Chapter 80 – Mercenary Agreement
Yahiko's voice cut through the rain, carrying the sort of calm that made people want to punch him. "Old man Ōnoki, since you're here, showing up empty-handed would be hard to explain to the Daimyō. Still…
He shifted tack. "The prize shouldn't be my corpse, and it shouldn't be a scrap of the Land of Rain. Neither will change a thing for Iwagakure as it Stands now."
Ōnoki drifted down until his toes touched a jutting rock less than twenty metres from Yahiko.
At this range Dust Release could end the fight with a flick of the wrist, and Flying Thunder God could arrive in the blink of an eye.
A single spark between them could blow the sky apart.
"Arrogant little whelp." Ōnoki clasped his hands behind his back, letting age speak for him. "You think a few flashy Space-Time Ninjutsu tricks give you the right to bargain with Iwagakure? You have no idea what gives a great nation its weight."
"Weight? You mean children who haven't grown taller than a wagon wheel?"
Yahiko sneered, ripping open Iwagakure's sorest wound. "The Third Raikage's battle cost you ten thousand lives. That's not a cold number; that was your entire rising generation."
Ōnoki's straight back stiffened a fraction; the murderous Aura doused like boiling water meeting ice.
"Today's Iwagakure looks like a tiger outside, but how many nails has it left inside?" Yahiko raised a finger, jabbing it eastward. "If I keep you here, or if I cost you half of these five thousand elites in the Land of Rain… guess whether Kumogakure's opportunistic brutes will come avenge their Raikage."
Ōnoki glared, aching to retort, yet the rational Tsuchikage knew every word hammered squarely into Iwagakure's fatal points.
He glared, moustache twitching twice.
He wanted to roar, to blast off a Dust Release, but the prudence of a Kage yanked the leash on his impulse.
Every sentence was a nail skewering Iwagakure's artery.
Amegakure used to be a soft persimmon anyone could squeeze; now it's a stone wrapped in steel-plate—kick it and you break your foot.
"What exactly do you want?" Ōnoki drew a slow breath, his tone softening a notch, the do-or-die Aura ebbing.
So long as they were willing to talk, it was business.
Yahiko's smile widened.
"Simple. Bring Kitsuchi here and we can dispel that disgusting jutsu for you."
At the mention of Kitsuchi, Ōnoki's weathered cheek twitched. His son, hugging his thigh and wailing about love, was the darkest page of his life.
"Beyond that, the Akatsuki can sign a secret accord with Iwagakure."
"What sort of accord?"
"A 'mercenary' accord."
Yahiko raised three fingers. "What does Iwagakure lack most right now? Top-tier elites willing to do the dirty work. Jobs you can't be seen doing—Akatsuki can handle; as long as the money's right, whether it's assassinating another nation's high command or wrecking strategic installations, Akatsuki will take care of it."
"Of course, we only recognise money, not Faces. Though the Land of Rain is armed and neutral, Akatsuki is at its core a band of mercenaries."
Ōnoki was stunned.
In seventy-odd years he had never seen war twisted straight into a business deal.
"You want to be Iwagakure's 'black glove'?" Ōnoki narrowed his eyes, studying the young man. "Aren't you afraid the Five Great Nations will band together to wipe you out?"
"That was before." Yahiko pointed at the huge crater at their feet. "As long as my strength hurts badly enough, you won't ally—you'll scheme to use me to weaken the others. It's called game theory."
Ōnoki lapsed into silence, swiftly weighing gains and losses in his mind.
Kill Yahiko? Huge risk, no direct gain.
Keep fighting? Iwagakure would sink into a quagmire, more loss than profit.
Accept the offer? Bring back his son and army intact; though Face would suffer, he'd keep substance and gain a sharp, purchasable blade.
For a pragmatic Tsuchikage the choice was simple.
Even if it felt like swallowing a fly, reason told him it was the optimum solution.
"…That jutsu." Ōnoki finally spoke, voice hoarse, his hovering body leaning forward. "You're sure you can lift the… curse on Kitsuchi?"
"Not only lift it— I can conveniently erase those 'glory days' so he can show his Face again." Yahiko spread his hands, smile meaningful. "But the man doesn't seem to be here?"
Ōnoki's cheek twitched. That disgrace of a son was still in Iwagakure's dungeon preaching peace to the guards, stripping the old man of every shred of dignity.
"I'll fetch the disgraceful wretch at once!" Ōnoki snorted. "Don't try anything, boy. If you're gone when I return, the next wave of the Iwagakure army won't be so polite."
"Feel free." Yahiko gestured politely and sat down on the boulder. "I'll wait right here for Lord Tsuchikage."
Ōnoki gave him a long look, then performed the Ultra-Light-Weight Rock Technique and shot north as a streak of after-image… Two hours later.
Dusk gathered; the rain eased.
A tearing sound came from the horizon again. Ōnoki returned, this time hauling a burly man bound in rock shackles with a cloth stuffed in his mouth—Kitsuchi.
Thud!
Ōnoki landed and flung Kitsuchi to the ground, splattering mud.
Even gagged, Kitsuchi's eyes brimmed with that sickening "benevolence," making Ōnoki's temple throb as he fought the urge to knock the man out again.
"Man delivered." Ōnoki pulled out a heavy scroll sealed with Chakra, gripping it instead of tossing it over. "This is Iwagakure's highest-grade long-term mission contract, stamped by the Tsuchikage. Once you lift the jutsu, it's yours."
Yahiko glanced at the scroll, felt the residual earth-nature Chakra, and nodded in satisfaction.
"Konan."
Konan stepped forward, ignoring Kitsuchi's fervent gaze. Her Stand, Heavens Door, flickered behind her; invisible ripples instantly wrapped Kitsuchi.
Kitsuchi's Face flipped open like a book page; after Konan erased the setting, it closed back to normal.
His body convulsed violently, the once-sickeningly gentle gaze scattering, then refocusing. The cloying "saintly" Aura vanished, replaced by the rough bewilderment and a flash of dread of a newly awakened Iwagakure commander.
"F… Father?"
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