Within the capital of land of grass, a council chamber was eerily cold.
Not in temperature—braziers burned at each corner, casting orange light across the polished floor. But the air itself felt thin. Tense. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
Seven elders sat in a semicircle, facing an empty seat where the Daimyo would normally sit. But the Daimyo was not here today. He had been politely excused. The real decisions were made in this room, by these seven people, supposed to be beneath the throne.
Elder Shida spoke first. He was the oldest, his face a map of wrinkles, his voice dry as paper. "The reports from the northern border are unchanged. Iwagakure has increased its patrols by thirty percent. They say it is for 'internal security.' We all know what that means."
Across the table, Elder Moss nodded. He was the man in charge of gathering information —the one who paid informants and read intercepted messages. "Konoha is doing the same on the eastern front. Their jōnin deployments have shifted closer to our border over the past two months. Neither village has made a formal move yet. But they are guarding their border."
Elder Hana, the diplomat, set down her teacup. Her hands were steady, but her jaw was tight. "I met with Konoha's representative last week. They spoke of 'cooperation' and 'mutual benefit.' What they actually want is our land as a staging ground. They asked for permission to build supply depots inside our territory."
A murmur rippled through the council.
"And what did you tell them?" asked Elder Take, the youngest of the seven, though still well past fifty.
"I told them I would discuss it with the council." Hana's lips pressed together. "Then I sent a separate message to Iwagakure, requesting a similar meeting. If we must be crushed between stones, we can at least make both sides believe we might lean the other way."
Shida sighed. It was a tired sound, the sigh of a man who had seen too many wars. "The economy is already suffering. Trade routes through our land have dropped by forty percent. Merchants are avoiding us. They fear being caught in the crossfire."
"Can we blame them?" Moss said quietly. "We fear the same."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Finally, Elder Take spoke. He was the practical one. The one who dealt in logistics and survival. "We cannot stop the war from coming. The First War ended fifteen years ago, and the great villages have spent those fifteen years sharpening their knives. We are not strong enough to refuse them. We are not important enough to spare."
He looked around the table, meeting each elder's eyes.
"All we can do is lessen the damage. Evacuation plans for the border villages. Stockpiles of food and medicine in the capital. Agreements with both sides that our towns and farms will be off-limits—though we know those agreements will be broken the moment it becomes convenient."
Shida nodded slowly. "Then that is what we will do. Prepare. Survive. And pray that when the storm passes, the Land of Grass still exists."
The meeting continued for another hour, discussing grain stores and road repairs and which villages could be sacrificed if necessary. No one mentioned the prince. No one mentioned the Daimyo. The ten-year-old boy sleeping in the eastern wing was, to these seven elders, a non-factor.
A puppet's puppet.
Arata woke before dawn.
His body was still tired—ten-year-old bodies needed more sleep than thirty-two-year-old ones, apparently—but his mind was racing. He lay in the dark for a moment, listening to the quiet breathing of the mansion. Then he sat up.
The Forge Power.
He had spent half the night dreaming about it. The blue spheres. The storage space. The feeling of his own chakra copied and held inside him like a spare key.
Now he wanted to try something reckless.
He lit a single candle and sat cross-legged on the futon. His palms pressed against his lower abdomen. He closed his eyes and reached inward.
The copy of his chakra was still there. He could feel it resting in that infinite space, calm and pulsing. Meanwhile, his original chakra flowed through his coils as always—raw, untamed, still new to him.
Fusion, he thought. I can fuse things I've copied and extracted. So, if I fuse the copy with my original one…
He hesitated. It might be a dangerous move. He didn't know what would happen. The knowledge inside him said fusion was possible, but it didn't come with a warning label.
Screw it.
He reached for the copy, and he ready himself for what will happen the process might be painful. Positioning the copy in front of his dantian and push it.
The moment they touched, his body screamed.
Not in pain, exactly. It was more like… pressure. Sudden and immense, as if someone had poured an entire river into a paper cup. His coils stretched. His pressure points flared up. The chakra inside him—already a bonfire—became an inferno.
He gasped, teeth clenching. His hands dug into his stomach. The candle flame flickered wildly, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Too much, he realized. It's too much. I'm going to—
He didn't explode.
But it was a close one!
The chakra surged through him, doubling, then it settled after seconds. His vision went white for a second. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged bird. He could feel every inch of his body—every cell, every breath, every pulse of energy—as if he had been remade from the inside out.
And then, slowly, it passed.
He slumped forward, catching himself on his hands. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the silk sheets. His breathing was ragged, uneven.
But he was alive.
He sat back up, shakily, and checked his chackra. The copy was gone. The original was still there—but it was different. Bigger. Brighter. It pulsed with a strength that hadn't been there before.
It worked, he thought, disbelief washing over him. I actually doubled my chakra.
He laughed. It was a breathless, slightly hysterical sound.
A ten-year-old prince with twice the chakra he should have. In a country that was about to become a battlefield. With a cheat ability he barely understood.
He was either going to survive this war or die in the most spectacular way possible.
He lay back on the futon, staring at the ceiling cranes. The candle continued to burn. Somewhere outside, a night bird called.
One step at a time, he told himself. Figure out the power. Figure out the current happenings and just don't die.
It was a simple plan.
In the Land of Grass, a prince is starting to form a simple plan in his mind.