Naruto: Forbidden Arts and an Immortal Agenda

The caravan advanced slowly, like a giant serpent winding across the land.

Alert animals had sensed the danger in advance—birds flapped their wings and wild beasts fled early to escape the threat.

Only the weak and foolishly cute creatures failed to escape beforehand.

A plump mole was gnawing busily at the roots of roadside bushes. So absorbed was it in chewing that it only noticed the caravan passing by after they had already arrived.

Startled, it lifted its head with tiny eyes barely visible and then quickly dug frantically with its front paws, trying to burrow underground for safety.

However, who would even bother with it?

Even birds and beasts—if not mealtime, or as long as they didn't block the caravan's path—the ninja showed no interest in attacking them.

Since the rogue ninja ambush, two more days passed peacefully on the road.

Though no foolish wanderers appeared during these two days, Nagare Uchiha leading the vanguard did not relax his vigilance.

Despite Aozora staying inside the carriage without stepping out, under Shin'ya's command, six Uchiha members took turns scouting ahead, remaining alert at all times.

Suddenly, the closed curtains of one carriage were pushed aside by a slender hand.

A drowsy young man bowed slightly and stepped outside.

Dressed sloppily with hair sticking out like a bird's nest, he still managed to draw everyone's attention without even trying.

Of course, this wasn't just because of his handsome looks, but also because of his heroic feat from two days ago when he slaughtered an entire group of rogue ninja in the span of a few breaths.

Shielding his eyes from the sun with his left hand, Aozora squinted and asked, "Where are we now?"

Shin'ya hurried over and replied, "Reporting, deputy leader—we've passed Liancheng (Liancheng City). After crossing Dasha Valley, we'll reach the frontline."

"Dasha Valley, huh?"

Aozora repeated thoughtfully before saying, "The closer we get to the frontline, the more dangerous it becomes," he said sternly, reminding them not to let their guard down.

"Don't worry, deputy leader. We'll be extra cautious."

Aozora nodded, jumped onto the wagon roof, and lay back.

Enjoying the gentle breeze and warm sunlight, Aozora looked quite content.

This comfort came not just from the pleasant weather and bodily relaxation—but also from deep inner joy.

His guess proved right: the Gongde Droplets indeed nourished souls.

After using eight droplets to nurture his soul, both main and divided souls fully healed—no longer suffering occasional dull pains every day.

Even more impressively, the Gongde Droplet had the power to fortify and expand his soul.

He tested with just two droplets—one droplet's nurturing effect equaled an entire month of hard cultivation.

Originally, he estimated that evolving his Soul Division into a fully matured Soul Seed capable of possession would take at least three to five years.

With Gongde Droplets, cultivation time could shorten dramatically.

If things went smoothly, collecting another twenty or thirty droplets should suffice.

Just the right amount—neither too much nor too little.

If lucky, perhaps some clueless rogue ninjas might show up, allowing Aozora to gather enough Gongde Droplets during this mission itself.

Of course, that was just the best-case scenario.

In reality, were there any side effects from Gongde? Would such amazing results last later on?

These remained unknown.

Still, Aozora felt like he had finally caught a glimpse of hope on the path to mastering [Embodiment Beyond the Self].

As he was thinking about the dawn, a figure suddenly appeared in front of him, blocking the sunlight.

"Shuichi, don't block my sun."

Upon hearing this, Shuichi moved aside slightly.

Aozora spoke again, "Here to chat? Then let's talk while lying down!"

This wagon was huge, with a spacious rooftop. And since ninjas had great balance, he wasn't worried about accidentally falling off the wagon.

Shuichi glanced at the relaxed Aozora and said, "Make some room!"

Aozora scooted over, leaving space for Shuichi.

Shuichi lay down, but unlike Aozora who casually lounged with one leg crossed over the other, Shuichi remained seated upright, holding his sword on top of the wagon.

Aozora cast a glance and remarked, "You look like you're lying in a coffin."

Shuichi ignored Aozora's teasing.

He felt the motion of the wagon and looked up at the dazzling sapphire sky.

"The view from the roof is pretty good!"

Aozora looked at him in surprise and said, "Today you're actually paying attention to the scenery."

From Aozora's observations, Shuichi was a sword maniac.

There's no way those thick calluses formed without years of sword work.

Such people usually overlooked the surrounding scenery—and even the people nearby.

Shuichi replied, "I suddenly wanted to see the world through your eyes."

Aozora turned his head, surprised. "Why?"

Shuichi turned to face him sincerely. "I want to know how you managed that single decisive throw."

Before, he had heard of Aozora's name.

Another genius from the Uchiha household, rising to Chunin just three months after graduating—his blade claiming the head of a Zhanxian Jonin...

Despite that, he was fairly confident in himself and always thought he was stronger than Aozora.

That's why, during their first meeting, he challenged Aozora with a burst of killing intent.

It was an attitude of condescension.

Until the moment Aozora threw his blade, he finally realized Aozora's true strength—and his own weakness.

There were plenty stronger than him—not just Aozora.

But others used Ninjutsu; only Aozora excelled in close-range weapons.

In that single throw, Aozora revealed the future of Shuichi's sword techniques.

Silent in sheath, unseen in strike—like shadows passing through moonlight.

That was undoubtedly a higher level of sword mastery.

There was pure fanaticism and deep respect in his eyes.

Aozora wasn't fazed by the intense stare—he understood it was admiration for the sword, not anything personal.

Of course, Aozora couldn't tell him the truth: that he hadn't used Ninjutsu, but Sage Art instead.

After a short pause, he answered, "Build momentum before releasing! Every one of my strikes channels my spirit and focus, thus breaking through any defense."

This statement wasn't a lie. The [Zhanxian] Throwing Knife had been refined through his essence, spirit, and energy—it truly carried his willpower.

Shuichi nodded eagerly.

Aozora continued meaningfully, "Extreme hardness leads to breakage; the peak is where the fall begins. Why do swords need scabbards? For even the sharpest blade grows blunt when left bare too long."

Upon hearing this, Shuichi instinctively softened his overwhelming aura slightly.

Seeing Shuichi adopt such a respectful, disciple-like attitude made Aozora feel very pleased, and he became quite talkative.

"Shuichi, I use throwing knives, different from your swords. But I've heard stories—accounts from legendary sword masters whose understanding of swordsmanship reached its highest peaks. Want to hear them?"

"Are you talking about the manuscripts of the Five Great Sword Saints of the Warring States?" Shuichi asked excitedly.

Aozora shook his head. "Their swordsmanship is hardly worth mentioning. Compared to the person I'm talking about, it's like comparing a glowworm's light to the bright moon."

Shuichi said in disbelief, "There actually exists someone that incredible? How come I've never heard of him?"

Aozora didn't respond but continued speaking.

"Long, long ago..."

"There was one who roamed for over thirty years, slain every enemy, defeated every hero—there remained no rival beneath heaven... He was known as the Sword Demon, named Dugu Qiubai. His sword tomb contains four stages of sword cultivation: Sharp Sword, Flexible Sword, Heavy Sword, and Wooden Sword. You're probably at the Sharp Sword stage now..."

"There was another who picked up the sword at seven, loved swords with his entire being, viewed killing as an art, and enjoyed blowing the droplets of blood off his blade after slaying opponents—just like a night traveler brushing snowflakes from his clothes... He was called the Sword God, named Fubuki Kakuyoku of the Seimon clan..."

"..."

Shuichi listened to these strange names, imagining the elegant figures of those legendary sword masters, and couldn't help but be dazzled by the thought.

As he spoke those names, Aozora recalled the nights of his past life spent secretly reading novels under the covers with a flashlight, briefly drifting into nostalgia.

Suddenly, shouts from ahead startled both men.

"We've arrived at Dasha Valley!"

Aozora stood and looked forward. In the distance loomed a massive hill.

A narrow corridor-like passage through the center divided the valley in two.

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