The air in the Land of Iron smelled completely different from Konoha.
It was a mix of coal smoke and rust, acrid and choking.
The ears were filled with the constant clang-clang-clang of forging, from morning till night without end, an irritating racket.
On the streets here, few smiling faces could be seen.
People coming and going were mostly samurai in heavy armor with long swords at their waists, their expressions as cold and hard as the iron they carried.
Their client, Furukawa, seemed perfectly at ease here; he even took a deep breath of the choking air, a look of enjoyment on his face.
"Now this is a fine place," he muttered.
Teacher Minato led them straight to the largest tenshu in the heart of the city.
That was the domain of the Land of Iron's General, Mifune; any business Furukawa wanted to conduct required his approval first.
Genin like them, naturally, had no place in talks at that level.
They were arranged to wait in an antechamber, with two samurai standing guard at the entrance, their postures straight and their gazes sharp as knives.
"This is really oppressive," Tokuma said quietly.
He was unaccustomed to the atmosphere here; the looks people gave them were filled with undisguised wariness and a faint, almost imperceptible contempt.
"They are a nation of samurai, after all," Roy replied flatly, finding a corner to sit in and closing his eyes to rest. He could sense that out of ten times the two guards looked their way, eight of those times, their gazes fell on him. The fact that he had defeated Tokuma Hyūga in the graduation exam had likely already arrived here along with the mission documents.
A young samurai entered with a tea tray and stiffly set down the cups.
Before leaving, he suddenly stopped and looked at Tokuma.
"So you're the ninja from the Hyūga clan?"
Tokuma frowned and nodded.
"I hear you ninja have some impressive Gentle Fist techniques," the young samurai's tone carried a hint of arrogance, "but against us samurai swordsmanship, it's nothing but a cheap trick."
Tokuma's fists clenched instantly. The honor of the Hyūga could not be insulted by anyone. He was about to stand when a hand pressed down on his shoulder. It was Roy.
"Our mission is to protect Mr. Furukawa's safety," Roy said, his tone flat and emotionless, "not to argue here about which is stronger, fists or swords. If you have that much energy, save it for killing enemies on the battlefield."
The young samurai's face flushed red; he seemed to want to say more.
But Roy was no longer looking at him; he turned to Tokuma and said, "Sit down. Don't forget your position. Right now, we represent Konoha."
Tokuma glanced at Roy, then at the provocative samurai, but ultimately chose silence and sat back down.
Roy's words had been like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the anger that had been about to flare up.
Feeling snubbed, the young samurai let out a cold snort and turned away.
"You…" Tokuma started.
"He did that on purpose," Roy interrupted him. "He was testing us. If we start trouble here, it will only make Teacher Minato's negotiations more difficult. Don't let emotions control you, Tokuma. That's the worst mistake a ninja can make."
Tokuma froze.
He looked at Roy's calm face and, for the first time, sensed that this peer of his had a mind far deeper than he had imagined.
The talks dragged on.
By the time Furukawa and Minato emerged, it was almost dark. Furukawa looked pleased; clearly, his business had gone smoothly.
"Alright, today's work is done," Minato announced. "Accommodations have been arranged for us in the city. Tomorrow, Mr. Furukawa will inspect the ore, and we'll provide security. The rest of the time is free, but remember, don't cause trouble."
After they were dismissed, Tokuma and Yakumo went back to their rooms to rest.
Roy, however, didn't even take a sip of water and walked straight out of the inn. He didn't go sightseeing but headed directly toward the area with the densest concentration of chimneys in the city: the forging district.
The "container" he needed could only be found here.
He visited over a dozen fairly large weapon shops, inquiring if they had raw chakra metal ore for sale.
The answer he received was the same every time: a shake of the head.
"Kid, you joking?" one shop owner looked at him like he was an idiot. "That stuff is strategic material. It's all personally controlled by General Mifune. How could it be up for sale?"
Roy's heart sank.
The worst-case scenario had occurred. There was no way for him to obtain what he needed through normal channels. Steal it? Rob it? Even aside from his current lack of strength, doing so would be equivalent to declaring war on both the Land of Iron and Konoha.
That path was closed off.
Roy didn't return to the inn.
He drifted like a ghost through the intricate, winding alleys of the forging district.
The clang of hammers became the backdrop to his thoughts.
Since he couldn't buy the material, he'd have to change his approach.
What he needed wasn't a piece of ore, but a container forged from chakra metal.
So, what he truly needed was a trustworthy craftsman capable of handling such a top-tier material.
His focus began to shift from the shops displaying mass-produced weapons to the inconspicuous, even somewhat rundown, small workshops.
He visited them one by one, listening to the sounds emanating from each smithy. Some had frantic rhythms, others heavy ones. He was searching for a unique cadence—a harmony between man and iron, hammer and fire, where they became one.
No one knew how much time passed when he stopped at the end of the most secluded alley.
Only a tiny forging shop stood here, without even a proper signboard.
Inside, a white-haired, white-bearded old man, stripped to the waist, was wielding a heavy hammer.
He wasn't forging a sword or a kunai. He was just hammering a red-hot iron billet, over and over.
Every strike he made—the force, the angle, the rhythm—was flawless. It wasn't just forging; it seemed more like a form of spiritual training.
Roy stood at the entrance for a full hour.
Only after the old man delivered his final strike and fed the billet back into the furnace did he look up, his murky eyes gazing over.
"Something I can do for you, Konoha brat?"
Roy walked in and placed the steel short sword on the forge table, the same one that had been corroded during the Forest of Death, now covered in fine cracks from the power of Thunder Annihilation he had unleashed.
The old man picked up the short sword, examined it, and frowned. "This blade is done for. Its spirit was erased by a more overbearing power."
Roy's heart leaped.
With a single glance, this old man had named the nature of the Thunder Annihilation power.
Without explaining, Roy simply bowed deeply to the old man.
"I would like you to help me forge something."
His tone was sincere beyond measure.
"I'll find the materials myself."