Thick fluid slid down his skin. Uchiha Gen instinctively raised a hand to wipe the medicinal broth from his hair, but the moment he moved, he sensed something different.
Every motion was fluid; as he reached up, his muscles felt liquefied, as soft as water. Yet this softness was backed by an elastic toughness and a core strength that held his frame together. Even the most difficult yoga pose would be child's play now.
"Restore your chakra quickly. The Soft Physique Modification lasts only three hours. After that, any lingering effect won't be enough to help you endure the Rashomon."
Orochimaru spoke to the bare-chested Uchiha Gen, pointing at a towel and a small green bottle beside him.
Gen reacted at once. He upended two buckets of purified water over himself to rinse off the slime, toweled dry, dressed, and swallowed a Military Ration Pill. Only the Nara Clan's premium ration pills—the top grade in the shinobi world—could be taken twice in such quick succession. Even so, after this one, he would have to wait a full day for the residue to purge from his system; otherwise, the side effects would be severe.
Moments later, as the pill took hold, chakra once more brimmed inside Uchiha Gen.
"Remember: the Pure Land is a separate space linked to the living world. Besides the Rashomon's own dangers, the Judges of Hell patrol nearby, hunting souls that refuse to pass on. They won't bother the living, and you reek of life, so do not provoke them."
"What you must guard against are the gate's bewitching bells that crush both body and mind. Your Sharingan grants some resistance to the Yin Release within them, and your modified serpent body will help absorb the physical shock, but never exceed three hours. If you cannot endure it, break the Reverse Summoning and return."
Orochimaru unrolled the demonic scroll of the Rashomon and gave his disciple a final, soft reminder.
"Yes, Orochimaru-sensei."
Uchiha Gen nodded firmly. He stepped onto the spread scroll, bit his thumb to draw blood, and signed his name. He then formed the strings of hand seals he had memorized and slammed his palm onto the scroll's demon mask.
With a puff of smoke, he vanished—replaced by a howling, icy wind and a biting cold that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
A chill ran through him as he found himself in the middle of a canyon. It was a textbook "thread-of-sky" terrain: sheer cliffs rose on both sides, their summits lost in the clouds. Snow-capped peaks glimmered faintly under a few dim stars that struggled to outshine the moon, offering meager light to the lonely gorge.
Uchiha Gen reflexively activated his Sharingan to adjust to the gloom. He looked around, and his jaw dropped.
Where the hell did he send me? Is this even the Elemental Nations?
That morning he had sparred with his teammates, witnessed the Nine-Tails transfer at the Senju estate around noon, and then hurried to Orochimaru's. The Soft Physique Modification lasted only a few hours. The wall clock in the lab had shown it was just past one in the afternoon—nowhere near nightfall.
Such a massive time discrepancy and this biting cold—could he be at one of the poles?
He stared at the sky through the narrow slit of the canyon; the snow and stars were mostly blocked by the high walls, making them useless for navigation.
Forget it, no point brooding over it.
He surveyed his surroundings again. Only one path lay before him. It widened as it led forward, while the overhead gap narrowed until the canyon itself became a vast stone archway. An unsettling "yin-wind" issued from within.
Protected by the mountain walls, the temperature here was slightly less brutal than outside. Flickers of greenish ghost-fire drifted in the air.
What is this...?
He stepped inside, scraped the wall to study the dust, then formed seals and clapped his hands together.
"Wind Style: Gale Palm!"
A fierce burst of wind erupted from his palm, shearing a thin flake off the rock, crumbling it and tossing it behind him. A clump of ghost-fire flared up nearby, raising the temperature a notch.
Just as I thought.
Delight flickered in his eyes, followed by puzzlement. He had guessed correctly: the rock contained phosphorus and similar reactive compounds. When the wind eroded the cliff, the fine dust rose, rubbed together, and ignited.
Anyone ignorant or wealthy might ignore it, but to Uchiha Gen, this was potential money. Purified and extracted, those compounds could be used as raw materials for explosive tags. As strategic goods, they were tightly controlled; he could only sell them to Konoha.
But he wasn't the first person to set foot here—he was certain the higher-ups of the Hokage faction had visited before. If he were in charge, he would have stripped the place clean. Even if summoning had limits on volume and duration, Gen believed that men like Tobirama Senju and Orochimaru could have solved those logistical problems.
So why was the ore still here?
He couldn't puzzle it out, and with only a few hours of his body modification remaining, he had no time to waste.
The yin-wind sighed; ghost-fires drifted past like the souls of the dead, lighting the way ahead before fading into the darkness behind him. The path sloped ever downward, as though he were walking the road to the underworld itself.
From the depths came the faint ringing of bells—ghostly chimes that seemed to snatch at his very heart.