Chapter 118: Even the Ancestors Must Be Carried

"Before we discuss the One-Tail Jinchuriki, I would like to ask everyone present... how much do you know about the origins of the ninja?" Shiramu looked around at the group.

"The... origins of the ninja?" Rasa looked bewildered. Coming from such a remote and impoverished place, they didn't have history classes at the Ninja Academy!

"I only know that before the First Kazekage established Sunagakure, the Land of Wind was a collection of countless tribes fighting over oases to survive. It was a dark and bloody era, crawling with sand bandits and marauders," Rasa said first.

"Yes, it was a time too painful to recall. Ebizo and I experienced that dark history firsthand as children. Our tribe was defeated and massacred; our parents were killed. Anyone taller than a chariot wheel was shown no mercy. I was only a child then, holding Ebizo in my arms. We were taken by enemies and sold from tribe to tribe like merchandise, often without even a scrap of food..." Lady Chiyo’s face was etched with agony.

Shiramu stroked his chin and whispered into Nonō’s ear, "I’m wondering, is she even taller than a chariot wheel now?"

"Shh... listen carefully. The... the material is in the story," Nonō said, nearly slipping up.

"It was only because Lord Reto led his tribe to defeat those aggressors and liberated the slaves that we were saved. We joined the Sand Tribe, and later, as they annexed other tribes, Sunagakure was founded. That was when I began studying puppetry under Lord Monzaemon..." As Lady Chiyo spoke of her childhood trauma, she even began to wipe away tears.

"Alright, alright, you old folks and your endless, rambling memories..." Ebizo interrupted his sister’s lamentations.

"You don't remember those days, so of course you don't feel the bitterness. I raised you with my own sweat and blood," Lady Chiyo snapped, jumping up to rap Ebizo on the head.

"So, before the era of blood-feuding tribes, does anyone know what existed?" Shiramu asked.

"I know a little bit," said Ebizo, living up to his reputation as a strategist. "While listening to sermons by Lord Bunpuku, I saw ancient murals in the Temple of Wind. They depicted a time when the desert knew nothing of chakra; camel-riding warriors were the dominant force. Later, a group of monks who called themselves the followers of Ninshu entered the desert. They sowed the seeds of chakra and taught ninjutsu, attempting to use this greater power to bind the tribes, bring peace to the desert, and improve the environment."

"Oh~ those noble monks. It seems they failed," Shiramu said with a sympathetic tone.

"Indeed... Facing simple believers who yearned for peace, the monks unselfishly taught them everything without reservation. But once the believers returned to their tribes, they bared their fangs. They used the ninjutsu they had learned to conquer other tribes. To prevent others from learning the same arts, they even murdered the monks who had taught them... Their teachers died at the hands of their own students..." Ebizo sighed heavily.

"Sigh... naive monks. There is no such thing as a truly simple person in this world. If you approach them with spears and clubs, even a bear will turn into a tame rabbit. But once night falls, that rabbit turns into a wolf in seconds, shouting for the men to strip off their rings and necklaces, and the women to surrender their undergarments, or else they lose their lives," Shiramu shook his head.

"Vulgar," Nonō muttered, though she had to admit Shiramu was right. She had begun wandering the ninja world at eight years old and had long since realized that human nature could be truly terrifying, especially in the poorest corners of the world.

"It seems that is as far as your knowledge of the ninja world goes," Shiramu thought, deciding it was time to start spinning his web.

"Yes, before the bloody era, the tribes didn't even have a unified language; everything was passed down orally. There is truly no more information," Ebizo nodded.

"Our Order of Balance has been passed down for thousands of years, living in seclusion and knowing all there is to know about the ninja world. Allow me, the Prophet Priest, to tell you the truth about the Land of Wind..." Shiramu’s words seemed to unfold like a scroll before their eyes.

"A thousand years ago, the Land of Wind was the most fertile land on this continent. Forests, grasslands, fragrant fruits, and the songs of birds and insects—it far surpassed the current Land of Fire."

"Back then, this land was ruled by a powerful empire called 'Shurima.' Its territory spanned every corner of the vast southern continent. Its citizens were happy and prosperous, its golden warriors could make the entire continent tremble with a single stomp, and the word of its Emperor carried the same weight as that of the gods."

"Until one day, the prayers of the people moved the heavens. A meteorite fell from the sky, bringing a gift from the gods to the Emperor: a seed and its guardian princess. The princess’s beauty and elegance captivated the Emperor completely. That seed held magical power, capable of growing an elixir of immortality—a gift from the gods."

"However, one day, a vile minister named Shimura Kura coveted this blessing. He poisoned the Emperor, stole the seed, and attempted to seize the princess. He was not satisfied with mere immortality; he sought to steal the power of the gods themselves. He used dark arts to alter the way the seed grew!"

"The corrupted seed transformed into a massive tree that frantically drained the natural energy from the heavens and earth. The forests and oceans withered rapidly; the wild beasts and birds died out. The prosperous capital crumbled in the cataclysm of heaven and earth, and the entire empire was reduced to ruins. The citizens were scattered, and the once-majestic cities were swallowed by yellow sand. The Shurima of today has become a desolate wasteland and a ruthless desert, where people can only struggle to survive on the few remaining oases and slivers of farmland..."

"That damnable minister!" Shiramu gritted his teeth.

This story was, of course, a reimagining of Kaguya’s descent—nine parts lies and one part truth. The Land of Wind had indeed become a desert after the God Tree drained its nutrients, but since Kaguya was technically his own ancestor, one wouldn't exactly smear their own kin.

It was better to let the ancestor of Shimura Danzo take the blame.

Nonō remained expressionless. She had been enjoying the story at first, but the moment she heard the name "Shimura," she understood: Shiramu was talking nonsense again.

"This... empire... emperor... it sounds so much like a myth?" Rasa twitched his mouth. If not for the strength Shiramu had already displayed, he would have kicked this fast-talking charlatan out long ago. Even now, he remained skeptical.

"So, what was the minister’s ultimate fate...?" Ebizo found the story intriguing, as he knew there were indeed many ruins of ancient cities in the desert, testaments to a past prosperity.

The most famous was the Ancient City of Kikyo, where Konoha was currently stationed—a city once buried in the sea of sand, discovered only because a shepherdess named Kikyo was chased by wolves. Through the majestic architecture and countless dried corpses preserved within, one could faintly glimpse the grandeur of that civilization. Because of this, Ebizo chose to believe Shiramu’s story.

"The minister died, of course. When mortals steal the power of gods, there is only one outcome," Shiramu said, brushing it off lightly.

"Poor princess... wuu wuu wuu..." Tobi was actually crying while listening to the story.

"Prophet, you didn't just tell this story for fun, did you?" Rasa seemed to realize something.

"What I am about to say next... you must not be afraid," Shiramu whispered, his voice dropping to a mysterious tone.