When it came to the Land of Wind, the first image that appeared in the minds of most people in this world was that vast, scorching sea of yellow sand—a place that felt like a forbidden zone for life.
But in truth, that desert was more of a "result" than a "cause." The reasons this land was so despised went beyond the desert itself.
Although it was hard to discern from the maps available to the general public, if one looked at the military maps used by the Five Great Ninja Villages—which accurately recorded detailed terrain variations, mountain ranges, and hidden routes—a rather depressing fact became clear:
The overall geography of the Land of Wind was like a pizza that had been bitten out of in several places.
The massive, continuous mountain range extending south from the Land of Earth formed a thick, dull "crust" along the edge of the pizza, stretching across the borders of the Land of Grass, the Land of Birds, the Land of Rain, the Land of Rivers, and other smaller nations. It created an almost unbroken, towering natural barrier that blocked off most of the Land of Wind's routes of communication with the outside world.
Because of this natural rampart, the Land of Wind had long been isolated from the mainstream civilization of the ninja world, making it difficult to integrate into the continent's economic and cultural flows. For a long time, it had been forced into a semi-closed state—until the First Kazekage established Sunagakure.
Of course, during special periods like the Ninja World Wars, Sunagakure would go to any lengths to use unconventional means and hidden routes in pursuit of strategic mobility and material transport.
But precisely because these were "unconventional means," there were reasons they were excluded from peacetime.
For example, during the war, the Land of Wind's true objective had been to consume its surplus labor. Most of the temporarily conscripted, poorly trained "draftees" had died on these very routes.
There was no need to send enemy ninja after the supply convoys. The route itself—treacherous as the roads of Suna—was harsh enough to claim countless lives, turning the supply lines into bloody roads of death.
So did the descripted citizens of the Land of Wind know they would very likely die along the way?
Of course they did.
But they went anyway—for their country's benefit, for their families' survival. And, of course, for revenge. Revenge against the Land of Fire, which had unilaterally cut off trade with the Land of Wind.
Admittedly, the current situation of the Land of Wind was also partly due to past policy mistakes.
But the public's perspective was always obscured, guided. The daimyō's government didn't even need to hide anything; in fact, they would remind those signing up for supply corps of the dangers along the way.
But obviously, that too was a way to stoke the flames of anger.
Revenge was always like that—not about living better oneself, but about wanting others to live in hell.
The people of the Land of Wind knew better than any outsider just how great the risks were when traveling through their homeland, and what terrible price one wrong step would exact.
That was also why, for all the long years before, even though they knew they were being overcharged by traveling merchants, they silently endured it as long as the merchants didn't go too far.
They had no choice.
For the same reason, when the new merchant guild "Red Hot Sand" first took root in the Land of Wind and grew rapidly, the Land of Wind's daimyō—unlike other daimyō who would have suppressed such an organization to prevent it from threatening their economic monopoly—gave it free rein, tacit approval, and even covert support.
Of course, today, Red Hot Sand Guild had rapidly grown into a commercial juggernaut whose influence spanned the continent, its tentacles reaching into every industry, its scale staggering to behold. Whether the daimyō, seated high in his palace, now felt regret, fear, or even sleepless anxiety about it… only he knew.
But regret was useless. After all, in the eyes of outsiders—including the daimyō— Red Hot Sand Guild didn't necessarily have to develop in the Land of Wind, but the Land of Wind certainly needed the guild.
Employment, tax revenue, freight channels, and enough financial power to sway the economies of smaller nations… these factors stacked together meant that any rash move against the guild could trigger unpredictable consequences.
The fundamental driving force behind ninja taking missions—even life-threatening ones—was largely about making money. And money only truly held value when it circulated.
Not just the Kage of the Five Great Villages, but any leader of an organization or faction with ambitions for growth understood this.
They themselves might not be skilled merchants, but they had to have sharp instincts—to know who to work with, who to cooperate with, to make money and grow their power.
Work for whoever gets the job done.
Under these circumstances, the Land of Wind's daimyō had no choice but to pretend he didn't mind at all.
In short, aside from the tunnel project being quietly advanced in the Land of Rain, and leaving aside the extremely small number of ninja scattered across the world, ordinary people had only one route in and out of the Land of Wind:
The "Ichi Sen Ten" canyon leading to the Land of Rivers.
"Which means we'll inevitably pass through my hometown."
Disguised, Hii Kōri wore a slightly worn, dusky gray monk's robe. On his head was a tengai—a deep-woven sedge hat that concealed his entire head. In his hand, he carried a sleek shakuhachi flute. He was the very picture of a komusō.
Though his personal system of cultivation—across both lives—had roots and principles closer to Shugendō, or Esoteric Buddhism, than to the Fuke sect of Zen from which the komusō tradition derived, in the world of Naruto, there was no such distinction between schools. For a disguise, this level of detail was sufficient.
After passing through Ichi Sen Ten canyon—which, though not especially narrow in actual width, was rendered claustrophobic by the towering cliffs on either side that squeezed the sky into a thin thread—the view suddenly opened up.
Though there was still some distance to the inhabited territory of the Land of Rivers, the moist, gentle air—so different from the Land of Wind—had become noticeably clearer in the sudden environmental shift. The three travelers unconsciously slowed their pace.
It was autumn. The cool, humid breeze that swept toward them replaced the desert's dry heat, carrying with it a sense of abundance.
As far as the eye could see, gone was the monotonous, glaring yellow of the sand sea. In the distance, the hills were painted in layers of autumn color—vast swaths of warm, withered yellow interwoven with vivid maple red, dotted here and there with patches of green that had not yet fully shed their summer vitality. It was a scene teeming with life, a stark contrast to the desert just one mountain away.
"Ah..."
Pakura couldn't help but take a deep breath, savoring the comfort of cool air filling her lungs. Even her body, often prone to a dry heat from using Scorch Release, seemed to cool down several degrees.
"Leaving the Land of Wind makes breathing feel easier somehow," Karura remarked, stretching out her arms to catch the breeze, her eyes bright with a smile.
Looking at the brilliant yellow foliage by the roadside, Hii Kōri was suddenly reminded that the Land of Rivers supposedly had a gold mine with considerable reserves.
Hmm… after this trip was over, maybe he'd look into acquiring that gold mine.
Realizing his mind had, faster than his reason, habitually begun planning his next moves, Hii Kōri sighed softly and ambled forward.
This mental recalibration of his was truly a long road ahead.
Since this was a "guard" mission, Pakura and Karura also had to "accommodate" their employer's pace, walking quite leisurely. In this relaxed, carefree atmosphere, their attention gradually drifted to the thick, dry fallen leaves beneath their feet.
Aside from the Second Shinobi World War, when missions had required leaving the Land of Wind, they'd had few chances to leave the village—or the country. Pakura, as a combat-oriented ninja, had occasionally left the village for missions, but when those missions took her out of the country, the schedule was usually too tight to notice much else. As a medical ninja, Karura had even fewer opportunities.
So, this was truly the first time either of them had enjoyed such a serene, autumn-filled leisure—the first time they had seen so many fallen leaves.
At first, they were somewhat restrained, but soon their composure gave way to delight. As if awakening some innate instinct, they slowed their steps, tramping through the thick layers of leaves, listening to the satisfying katsu katsu crunch beneath their feet, their faces breaking into bright, pure smiles.
When you thought about it, they were still under eighteen. In Hii Kōri's previous world, they'd have been high school girls.
But in this accursed world, they were already seasoned ninja who had lived through a war and stained their hands with blood.
Watching them shed the somber, murderous weight of being ninja—if only for a moment—and act like children again, Hii Kōri smiled beneath his hat. He didn't join in, but instead found a soft, deep pile of leaves by the roadside, lay down lazily, and began a long-overdue meditation in this brief moment of tranquility.
After all, he was representing Master Bunpuku at the Temple of Fire. He couldn't embarrass his teacher.
Though he hadn't deliberately sought to revisit old places, the route to the Land of Fire still passed through the area where his previous body's "home" had been.
That was only natural. A settlement, however small, would have paths leading to the outside world.
After several days' travel, they inevitably arrived at that place.
Perhaps the Vertigo Slope—the only path to the isolated blacksmith shop far from the village—was too troublesome. Or perhaps the locals considered the place where a family had been wiped out in a single night to be cursed. Whatever the reason, even after more than a decade, the land remained unchanged. No one had built anything new there.
The blacksmith shop that the young Hii Kōri had set ablaze was now nothing but a collapsed ruin, overgrown with weeds. The bricks and stones, charred black in the fire, had weathered over the years to their natural gray.
Hii Kōri stood quietly at the spot where he had lit the fire all those years ago, his gaze through the hat's peephole sweeping over the broken walls and debris. A trace of emotion stirred in his heart.
This… was where he had begun in this world.
Pakura and Karura, seeing that he had deliberately led them up this slope and now stood silently before the ruins, wordlessly fell in behind him.
After a moment, Hii Kōri raised a hand and removed the large sedge hat, revealing a face carefully disguised with makeup.
It was the face of a simple, ordinary middle-aged monk—one that gave the impression of someone who had spent his entire life burdened by various troubles.
He pointed toward the ruins, speaking in an adjusted voice, his tone like that of someone recounting a story unrelated to him, to his lovers behind him—who, though silent, were clearly curious:
"This… was my home. The home of who I used to be."
Pakura and Karura both blinked at this. Then, recalling what they knew of Hii Kōri's past, understanding dawned in their eyes.
"Thinking back now, it's a bit like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted… but if I hadn't burned my parents' bodies back then, or had at least kept a lock of hair, maybe I'd have a chance to see them again someday."
"But if I'd left their remains, there was no guarantee someone wouldn't have taken them for all kinds of modifications or experiments… sigh. Life always throws things at you that don't go your way."
Hii Kōri didn't look back at them. He slowly crouched down, touching the soil as if trying to feel the lingering warmth of the fire that had consumed the deceased more than a decade ago.
Then his gaze returned to the ruins. He stood, walked over, and searched among the rubble, eventually pulling out three relatively intact, flat stones.
Without using Earth Release, he took one of the stones and used it to clear away the weeds and loose soil, digging three shallow pits. He piled the excavated earth onto stacked bricks, then placed the stones upright before the mounds as makeshift headstones.
Three graves. No names. No remains. Empty graves.
Two for the couple who had given everything for their child.
And the last… both a memorial for his former self and a place he had reserved for himself.
"This belated mourning… don't think it too shabby."
Hii Kōri pressed his palms together and softly chanted the sutras for rebirth in the Pure Land.
When he finished, his gaze lingered a moment on the three meager, almost pitiful nameless graves. Then he replaced the large sedge hat on his head.
He turned, half-joking, half-serious, and said to Pakura and Karura:
"If I die someday, bury me here."
"Alright."
Karura took the slightly startled Pakura's hand, stepped forward lightly, and responded to her lover with a gentle smile: "But shouldn't we reserve spots for us too?"
"Ah… you're right. That was an oversight on my part."
Hii Kōri chuckled softly, then turned and walked toward the horizon without a glance back.
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