Chapter 53: The Bandits

Shiraki had run into a serious problem: after buying alcohol and food, he was out of money. His extravagant spending had burned through every bit of the bounty he’d brought from the Leaf, and once again he was penniless.

If you want the horse to run, you have to feed it—this saying held even truer among a band of thieves. These people had neither faith nor loyalty; they stuck together only because Shiraki could talk them into it. But if they went hungry for three days, even if Shiraki were the reincarnation of some ancient master of persuasion, with a tongue a yard long, he wouldn’t be able to keep them.

Shangji had a little money, but Shiraki was not the type to live off others’ handouts—he preferred to take from the rich.

“Grandpa Kakuzu, if you’re stingy with pennies, how will you ever catch a big wolf?”

“No,” Kakuzu replied, as unyielding as iron, never one to give without taking.

“If we find treasure, I’ll give you an extra twenty percent!”

“No.”

“Fifty-fifty split!”

“No.”

“Seventy-seventy split!”

“Boy, I may be old, but I’m not senile.”

“Grandpa, what if I borrow from you?”

“No.”

“Seven out, thirteen in!”

“I can lend you a little—just a little.”

Left with only ten million ryo, Shiraki shook his head in resignation. He truly couldn’t imagine how Konan had ever convinced Kakuzu to willingly shell out money for explosive tags.

...

Who ran the most powerful intelligence agency in the entire shinobi world?

Some might say it was the Leaf’s Root.

Others would argue it was the network of currency exchanges scattered across the land.

But none knew that in the shadows, a heart blacker than the bottom of a pot—Black Zetsu—controlled all the information in the shinobi world.

Tsunade herself might not know where her great-grandfather was buried, but Black Zetsu certainly did.

An intelligence network managed for over a thousand years was no trivial thing.

Shiraki, lost like the Monkey King himself, stomped the ground and a White Zetsu would pop up like a local earth god. Afei, after all, was a special White Zetsu who served under Lord Madara, so he had plenty of clout and easily obtained the information they wanted.

Nearby, there was a small town that served as a supply point for the Leaf’s front lines. Since these were ordinary, not military, supplies, the escort was merely a squad of one chunin and ten genin.

Short on food and clothing, Shiraki decided to graciously accept this gift.

When this band of wandering ninja, dressed even more shabbily than mountain bandits, appeared in the Leaf ninja’s line of sight, the defenders naturally assumed they were a group of starving vagrants who had foolishly stumbled into an important village guarded by ninja. Such rabble could be scared off by a single Fireball Jutsu.

But as their vision cleared, the defenders saw the “vagrants” wore a hodgepodge of forehead protectors, each marked with the slash that signified a rogue ninja, and their arrogant, fierce faces made it clear these were not people to be trifled with.

“Damn it... When did a rogue-ninja group of this size appear within the Land of Fire?” The chunin leading the team gritted his teeth, all thoughts of resistance gone.

Years of war had taught him that rogue ninja were not to be provoked—their combat ability was no less than regular ninja, and this many together was a force to be feared.

“No need to be nervous. We’re just—” Shiraki hadn’t even finished speaking.

“Retreat! Report to the Hokage immediately!”

With a flurry of smoke bombs thrown as if they cost nothing, the squad created a wall of smoke. By the time it cleared, the Leaf team was gone.

“Their escape speed...” Shiraki was dumbfounded.

“They really have money—even genin can afford to waste smoke bombs.” The next instant, he sighed at the Leaf’s wealth.

What could you do? Four great villages ganged up to bully the honest one, and with numbers nearly ten to one, the Leaf could only use superior equipment to narrow the gap.

“M-m-m-milords...” The village chief’s legs were shaking with fear. Mountain bandits were notorious for their cruelty. Without the protection of ninja, their village was a turtle without a shell.

“Am I really that scary?” Shiraki touched his nose. He wasn’t even wearing a mask and looked friendly enough. It must be Kakuzu beside him, who was just too ugly.

“N-n-no...” The chief looked like a frightened quail.

“Don’t worry, brother. We’re not bandits, we’re good people, and you’re all good folk. We’re just here for some food and drink. We promise not to disturb anyone!” Shiraki patted the chief reassuringly on the shoulder.

He felt a bit like a bumbling lieutenant invading a village.

“Really?” The chief looked at Shiraki, then at the group of ugly ruffians behind him—none of them looked like good people.

“Why would I lie to you?” Shiraki smiled sincerely.

“Shall I prepare some food for you, then? You’ll leave after eating?”

“Leaving right after eating might not work. We need to buy some supplies too.” Shiraki pointed to the barrels piled up at the village entrance.

“No, sir... Those supplies are for the Leaf’s front lines. It took us ages to gather them, we can’t sell them to you.” The chief hurriedly waved his hands.

“Sell? If we take them and don’t pay, it’s not a sale, is it?” Afei chimed in with a very logical point.

Even Kakuzu gave a thumbs up.

“Move!” Shiraki waved his hand, and the gang surged forward, tearing apart the neatly stacked supply crates in a chaotic scramble.

“Is this... canned beef? They really know how to enjoy themselves.”

“Damn, I haven’t eaten such fresh fruit in years.” Someone bit into an orange, peel and all.

“Where’s the liquor? Is there no liquor?”

“Are you an idiot? What ninja village would ever provide liquor in their supplies?”

The rowdy, ragtag mob stuffed their favorite foods into their arms—no different from mountain bandits.

“Well, at least we don’t have to find a cart now.” Shiraki looked at the gang of paupers and felt a headache coming on—how had he ended up as a bandit chief?

The chief trembled, not daring to say a word.

“Bring us some liquor—hurry, we’re pressed for time,” Shiraki ordered, deciding to embrace the role of a bandit for once.

The chief, confronted by these fierce ruffians, couldn’t refuse. He just wanted to get rid of this gang as soon as possible; there was no way the Leaf’s reinforcements would arrive within half a day.

Barrel after barrel of ale was hauled from the cellar. If Shiraki hadn’t strictly forbidden it, the mob would have started drinking right there.

Used wisely, alcohol could boost morale; used poorly, it could spell disaster for the whole group. Even on pirate ships, captains never let their men drink freely—an ironclad rule.

Shiraki’s rule was: you could only have a drink at night while camping, and only after a victorious battle could you indulge in a real celebration.

This single act of plunder marked the true beginning of their enmity with the Leaf, and a new black flag—symbolizing a force of chaos—appeared on the Leaf’s war map.

Now flush with supplies, the Treasure Hunters set out for the mercenary recruitment point established by the Stone Village.

“Leaf... I have returned.”

“This time, I bring calamity.”

Shiraki grinned savagely.