--Send Me Power Stones
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In this world, the line between soul and reality was far too blurred. It made the foundation of existence feel unstable.
Having acquired Sasori's knowledge of puppet manufacturing, Hiruko couldn't suppress the urge to go grave-digging. For instance, he had a burning desire to excavate Uchiha Madara's tomb. If he turned Madara's corpse into a Human Puppet, could he retain the power of the Rinnegan?
The question intrigued him immensely. Imagine the spectacle: a showdown between a Madara Human Puppet and a Reanimated Madara. It would be the ultimate clash of kings. Between Orochimaru playing with souls and Sasori manipulating corpses, Hiruko felt he was assembling a dream team.
"You should understand by now," Hiruko said patiently. "What I want is for you to dedicate your intellect to my work—not to the service of Konoha."
He always had a high degree of patience for geniuses who transcended their era. Since he had already secured his own insurance policies, he harbored a great interest in every "exceptional" talent that appeared. Just like with Orochimaru, Hiruko had offered Sasori incredibly generous terms.
"Is there a difference?" Sasori asked indifferently.
"No difference?" Hiruko countered. "I seek only your wisdom and knowledge. As long as you agree to share these from now on, I won't interfere with your personal life. You are free. Even if you want to try and kill me, I won't mind much."
"Think about the vision I've implanted in your mind. Once my dream is realized, there won't be a Land of Fire or a Land of Wind. There will be the United Shinobi Nations. With everyone's effort and my support, every commoner will be equal. No one will worry about food or shelter. Parents will watch their children grow up healthy, building a truly peaceful future across generations. Isn't such a vision worth supporting?"
Listening to Hiruko's persuasion, Sasori closed his eyes. Memories of his parents' short-lived warmth flickered through his mind. Within those closed eyelids, a single tear traced a path down his cheek, merging into the blue nutrient fluid.
While Hiruko had already "emptied" Sasori's mind of its current data, he wasn't someone who ignored human emotion entirely. Beyond mere data, a living Sasori meant an ever-evolving technological mind. Furthermore, Sasori was now firmly under control—much more obedient than Orochimaru.
Hiruko knew Orochimaru would be even more knowledgeable in four years. It was always wiser to harvest the "leeks" once they were fully grown. To Hiruko, Tobirama Senju's technologies were crude compared to what Orochimaru would eventually develop. Tobirama provided the outline; Orochimaru provided the vibrant, living substance. Without that refinement, the shinobi world wouldn't have so many seemingly "unsolvable" jutsu.
And in the world of puppets, no one beat Sasori. Hiruko was counting on him to help research Mecha. Sasori would control them, but Hiruko wanted the experience of piloting a Gundam—because real men drive Mecha. If a new generation of puppeteers didn't rise, the puppet industry would stagnate.
"And will you let me hunt Konoha ninjas freely?" Sasori asked, his tone dripping with mockery. To him, the word "freedom" was a joke. With marks on his mind and seals on his body, he was Hiruko's slave. Reporting all future knowledge to Hiruko was the ultimate information surrender. In a world where intel meant victory, what freedom was left?
"The Leaf ninjas of this world are off-limits," Hiruko mused. "But what happens in parallel worlds has nothing to do with me. I might even be looting things there myself; we'll likely be enemies to them anyway."
Sasori opened his eyes, surprised.
"The parallel world theory—I uploaded that data to your head two days ago. You shouldn't be unfamiliar with the concept," Hiruko said with a mild smile. He invited Sasori as if asking a childhood friend over to play.
Sasori tilted his head, his eyes calculating. "When do we leave?"
He wasn't surrendering; he was simply curious about the destination.
Hiruko paused. "It'll take some time. I don't like to wait, so don't keep me waiting too long."
Sasori closed his eyes again, ignoring him.
"I'll take that as a 'yes' then," Hiruko said.
In the ruins near Loulan's Lost Tower, Konoha ninjas were massing. To build Loulan's infrastructure, the wreckage had to be cleared. During the excavation, workers found something strange—ancient ruins. There were massive monoliths and shattered stone tablets inscribed with an undecipherable script that seemed to belong to another world.
When the news broke, Mikoto and Inoichi didn't dare delay. They ordered a careful excavation and sent word to Minato's team. Queen Sara was also notified; as a native, she might have the intuition to decode the secrets.
"An ancient ruin?" Hiruko was bewildered. In his past life's memories, Loulan had the Dragon Vein, but no "special ruins." However, he adjusted quickly. Just because it wasn't in the original story didn't mean it didn't exist here—or perhaps it was Black Zetsu's handiwork.
"Lord Hiruko, I brought a sample," Mikoto said as her subordinates carefully presented a stone slab. Inoichi held a plastic bag with an irregular fragment, likely broken from a larger stele.
"Well done. Record every character with a camera and bring them here. I'll study them personally," Hiruko ordered.
After Inoichi left, Sasori, who had been silent, spoke up. "You're acting because you're interested in these ruins, aren't you?"
"I have a deep interest in all ancient sites. They might hold the secret of the Dragon Vein or a lost chapter of human history. There might be surprises," Hiruko explained.
Sasori had been released from his pod and had spent the last few days quietly repairing his puppets. Most Leaf ninjas assumed he was Hiruko's new apprentice; only a few knew his true identity. Minato, trusting Hiruko's strength to suppress Sasori, treated the boy like thin air.
"How long will the research take?" Sasori asked, his voice tight with impatience.
"Hard to say. A month? A year or two?" Hiruko replied casually.
Sasori frowned. "I told you, I hate waiting."
Hiruko soothed him. "Patience, Sasori. My desire to explore parallel worlds is higher than my interest in your puppetry. But before we go, I have to arrange the ninjas' work and reinforce the seal on the Dragon Vein. We go when things are settled."
Hiruko soon brought Sasori back to Konoha. He had business to attend to. If the "little brat" was unhappy? He'd just give him a thrashing to keep him honest and dump him in the research department with some assignments. Sasori felt a sudden chill down his spine.
Back in the village, Hiruko's plan to lower the Engel's Coefficient (the proportion of income spent on food) between the Fire and Wind countries was showing results. Fruit supplies were limited, but fish cans from the Mist were convenient and cheap.
Thanks to Hiruko's relationship with Mei Terumi, he was happy to cut them into the profits. The Mist had turned their low-level ninjas into professional fishermen, using aquatic summons to drive schools of fish into nets. It was cheap labor that even disabled ninjas could do. With two massive fishing grounds full of "Sea Kings," the Mist's economy was booming.
Rumors spread that Mist ninjas had abandoned dangerous missions to catch fish for the Land of Fire. Catching Sea Kings alive paid far better than assassination. As a shareholder in the canning factory, Hiruko knew the score.
However, after a talk with the Third Hokage, Hiruko's expression turned grave.
"The Mist's economic situation is getting 'critical'?"
Sasori was confused. Didn't he just say they were doing well? He couldn't understand what was bothering the old man Hiruzen.
Hiruko knew the prosperity was a facade. Konoha was walking on thin ice. Politically and economically, the dangers were immense. For now, Hiruzen's presence suppressed the dissatisfaction of the "old guard." Without the two Hokages working in tandem, the radical changes Hiruko pushed would have driven the conservatives into a frenzy.
The Hidden Mist, however, lacked a stabilizing elder like Hiruzen. Yagura's inner circle was still under-staffed—partly thanks to Guy's father, Might Duy, who had taken out four of the Seven Swordsmen. While the Mist enjoyed the peace and the "no-war" sentiment was high, it was a fragile balance.
The real "Bloody Mist" was Obito's shadow-play, but the Mist had the dark traditions to make his plan work. If such a thing happened in the Leaf, every genjutsu master in the village would be at the Hokage's door the next day to check for mind control.
Because of the canning factory, Yagura's popularity was soaring. But the nobles were getting nervous. Yagura had become reckless, even summoning the Daimyo to lecture him. The polite facade between the Kage and the nobles was crumbling.
The "Canning Incident" was a pressure cooker. It wasn't that ninjas hated making money; it was that the Mist's primary market was the Land of Fire. Their economic lifeline was in Konoha's hands. Hiruko knew exactly what pit he had dug for them. Konoha couldn't dictate the market, but they could set the traps. The Mist had to choose between the Leaf's "cake" or the pressure from their own Daimyo.
Night fell. Tsunade listened to Hiruko's explanation, her eyes wide with shock. She hadn't realized the Mist was in such a precarious state.
"Don't worry about what you can't change," Hiruko chuckled, pulling Tsunade toward him for their nightly "exercise."
He leaned in close, his fingers brushing against the essential oil bottle, his warm breath ghosting over her ear.
"Tsunade-sama," he whispered, like sharing a secret. "Your shoulders... they're stiffer than a tensed bowstring."
Tsunade half-closed her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "Hmph. You only noticed now? With the mountain of paperwork I have, if you'd waited any longer, I wouldn't even be able to turn my head."