyama's ragged breathing. A few onlookers exchanged glances, and one of them quickly slipped away.
The captain's eyes darted around, sweat beading on his forehead. The seconds felt like hours. Finally, he broke. "Aheh... a misunderstanding! It's all a misunderstanding!" He waved his hands frantically. "Back off! All of you! Don't frighten our guests!"
The men scattered as if they'd been granted amnesty, scrambling to get out of the way.
Hiroyama, about to rush his carts through, was stopped by Shūji.
"Pay them the old tax," Shūji said, his voice back to normal, the chilling pressure vanishing. "Whatever the real fee is."
Waking from a daze, Hiroyama fumbled in his robes, his hands shaking as he pulled out a few bills and offered them. The captain snatched the money, stuffed it away without looking, and yelled with a fawning smile, "Let them pass! Let them pass!"
Thanking Shūji profusely, almost kneeling, Hiroyama wiped his sweat and, still shaken, ordered his men to the docks.
Shūji didn't leave the gate. He led Anko and Itachi into a quiet, damp alley that smelled of the sea.
"Captain," Anko started, her voice low. "That was... satisfying. But," she frowned, "are we going to get in trouble for that? For interfering?" She was worried he'd be reprimanded.
Shūji leaned against the wall, the light from the alley's entrance splitting his face in shadow. He didn't answer Anko, but looked at Itachi. "Itachi. What did you see?"
Itachi looked up. "Those guards. Many of them had poorly hidden tattoos. The style is common among the bandits in the Tea Mountain region. They weren't guards. They were bandits."
Anko froze, thinking back. The details instantly clicked into place.
Shūji smiled. "Exactly. Just a gang of bandits in new uniforms. They're so used to being hunted by shinobi, their first instinct is still to flinch."