The Land of Artisans (remote Hot Springs region) was an island nation, so its territory could not be considered vast—but that comparison was only relative to the Five Great Nations. In terms of sheer area, it was by no means small. At the very least, it was far larger than places like the Land of Waves or the former Land of Whirlpools.
In terms of military strength, however, it wasn't much stronger than the Land of Waves.
The reason was simple: it had no ninja village.
Geographically, the Land of Artisans (remote Hot Springs region) lay to the southwest of the Land of Water, wedged in the sea routes between the Land of Water and the Land of Fire.
As for what made the country special—its name said it all.
Legend held that ever since a master bladesmith named Tōtōsai (or someone of similar renown) lived here, the Land of Artisans (remote Hot Springs region) had become famous for handcrafted forging. Much of this history could no longer be verified, but there were persistent rumors that the Kusanagi Sword, famed throughout the shinobi world, had been forged here.
According to a certain unwritten rule, divine weapons were never mass-produced.
Only items with uniqueness and exclusivity could be considered truly precious.
Thus, legendary weapons were almost always born by chance in small workshops.
"Purely handmade by a single craftsman" was practically a required label for god-tier weapons.
That said, the story unfolding in the Land of Artisans (remote Hot Springs region) had little to do with swordsmiths or divine blades.
At most, they were merely a pretext.
"Welcome, honored guest…"
On this day, a young person entered a small izakaya.
"Please, take a seat over here."
Faced with the friendly greeting, the young guest politely declined.
"No need. I'm meeting someone."
As they spoke, they offered a gentle smile and raised their right hand, pointing toward a corner at the back of the establishment.
There was indeed a table occupied there.
"Oh, my apologies. Please, go right ahead."
After the owner bowed in apology, the young guest nodded back and walked inside.
This was someone with refined features and a mild smile.
Or perhaps beautiful would have been the more accurate word?
Which raised an obvious question:
Was this person male—or female?
That was… worth thinking about.
And wait—
What exactly was that object on their back?
As for Hagoromo—
Whether by coincidence or by intent, the shinobi world was never all that large.
In any case, he had found his lifeline.
He walked to the very back of the tavern and stopped in front of a bleary-eyed beauty.
For the person who had suddenly appeared right before her, Tsunade clearly failed to recognize who he was. She squinted at him for a long moment, eyes half-lidded, trying—and failing—to focus.
Hagoromo smiled, unconcerned by her reaction.
Turning to the person who did recognize him, he spoke first.
"Shizune. Long time no see."
Full-time caretaker Shizune Katō had no trouble recognizing Hagoromo.
"Wait—you know Shizune? Who are you supposed to be?" Tsunade asked.
Her cheeks were flushed, her response sluggish.
This made one thing abundantly clear—
She was very drunk.
"Hagoromo. Uehakuseki Hagoromo."
Just as Shizune was about to explain to this frequently embarrassing former Konoha princess who exactly was standing in front of her, Hagoromo calmly stated his name himself.
"Oh. So it's you."
From Tsunade's tone, it was impossible to tell whether she was pleased to see an old acquaintance—or annoyed that someone she didn't particularly want to see had shown up.
It sounded more like the casual greeting between people who ran into each other all the time.
Shizune recognizing Hagoromo was no surprise—she was sober, after all, and his face hadn't changed much over the years.
Tsunade failing to recognize him was also perfectly normal.
Her eyes simply could not focus properly at the moment.
The Three Shinobi Vices—money, alcohol, women.
Tsunade alone occupied all three.
Besides, the last time Tsunade had seen Hagoromo, he had clearly been shorter than her.
Now, he was more than fifteen centimeters taller.
More importantly, the aura was completely different.
Tsunade had never seen "bandaged-mummy Hagoromo," so the man in front of her couldn't be matched with the image in her memory at all.
As for Hagoromo's current attire—
It was easy to describe.
He looked ninety percent identical to the Medicine Seller.
Give him a bandana like Zoro's and he could go undercover as one without issue.
Compared to his former 100% background-character outfit, Hagoromo's current style could absolutely be called ornate.
In fact, it made him look noticeably more androgynous.
Had Hagoromo changed his low-key way of doing things?
Not really.
"Why did you change your style?" Tsunade asked bluntly.
"This doesn't look like the old you."
Once the mental images lined up, Tsunade spoke whatever came to mind. To her, Hagoromo still wasn't much different from that brat she remembered.
Why the change in aesthetic?
There was, in fact, a very deep reason behind it.
Hagoromo was just about to explain—
When a sudden voice came from behind him.
"Hagoromo, you're blocking my view. I can't see."
There was no doubt about it.
That was a little girl's voice.
A large scroll was strapped horizontally across Hagoromo's waist, and standing on top of it—clinging to his back—was a very small person.
Clearly curious about who Hagoromo was talking to, she tried her best to look past him.
But due to her height, no matter how hard she stood on tiptoe, the most she could manage was poking her little head up near his shoulder.
Even if she jumped, she'd only expose a bit of forehead.
Just as she said—
Hagoromo completely blocked her line of sight.
After failing repeatedly, she changed tactics.
A small hand pushed aside Hagoromo's right arm, and from the gap between his body and arm, a pair of curious eyes peeked out.
The scene was so sudden that Tsunade's sake cup slipped from her hand and clattered onto the table.
Who would have imagined there was a tiny person hidden behind Hagoromo?
Her drunkenness instantly evaporated by more than half.
"Mirai," Hagoromo said calmly,
"I've been carrying you for quite a while now. You should be rested enough. Come down."
"…Mm. I have made a complete recovery and extend my most sincere gratitude to Hagoromo."
The tone was deliberately solemn.
The voice was absolutely not.
Still, as she spoke, Mirai climbed down from Hagoromo's back.
She walked around to his left side, then reached out with her left hand, taking Hagoromo's right hand.
The two hands—comically mismatched in size—formed a simple hand seal together.
In the next instant, the massive scroll behind Hagoromo rapidly shrank and dropped to the floor.
Mirai bent down, picked it up, and stuffed it into the small pouch on her back.
That scroll—
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