In a cheap and dilapidated rental room on the outskirts of a town in the Land of Hot Springs.
Light filtered through the dusty window, dimly illuminating the cramped space.
The youth stood in the center of the room, looking at the woman before him—his mother, Yoko.
Her eyes rested vacantly on a spot as she continuously muttered indistinguishable words under her breath.
Something heavy weighed on the youth's chest, a mix of exhaustion from the long journey and the numbness following countless dashed hopes.
But at this moment, it was mostly a desperate anxiety. He took half a step forward, his voice dry as if forced out of his throat:
"Mother!"
"Where on earth is my sister?"
His gaze was fixed tightly on Yoko's face.
That face, with its familiar features, had once cooked for him and shown anxiety when he was sick as a child... But now, the expression on it was so foreign, shrouded in a hazy cloud of trance that cut off everything, as if the person sitting before him was just a stranger's soul in his mother's shell.
Yoko seemed not to hear his words; she didn't even lift an eyelid, only muttering slightly louder, her speech turning into broken syllables: "...Holy Spirit's protection... grace... light... doomsday... purification..."
The youth clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles turning slightly white from the effort; the room held only his mother's hollow ravings and his own increasingly heavy breathing.
The youth's name was Yamagami Motoya, born into a wealthy family in the Land of Hot Springs that once operated a hot spring inn.
He was the second son, with an older brother above him and a younger sister below.
Had the world continued on its original track, he might have inherited the family business, tending to the ancestral bathhouse and spending a peaceful life amidst the steaming mist and guest chatter.
But the flames of the Second Shinobi World War swept across the ninja world, and even the Land of Hot Springs—famed for its hot springs and tourism, known as the land of wellness—was not spared.
Tourists dwindled, and the family income was suddenly cut in half. His mother, Yoko, a woman with a strong streak of control in her bones, began to turn all the stress and frustration of life into sharp words, pouring them day after day onto her silent husband.
Eventually, unable to bear the burden, his father chose the same end as many others who found themselves at a dead end.
The war finally ended, but the wounds had not healed.
In parts of the Land of Hot Springs, an organization called the Holy Spirit Church quietly rose, preaching salvation at the end of the world and the grace of the holy son.
Yoko, whose mind was already unbalanced, quickly became immersed in it. She sold off the family property—the ancestral land and the bathhouse they relied on for survival—donating large sums of money to the church in exchange for that ethereal protection and blessings.
Until finally, even the house that sheltered the family of four was sold, and the family was declared completely bankrupt.
To support himself and help with family expenses, Yamagami Motoya had joined the local security force early on, responsible for maintaining weapons and equipment on weekdays, living a mundane life on a meager salary.
He thought that no matter how bad days got, his family was still there—at least his brother and sister were still there.
Until that day, news came like a bolt from the blue—his older brother, who always silently endured everything, had actually followed in their father's footsteps.
He rushed back to where their no-longer-existent home once stood, facing not only his brother's cold corpse but also an even more heart-wrenching fact.
His sister was gone.
Looking at the completely maddened woman before him, Yamagami Motoya turned to leave this suffocating place.
Just then, a raspy, intermittent voice came from behind him.
"Motoya... where are you going?"
Yamagami Motoya paused, not turning back, his voice as hard as stone: "Since you refuse to tell me where my sister is, I'll find her myself!"
After a brief silence, Yoko's ethereal voice drifted out again: "Your sister... has already enjoyed the holy grace and ascended to the afterlife... to enjoy the holy spirit's blessing of immortality in a paradise without pain... This is her fortune..."
Boom!
The words were like the sharpest thunder, striking into Yamagami Motoya's mind.
He whipped his head around, his body trembling uncontrollably, his teeth clenched and chattering.
The worst-case scenario he had never dared to think deeply about and had desperately avoided was confirmed by his mother in such an absurd and cold manner.
The last shred of hope shattered.
After a long time, scalding liquid finally broke through the dam of his eyes, sliding down his young but weathered cheeks.
He looked at the woman before him, his voice hoarse, mixed with endless pain and resolution:
"Mother... this is the last time I will call you mother."
Flames of rage burned in his chest, nearly consuming him. He wanted to roar, to smash everything in sight, even to... but as he looked at that still-familiar face that was now just an empty shell, all violent impulses were suppressed by a deeper sense of powerlessness.
He couldn't strike this face, even if the person inhabiting it was no longer his mother.
He stayed no longer, turning and striding away, slamming the creaking wooden door shut behind him.
The cramped room returned to darkness, leaving only Yoko facing the air, continuing her numb, unintelligible mutterings.
---
Yamagami Motoya returned to his even more primitive single quarters in the security force's dormitory area.
He didn't turn on the light; by the faint daylight filtering through the window, he walked silently to the bed and leaned down to pull an old but sturdy wooden box from underneath.
Opening the box, there wasn't much inside, only two items carefully placed.
A sheathed katana and a firearm with a slightly crude structure but a polished, gleaming barrel.
The katana was a standard-issue weapon given to him as a town security soldier, while the firearm was not standard equipment but something he had meticulously crafted, pieced together, and modified in the security force's abandoned workshop using parts collected during his duty and free time.
He took out these two items; the cold metallic touch from his palms strangely suppressed the churning heat in his heart.
Without another glance at the humble room, he turned and left without looking back.
The poisonous fire of revenge scorched his internal organs, but the cold reality was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head.
The Holy Spirit Church... its tentacles spread throughout the Land of Hot Springs; it was not something a common security soldier like him, unable to use ninjutsu, could shake.
Reckless rage would only make him like a moth flying into deeper darkness, disappearing without a sound.
He needed strength—powerful strength sufficient to tear through those layers of hypocritical protection.
His brother was gone, his sister was gone; this home was broken beyond repair.
But at least, he couldn't let the tragedy that happened to him easily befall others.
This thought was faint yet tough, barely igniting a glimmer of light in the ashes of despair.
To become stronger... where to go?
Chakra—he could refine it; that energy indeed flowed within his body.
But ironically, no matter how he tried, he couldn't release this energy through any form of ninjutsu, as if he were born missing a key conversion component.
The path of the ninja was closed to him.
Thus, the remaining choice seemed to point to one place—a nation that coexisted with the ninja system but focused more on tempering the physical body and weapon skills, a neighbor of the Land of Hot Springs: the Land of Iron, the land of the samurai.
---
Walking on the road out of town, the dawn light was faint, unable to dispel the gloom in his heart.
Passing an old utility pole, a brand-new promotional poster stuck abruptly to the mottled wall caught his eye.
On the poster was an elegant and gentle-looking middle-aged man, dressed in luxurious official robes, with a perfect smile.
Abe no Tajyo!
Ranking at the head of the Land of Hot Springs' officials, after the aging daimyo gradually stopped attending to state affairs, this powerful minister took control of the government and led the economic recovery of the Land of Hot Springs after the Second Shinobi World War.
Looking at that sanctimonious face, the suppressed rage in Yamagami Motoya's chest flared up again.
The Holy Spirit Church was so rampant in the Land of Hot Springs, deluding people and taking lives for money; if this high-and-mighty ruler was unaware or even uninvolved, he would never believe it!
"Traitor to the nation!"
He squeezed these words through his teeth.
He reached out, his fingers gripping the glossy poster tightly, and ripped it down the middle!
He crumpled the shredded paper into a ball and threw it into the muddy ditch by the road, as if tossing away a piece of nauseating filth.
Tightening the pack on his shoulder and gripping the hilt at his waist and the firearm in his shirt, he set off toward the north, toward the nation known for steel, snow, and bushido—the Land of Iron—walking firmly and without looking back.
'Ascend to the afterlife, the holy spirit is immortal.'
On the road, the whistling wind and snow constantly beat against the youth's face, but more than the snow filling the sky, what made him feel cold and tremble were his mother's final words.
The grace of immortality?
The youth took a deep breath, his gaze becoming resolute.
This journey is only to seek a master and learn the craft; a thousand miles away, the path ahead is uncertain.
Upon my return, I shall give my all to execute the traitor and sever immortality!