The prickling sensation along Renjiro's skin refused to fade. Even as he walked through the snow-dusted pathways of the Land of Iron's fortress, following in the wake of Hiruzen and Minato, he remained acutely aware of the unseen gazes pressing upon him.
The sensation wasn't overwhelming, but it wasn't subtle either.
Two distinct sources.
Two different directions.
Two different Kage camps.
His instincts screamed caution, but he forced himself to remain outwardly composed. The last thing he wanted was to betray his awareness and give those watching any indication that they had been noticed.
Tadashi, however, remained blissfully unaware of the tension brewing beneath the surface.
The leader of the Land of Iron continued his small talk with Hiruzen, his voice calm and measured. Renjiro barely registered the words—it was polite pleasantries, formalities exchanged between leaders.
Then, at last, Tadashi nodded toward a nearby attendant.
A young woman stepped forward, bowing respectfully before addressing them.
"Honored guests, I will guide you to your quarters."
Renjiro immediately turned his gaze toward her—and was surprised by what he sensed.
Her chakra reserves were abnormally high for a civilian.
No. Not a civilian.
She had as much chakra as a Special Chūnin. Those who were at the precipice of becoming jonins.
In any shinobi village, such reserves would be formidable.
For a moment, he studied her discreetly. She was dressed in the traditional armour of the samurai, though without a helmet. Her black hair was bound into a tight bun, and her sharp eyes carried the discipline of a trained warrior.
Interesting.
The Land of Iron may not have shinobi, but that didn't mean they were defenceless.
"Follow me," the attendant said, her voice firm yet soft.
The journey to their accommodations was short, but as Renjiro walked, he took in the fortress around them with keen interest.
The architecture was unmistakably influenced by Feudal Japan—a blend of elegance and military functionality. It was even more than what Renjiro experienced in Konoha when it came to that regard.
The wooden walkways stretched like veins through the heart of the Land of Iron's stronghold, winding through meticulously arranged rock gardens where stones had been placed with an artist's precision. The ground was dusted lightly with fresh snow, the white blanket softening the landscape's hard edges while emphasizing the stark beauty of the frozen world.
Beneath their feet, the planks of the walkway creaked faintly, their surfaces polished from centuries of use. The cold air carried the subtle scent of pine and incense, remnants of a recent purification ritual. To the sides, stone lanterns stood solemnly, their weathered surfaces flecked with patches of moss. A few of them were lit, their soft orange glow casting elongated shadows against the walls of the towering pagodas that loomed over the courtyards.
Each pagoda, its tiered roofs curved elegantly upward, was a marvel of intricate woodwork and expert craftsmanship. Every eave bore elaborate carvings—depictions of mythical beasts and legendary warriors locked in an eternal battle of might and honour.
Despite the weather, the fortress was alive with activity. Samurai patrolled the area with silent discipline, their armoured forms moving with mechanical precision. Their presence was understated but ever-present, a constant reminder that despite the Land of Iron's neutrality, this was still a place of warriors.
Ahead, their accommodations came into view.
A grand traditional building, nestled within the heart of the fortress, stood as a testament to the Land of Iron's heritage. Unlike the cold, unyielding structures of shinobi villages, this one exuded an air of serene dignity.
Sliding shoji doors, framed by dark oak and adorned with delicate rice-paper panels, led into a spacious chamber. The doors themselves bore elegant ink paintings—images of ancient battles fought with steel rather than chakra. The scenes were almost hypnotic, a stark reminder of the cultural divide between shinobi and samurai.
Inside, the room was an exercise in minimalist beauty.
The floor was covered in tatami mats, their woven surfaces carrying the faint scent of fresh straw. A low wooden table sat in the centre, its surface polished to a mirror sheen, surrounded by plush silk cushions arranged neatly for seating. The walls were adorned with calligraphy scrolls, each one bearing proverbs that spoke of duty, honour, and sacrifice—ideals that the Land of Iron had upheld for generations.
A small brazier crackled in the corner, its embers glowing softly, providing much-needed warmth against the chill that crept in through the wooden slats of the walls. Despite its simplicity, the room exuded a quiet sophistication, the kind born not from opulence but from an unwavering sense of tradition.
Renjiro took it all in with a sharp, discerning gaze.
Even in the countless territories he had infiltrated, fought in, and destroyed, he had never seen such meticulous craftsmanship. The Land of Iron was not a nation of excess, yet every detail of its architecture spoke of centuries of refinement and an unbroken lineage of warriors.
For a land that eschewed shinobi, it certainly took hospitality seriously.
Their attendant, the young woman who had led them, stepped aside and bowed respectfully.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," she said, her tone steady and professional. "If you require anything, send word."
With that, she turned on her heel and silently departed, sliding the door closed behind her with a soft thunk.
Silence.
The moment the latch clicked into place, all three shinobi moved.
Without exchanging a single word, Hiruzen, Minato, and Renjiro each strode to a different corner of the room.
Each of them retrieved a small seal tag from their pouches, their fingers working with careful efficiency.
With a practised motion, they pressed the seals against the wooden floorboards.
Fwoom.
With a single hand sign, chakra surged through the room.
The moment the seals activated, a faint formation bloomed beneath their feet—intricate symbols etching themselves into the tatami mats in an instant.
Then, as if responding to an unseen command, an almost imperceptible barrier expanded outward.
A low hum vibrated through the air, the slightest ripple of energy confirming that the room was now completely sealed off from outside interference.
Only then did they allow themselves to breathe.
The tension that had been gripping their shoulders loosened, though it never fully faded.
Hiruzen folded his arms, his brow furrowed in thought. "Did you feel it?"
Renjiro and Minato exchanged glances before nodding.
"Yes," Minato confirmed. "And it wasn't just one."
Renjiro exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"It was two," he muttered. "Two different sources. Two different Kage."
Minato's expression darkened slightly. "They weren't just watching for the sake of curiosity. There was an intent behind those stares."
Hiruzen stroked his beard in thought. "Which villages do you suspect?"
Minato's eyes sharpened, his mind already piecing together the puzzle.
"The first stare," he said, "was hostile. Not openly aggressive, but sharp. Probing. There was no sense of curiosity, only assessment. Like someone weighing a potential threat."
He paused.
"If I had to guess… it was likely the Tsuchikage."
Renjiro frowned. "Iwa?"
Minato nodded. "Ōnoki has no love for Konoha. He holds a deep grudge over past wars. If he was watching us, it wasn't out of diplomacy. It was because he sees us as an obstacle."
Hiruzen sighed. "That much is expected."
Renjiro leaned back against the wall. "And the second stare?"
Minato's expression shifted.
"The second was… different."
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
Renjiro studied him carefully.
The way Minato spoke… the way he described the feeling of those stares…
It was almost unnatural.
A level of awareness that went beyond normal sensory perception.
Renjiro had a strong sensory field due to his chakra control, but Minato…
'Could he already have mastered Senjutsu?'
The idea sent a wave of intrigue through Renjiro.
"It wasn't hostile. It was intriguing. Calculating. Not in the same way as the first one. This was someone studying us… but without malice." Minato continued.
Renjiro narrowed his eyes.
"Who?"
Minato exhaled. "If I had to guess… the Mizukage."
Hiruzen tapped his fingers against the table. "So we have Iwa weighing us as a threat and Kiri watching us with interest."
Renjiro exhaled through his nose.
"Looks like we'll have our hands full during the summit."
The room fell into a contemplative silence. Each of them was lost in thought.
Then, suddenly—
Hiruzen's gaze snapped toward the door.
A fraction of a second later—
Knock. Knock.
A quiet but firm knock echoed through the room.
Outside their sealed room, someone was waiting.
=====
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