Menma Uzumaki

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But before taking a step toward the village, Menma paused. He was stepping into the unknown, and a little reconnaissance wouldn't hurt. He quickly do a hand seals, left hand horizontally to form a cross, a sequence he'd practiced countless times on Earth, now amplified by Menma's instincts.

"Shadow clone Jutsu!"

Ten shadow clones erupted around him, each a perfect replica, down to the fox mask and dark cloak. A slight grin spread across Menma's face beneath his mask. This was one jutsu he'd always wanted to try, to think he could actually use it now.

"Alright, you lot," he instructed his clones. "Spread out, get a feel for the place. Don't engage anyone, just observe. And try not to look too conspicuous."

The clones nodded and dispersed into the forest, their movements swift and silent. Menma watched them go, a sense of satisfaction welling up within him.

He leaned against a tree, his arms crossed. The forest, felt like a maze with a purpose. The towering trees, their branches gnarled and twisted, formed a natural labyrinth, designed to confuse and disorient outsiders. It was a clever defense, a testament to the paranoia that permeated everything connected to Orochimaru. It was clear that while the village might be difficult to find, it was even harder to leave.

He waited, concealed in the shadows of the trees, for what felt like an hour, though he knew it probably wasn't that long. His stomach growled impatiently, reminding him of his primary objective. Finally, one by one, his clones began to reappear, dispelling with a puff of smoke as they rejoined him, their memories and experiences flowing back into his mind.

Ten clones, ten different perspectives. He saw snippets of the village through their eyes, villagers going about their daily routines, their faces etched with a weariness that spoke volumes. He saw the crude stalls, the strange herbs, the snake motifs that seemed to adorn every building. He felt a sense of unease, a feeling that something was off about this place. And, there was no security, no checkpoints to enter.

With the information gathered, Menma set off toward the village..

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The village was even more unsettling up close. The towering trees cast long, distorted shadows, giving the place a perpetual twilight feel. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth, unfamiliar spices, and something else, something faintly metallic, that made him wrinkle his nose.

The layout of the village was haphazard, a jumble of narrow, winding paths and uneven stone steps. Buildings leaned against each other at odd angles, their walls a patchwork of wood and stone. Many were adorned with strange talismans and seals, their purpose unclear. It was as if the village had grown organically, without any plan or design, like a fungus spreading through the forest.

He noticed more details that his clones had missed. Strange symbols were etched into the doorframes of some buildings, and the villagers, though seemingly ordinary, had an unsettling air about them. Their movements were furtive, their eyes darting around as if they were constantly on edge. Some were disfigured.

As he walked deeper into the village, he spotted a stall with a crudely painted sign depicting a steaming bowl and what looked like a coiled snake.

The stall was small and unassuming, with a few rough-hewn tables and benches scattered around it. A large, burly man with a stained apron stood behind the counter, his face impassive as he tended to a bubbling pot.

On display were various skewers of grilled meat, some unidentifiable, and a large, glistening snake, roasted whole on a Spit grill. And a pot of stew simmered over a low fire, its contents a murky brown.

"What'll it be?" the man grunted, his eyes fixed on Menma's mask.

Menma pointed at the stew. "That, with vegetables, no meat," he said, his voice muffled by the mask. "And one of those," he added, gesturing to the grilled snake.

The man grunted again and ladled a generous portion of stew into a bowl. He then grabbed the roasted snake, hacked off a large chunk with a cleaver, and placed it on a wooden plate.

As he ate, Menma couldn't help but be surprised. The stew, despite its unappetizing appearance, was surprisingly flavorful, a mix of earthy vegetables and savory broth. And the snake… it actually tasted like chicken, albeit a slightly tougher, more gamey version.

He eats it quickly, his hunger momentarily overriding his suspicion.

"This is good," he admitted, tearing off another piece of the snake. "What the hell."

The vendor simply shrugged, his eyes still fixed on him.

As he ate, he watched the villagers passing by, their faces a mixture of fear, resignation, and something else he couldn't quite place....

"

Back to his meal, Menma devoured the rest, his initial apprehension replaced by a growing satisfaction. He ordered ten more portions of the grilled snake, the vendor's eyebrows raising slightly at the quantity, but he complied nonetheless.

Finished with his meal, he returned the bowl to the man. "So," he said, leaning against the counter. "What's the story with this village?. It's not exactly what I expected."

The man just grunted, wiping the bowl with a dirty rag. "It is what it is," he said cryptically. "Best not to ask too many questions around here."

Menma raised an eyebrow. "Is that right. And why is that?"

The man leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Because some questions," he said, his one eye gleaming, "have answers you don't want to hear."

A slow smile spread across Menma's face beneath the mask. "Try me."

The man straightened up, a flicker of amusement crossing his weathered features. "99,999 ryo first," he said, his voice regaining its gruffness.

Menma's smile faltered. "Yeah, you're right," he conceded. "Suddenly, I'm not that curious anymore."

"Anyways, how much do I owe you?" Menma asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"22,099 ryo," the man replied, his voice flat.

Menma blinked, taken aback. "22,099? For some stew and eleven skewers of snake?" He knew from his memories that 15.6 ryo was roughly equivalent to a dollar in his old world and ramen is only 20-80 ryo. This was highway robbery.

The vendor met his gaze, unfazed. "Prices are higher here," he explained. "Supplies are hard to come by. And snake meat is a delicacy."

Menma narrowed his eyes, sensing a hint of something in the man's tone, was it defiance?. Regardless, the food had been surprisingly good, and he was in no position to argue.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a wad of ryo notes, counting out the required amount. "Here," he said, placing the money on the table. "Keep the change." He added, dropping extra ryo on top of it, a total of 30,000ryo. The vendor's eyes widened slightly as he saw the extra bills. He quickly scooped up the money, nodding his head in thanks. "Much appreciated," he mumbled, a hint of warmth finally entering his voice. "Come back anytime."

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Menma sighed. He was in no position to haggle, not when his stomach was now content. He reached into his pouch, the remaining Ryo. 1,970,000. 'Good thing Menma also brought extra,'