In the shinobi world, the most basic—and most important—principle of intelligence reporting is this:
the source must be clear and traceable.
Reliability is the first criterion of intelligence. For shinobi—a profession where combat is constant and mortality is high—faulty intelligence often meant death.
This principle applied to Hagoromo as well.
So even when he possessed vague impressions or partial understanding, the information he could safely report was limited to things he had personally experienced. That way, the intelligence retained credibility without placing him in unnecessary danger.
For example, earlier on, Hagoromo had informed the Fourth Hokage about White Zetsu, hoping the matter would be taken seriously. After all, he had encountered White Zetsu himself. Unfortunately, because the entity acted with extreme caution, no further progress came of it.
The matter of the Rinnegan, however, was an exception.
Although Hagoromo had encountered it, he did not provide sufficient explanation at the time. His stated reason was that he had been too busy fleeing during the battle.
But that explanation was, frankly, unconvincing.
Someone focused solely on escape wouldn't casually create an artificial river mid-fight. Nor would they suffer such widespread, catastrophic injuries.
It gave the impression that he was deliberately withholding information.
But this wasn't because Hagoromo was hoarding secrets, nor because the timing was wrong.
The real reason was simple:
The Rinnegan was something he intended to deal with himself.
From that standpoint, he believed that if Konoha learned too much about the Rinnegan too early—and intervened at the wrong time—it would only interfere with his own plans.
In fact, back during the Nine-Tails incident, the moment Hagoromo uttered the words "Rinnegan," Jiraiya had already taken notice.
Jiraiya knew who originally possessed those eyes.
He also knew that person was supposed to be dead.
So his suspicion was that the Eyes of the Sage of Six Paths, belonging to the so-called Child of Prophecy, had been stolen.
And now, it seemed those eyes had entangled Orochimaru as well…
Hagoromo's few scattered remarks only deepened Jiraiya's concern. But at the same time, he couldn't ignore Hagoromo's warnings.
Jiraiya wasn't arrogant or reckless. Despite his outward personality, he was extremely cautious when it truly mattered.
If Hagoromo said that digging too deeply into this matter could get him killed, then it probably would.
To be honest, without ever having fought Hagoromo directly, Jiraiya couldn't accurately judge the gap between them. But one thing was certain—Hagoromo's instantaneous burst damage exceeded his own.
After all, Hagoromo could "fire cannons," "fire bigger cannons," and "fire massive cannons."
Between shinobi, the difference in strength could sometimes come down to a single technique. Someone like Jiraiya understood that perfectly.
"Rai'en Jūkoku" was a technique unique to Hagoromo—one that had never been replicated.
Because strictly speaking, it wasn't even a ninjutsu.
It belonged to an entirely different system.
That night, Hagoromo clearly had no intention of elaborating further, and Jiraiya couldn't press him. Their conversation ended without real closure.
Still, Jiraiya agreed to Hagoromo's plan to visit Mount Myōboku.
He didn't question how Hagoromo knew about the Great Toad Sage. That much was easy to understand. Mount Myōboku, Ryūchi Cave, and Shikkotsu Forest shared hidden ties—exchanging information wasn't strange at all.
What Jiraiya did care about was why Hagoromo wanted to go.
What did he want to ask the Great Toad Sage?
And what was his true objective?
So not only did Jiraiya not stop him—he decided to go along.
He wasn't worried that Hagoromo would harm the toads. He was worried about Hagoromo himself.
This man's secrets—things Jiraiya couldn't grasp—seemed to be increasing by the day.
That said, Jiraiya had only just returned to Konoha. Reports, debriefings, and village affairs piled up endlessly. He couldn't immediately embark on another spontaneous journey.
Besides, his perverted energy hadn't been fully replenished yet.
Without at least 120 hours of monthly "research," Jiraiya simply lacked motivation.
Likewise, Hagoromo needed to explain his absence to his group of kids.
His frequent disappearances had reached the point where even Mirai started missing life in Shikkotsu Forest—monotonous as it was, at least Hagoromo didn't leave her behind to wander off.
And so, after more than half a month passed, the two finally arranged their trip to Mount Myōboku.
As for the Hokage?
He had long since given up trying to control these two free spirits.
"Is this Mount Myōboku?"
From a human perspective, it was oddly irritating that among the Three Great Sage Regions, the one with the best climate belonged to toads.
Ryūchi Cave was, well… a cave.
Shikkotsu Forest was excessively warm and humid.
Mount Myōboku leaned in that direction too—but nowhere near as extreme.
"From a human culinary standpoint," Hagoromo mused, "frogs are far more widely accepted than snakes. What a pity."
After a brief moment of irritation, he began spouting nonsense.
Unfortunately, the dominant species here were toads, not frogs—and the difference was obvious.
Frogs hopped.
Toads crawled.
Frogs were slick and slimy.
Toads were covered in warts.
Hearing this, Jiraiya instantly felt validated in coming along.
They had arrived at a sacred training ground, and Hagoromo's first thought was about eating the locals.
That mindset was deeply un-shinobi-like.
Just imagine—if Jiraiya hadn't come, and one day discovered that Gamabunta had been eaten…
That would have been unbearable.
Little did he know—Orochimaru had already suffered such unbearable loss.
But that was irrelevant.
Orochimaru's relationship with Manda had never been like Jiraiya's bond with Bunta. That was a true contract of mutual exploitation.
Jiraiya wasn't overthinking it. Hagoromo's thought process regularly leapt beyond comprehension.
Of course, Hagoromo was just joking.
He had no intention of expanding his diet anytime soon.
And besides—
He didn't eat acquaintances.
He knew Gamabunta.
Mount Myōboku truly lived up to its reputation—countless toads of all sizes hopped and croaked everywhere.
Neither of them paid it much attention.
Jiraiya was used to it, and Hagoromo had a clear goal. He hadn't come all this way just to admire toads.
So they headed straight for the most revered location on Mount Myōboku.
The dwelling of the so-called "Encyclopedia of the Toad World"—
The Great Toad Sage.
Naturally, his residence occupied the finest location on the mountain.
However, their advance was briefly halted.
The one who stopped them was Fukasaku, one of the Great Toad Sage's two chief guardians.
"Jiraiya-chan," Fukasaku said sternly—despite his small stature, he was one of Mount Myōboku's top combatants.
"You should know that outsiders are forbidden from entering."
"Lord Fukasaku," Jiraiya replied, stepping in.
"Hagoromo isn't exactly an outsider. Explaining this is a bit complicated… but he has an extremely important matter to discuss with the Great Toad Sage."
By indirect association, Hagoromo could barely be considered part of Jiraiya's lineage—though he had never actually learned anything from him.
So he wasn't a complete stranger to Mount Myōboku.
"It may be related to the Child of Prophecy the Great Toad Sage often speaks of," Jiraiya added after glancing at Hagoromo.
Unfortunately, that was entirely Jiraiya's speculation.
"That so?" Fukasaku replied.
"Very well. Follow me."
After another half hour of wandering, they arrived at a structure resembling a shrine.
Inside, Hagoromo finally saw the Great Toad Sage.
Like the White Snake Sage, he was enormous—but where the snake had smooth scales, this one was simply ancient.
He looked as though he could pass away at any moment.
Yet that very age lent him an aura of serenity—a true sage.
Once inside, it became clear this was less a shrine than a vast library.
Shelves filled the enormous space, packed with books.
For uniformity, the Great Toad Sage even wore a scholar's cap.
A naked scholar's cap.
What kind of aesthetic choice was that?
Perhaps modesty had very specific boundaries for him.
Right now, he appeared to be dozing off—as usual.
In fact, across days, years, and centuries, this drowsy state was his norm.
Waiting for him to "wake up" was pointless.
"Uh… Hagoromo," Jiraiya said.
"Just ask your question. If the Great Toad Sage wants to answer, he'll speak."
Hagoromo did.
And in the moment he asked—
Jiraiya saw something he had never seen before.
The Great Toad Sage's perpetually half-closed eyes opened fully.
Because of the size difference, the angle, and the focus of that gaze, Jiraiya felt an overwhelming pressure radiating from the ancient sage.
Yet Hagoromo remained unmoved.
He simply waited.
And the question he asked was this:
"Great Toad Sage, I have only one thing to ask…"
"The Ōtsutsuki Clan—or more precisely, the shrine left behind by the Sage of Six Paths."
"The final segment of its coordinates."
"I hope you can tell me now."
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