Tales of a Ninja Magician: Of Where We Come From

Sound Village Stories

A strong, chilling to the bone evening wind blew past all of Kouta's defenses that his clothing offered meant to repel the cold. His ninja physiology allowed him great endurance of unfavorable conditions, one many times beyond what a human would survive. His entire body could've been frozen, every single particle of it turned into a frigid icicle and if unfrozen the boy would survive. Same went with the opposite spectrum – impossible heats were painful yet non-lethal to someone with good chakra control and ability to augment their bodies using it. None of those things meant that chilling cold or searing heat didn't feel absolutely horrible.

There were people that despised ninja, common villagers sometimes bantered among each other how they are oppressed by the ninja or samurai or the pirates or whatever the bane of society was that time, how their neighbor could hire one to kill their entire neighborhood if they had enough money and similar nonsense. It sort of made sense before one delved deeper into it – villagers were weak and afraid and weak and afraid people were the worst kind. They didn't care that ninja suffered burns and that they felt pain just like the villagers did – all they cared was that they weren't human, almost demonic people because being submerged into magma only singed their clothes off and left some small burns and marks where their chakra control was not at its best. Inner world, pain, and feelings mattered little to those who were afraid and weak.

Kouta gripped his sides harder, rubbing his elbows to fend off the cold at least a little. He had some backup rags remaining so losing the majority of his ninja tools and his clothes meant slightly less than it potentially could've, still, it was an event worth some regretting at the very least. He felt a little proud of himself, proud of his own abilities. He knew that father would've been proud of him as well – five thousand or so degrees of superheated primal sludge bursting from the ground was a feat to withstand for a ninja his age. It must've been the sleeping Juugo clansman in Kouta that took pride in these meaningless achievements. Even with all of his might, with all the Justicar he took on or out, with all of their attacks he withstood he couldn't help Mana, and that was what counted.

Kouta took a short while surveying the industrial districts. He took hours upon hours of bartering to buy as much as a kunai blade, desperate monetary situations called for very convincing and lengthy negotiations... Still, he had to possess some intimidation inside of him, he managed to buy an entire handful of used blades for the price it'd have taken him to pay for one. A couple of successful hourly barters like that would've refilled his ninja kit, even if it was of secondary importance to the boy, having his fighting style in mind.

It used to mean a lot to Kouta – he used to be a lot shyer on the battlefield, he used to fear his own inheritance from his father's clan, he disliked his own power because the people who used it historically were mad and brutish. He couldn't wrap his head around it that it was the person using the power and not the power itself that could've been evil and distasteful. In a way, he was not unlike those weak and terrified villagers afraid of ninja and samurai or pirates and their godly battles, namely being caught in their crossfire...

A young woman writhed on the paved floor, in the industrial districts the floor was less stone and more tin and metal. It clanged as the boy walked towards her over the old and rusted metal plates. Despite the noise he had made, the woman did not react. She remained conscious as she was moving, or so her movements could've been described as even the most pathetic writhing of a caterpillar was, in a manner of speech, movement. There was some icky light brownish sludge laying beside the woman, it had traces of blood in it, quite large ones, in fact, which troubled the medical ninja part of the boy. The sight of blood in any bodily fluid was something to be troubled about...

Kouta stood in front of the downed and incapacitated, possibly even drunk or drugged, female. She could've easily been a trap set by the Syndicate, trying to exploit his heroic side, trying to force him to lower his guard so that these fools could think they've found an opening in Kouta's defenses. It would've taken a moderate amount of chakra to maintain his defenses at their strongest throughout the entire procedure of checking this woman... He could always rely on his bodily reflexes to enhance his body if need be but Kouta didn't want to, the enhancements could've been smaller than his intended or needed ones, they could've also been lazy and quickly slapped together and costing him much more chakra in the process...