It's been an hour since I woke up, and the reality of yesterday's events still feels surreal. Just one day ago, I married Itsuki Uzumaki, a woman I'd never met. She has striking red hair and porcelain-white skin, and, to add to the strangeness, she's four years older than me. Everyone assumes we're living a normal life, but I know the truth: I'm trapped in Whirlpool Country, a place destined for destruction in a few years. Ironically, just yesterday I was thankful to be far from this place. You see, I was a daimyo of Iceland, a land known for its black smith, unique ice bloodline, and the rare chakra metals mined within its Frozen bepths, in this crumbling nation, is a cruel twist of fate
Iceland possesses abundant "chakra metal," far superior to regular metal in chakra conductivity. This allows shinobi to channel chakra through weapons with greater power and precision.
"Daimyo- sama. Commander wanna to see your audience. "
"Take him in. "
Take him in."
"Yes, Daimyo-sama."
The heavy doors groaned, parting to reveal a vast chamber swallowed by shadows. A cloying sweetness, the scent of roses (or "roces," as it lingered), mingled with the sharp, clean aroma of polished white stone. At the room's furthest reach, a lone figure stood, starkly outlined against the wavering glow of an oil lamp. He was a mountain of a man, his shoulders broad, his face a landscape of weathered lines, etched with stern authority. Yet, in the depths of his eyes, a flicker danced, an emotion too subtle to decipher.
"Daimyo-sama," his voice, rough and resonant, filled the chamber, commanding attention. "I am Commander Haruki. We have grave matters to address." With a sweep of his hand, he indicated a low table, where a detailed map of the surrounding territories lay unfurled. "Iceland Country stands on a precipice. We are beset by dangers, both internal and external."
The paleness of the stone, almost a spectral white, seemed to amplify the dimness. A subtle, almost imperceptible toll echoed, a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate from the very height of the chamber's vaulted ceiling, a subtle pressure that seemed to add to the weight of the moment. Outside, a relentless snowstorm raged, muffling the world in a white, isolating shroud, a stark contrast to the warm, rose-scented air within. The snow's silent assault pressed against the thick stone walls, a constant, chilling reminder of the country's vulnerability.
"The whispers," Haruki began, his voice low, "they speak of discontent amongst the Kaze-no-Shinobi clan. They claim the recent tax hikes, imposed to bolster our defenses, are crippling their livelihood. They see it as a sign of weakness, Daimyo-sama, a moment to seize control."
The Daimyo, his gaze fixed on the map, traced a finger along the winding lines that represented the Kaze-no-Shinobi territory. "The Kaze-no-Shinobi... a clan known for their swift strikes and unwavering loyalty, or so it was believed. What evidence do you have to support these claims?"
"Intelligence gathered from our network," Haruki replied, his voice grave. "Meetings held in secret, coded messages intercepted, and the sudden disappearance of several key clan members. They are preparing, Daimyo-sama. They believe your recent ascension is a sign of instability, a chance to restore what they perceive as their rightful place."
"And what of the external threats?" the Daimyo inquired, his voice sharp. "Which nations are poised to strike?"
"The remnants of the Yami-no-Kage, a rogue ninja group, are amassing on our southern border. They are known for their ruthlessness and their ability to manipulate shadows, making them difficult to track. And to the east, the Iron Nation has been making aggressive movements, deploying their samurai forces closer to our borders than is considered acceptable. They claim it is for training purposes, but we know better."
The Daimyo sighed, a heavy sound in the tense silence. "Two fronts, and internal strife. A delicate balance indeed. What are your recommendations, Commander?"
"For the Kaze-no-Shinobi, a show of force is necessary, but carefully calculated. We must demonstrate our resolve without igniting a full-scale rebellion. A public display of your strength, perhaps a demonstration of your own abilities, could quell their doubts. For the external threats, we must strengthen our defenses, deploy our shinobi forces to patrol the borders, and establish alliances with neighboring villages if possible. We require immediate action, Daimyo-sama. Time is not on our side."
"And the root of this discontent, the tax hikes?" the Daimyo questioned.
"Necessary, Daimyo-sama," Haruki stated firmly. "Without the additional funds, we cannot adequately defend our borders. However, perhaps a temporary reduction could be considered, coupled with a clear explanation of the necessity for these measures. A show of understanding, but not weakness."
"Very well," the Daimyo said, his voice decisive. "Begin preparations for a demonstration of my abilities. Send a message to the Kaze-no-Shinobi, inviting their leaders to witness it. Dispatch shinobi patrols to the borders, and send a diplomatic envoy to the Iron Nation. And prepare a detailed report on the financial situation, outlining the necessity of the tax hikes and potential alternatives."
"...As you command, Daimyo-sama," Haruki replied, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "We will not fail."
A heavy silence fell over the war room, the flickering candlelight casting long, dancing shadows on the map spread across the table. The sheer disparity in numbers was a cold reality. 7,000 samurai and 1,000 ninja against their own 2,500 and 500. Yet, the Daimyo's eyes held a steady resolve.
"Haruki," the Daimyo began, his voice low and deliberate, "prepare the demonstration. I will showcase the true power of Iceland, the power they underestimate. We will gather the Kaze-no-Shinobi leaders at the border line which is known as war zone line grounds, the one carved into the glacier's face. The sheer scale of my technique will leave no room for doubt."
"And the border patrols, Daimyo-sama?" Haruki asked, his brow furrowed. "The Yami-no-Kage and the Iron Nation will not wait for our internal affairs to settle."
"Send the elite Jonin, all ten," the Daimyo commanded, his voice hardening. "They are our shield. Split them. Four to the southern border to intercept the Yami-no-Kage. Three to the eastern border to observe and delay the Iron Nation's advance. The remaining three will remain as a personal guard and for rapid deployment if needed."
"And the 7 Jonin of the opposing force, Daimyo-sama?" Haruki asked.
"They are a threat, but not insurmountable," the Daimyo replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "They may have numbers, but we have skill and a resolve they cannot match. We will use the terrain, the glacial ravines, and the unpredictable weather to our advantage. Send the remaining ninja to scout and disrupt their supply lines, hit and run tactics. We must make them bleed for every inch of ground."
"The envoy to the Iron Nation?" Haruki inquired.
"Send a message, not an envoy," the Daimyo said, his eyes flashing. "Tell them their 'training exercises' are a blatant act of aggression. Tell them we are prepared to defend our borders with every last drop of Icelandic blood. And make sure they understand that we know the true intentions of the Yami-no-Kage, and that we will not tolerate any alliance with them."
Haruki nodded, his expression grim. "It is a bold move, Daimyo-sama. But it may be the only way to buy us time."
"Time is a luxury we cannot afford," the Daimyo said, rising from the table. "We will make time. Prepare the demonstration, Commander. We will show them the true meaning of Icelandic fury."
As Haruki bowed and left the war room, the Daimyo turned to the map once more, his fingers tracing the icy contours of his homeland. He knew the odds were stacked against them, but he also knew the strength of his people, the resilience forged in the harsh, unforgiving landscape. They would not yield. They would not break. And they would not be conquered.
The Daimyo, Izuku, felt a strange surge of energy coursing through him, a whisper in his mind that spoke of a "Welcoming Package." As the sensation subsided, an understanding bloomed within him, a knowledge of movements and forms unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Sword techniques of breathtaking speed and elemental power filled his thoughts – the flowing grace of Water Breathing, the explosive force of Flame Breathing, the sharp precision of Sound Breathing, and many more, each a distinct and deadly art. It was as if he had lived lifetimes mastering the blade in a hundred different styles.
Later that evening, Izuku summoned Commander Haruki to his private chambers. The room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp, casting long shadows that danced with the unspoken tension in the air. Izuku sat behind a low table, a newly crafted scroll laid out before him. Its paper felt strangely smooth, almost otherworldly to the touch.
Haruki entered, his usual calm demeanor tinged with a hint of curiosity after the Daimyo's unusual summons. He knelt respectfully before Izuku.
"Haruki," Izuku began, his voice carrying a newfound weight, "I have come into possession of… knowledge. Knowledge that can turn the tide of our current predicament. Knowledge of sword techniques of immense power."
Haruki looked up, his eyes widening slightly. "Daimyo-sama?"
Izuku unrolled the scroll, revealing intricate diagrams and elegant script that seemed to shimmer in the lamplight. "These are… Breathing Styles. Techniques that focus one's inner energy, their very life force, to enhance their swordsmanship to levels beyond human comprehension. They are not mere forms, Haruki, but pathways to unlocking devastating power."
He pointed to the first set of diagrams. "This is Water Breathing. It emphasizes fluidity, adaptability. Each form mimics the movement of water – flowing, crashing, defending, and striking with relentless force. The training for this style begins with rigorous physical conditioning to build stamina and flexibility. They must learn to move like water, to feel the flow of their own energy and the movements of their opponent."
Izuku then moved to the next section. "This is Flame Breathing. A style of aggressive, burning strikes. It requires immense strength and a fiery spirit. The forms are direct, powerful, meant to overwhelm the enemy with sheer force and heat. Training involves intense muscle conditioning and drills focused on explosive power and relentless offense."
He continued, detailing several other Breathing Styles – Thunder Breathing with its lightning-fast strikes, Wind Breathing with its slicing gusts, and Stone Breathing with its unwavering defense. For each style, Izuku explained the core principles, the general movements, and the kind of physical and mental discipline required for its mastery.
"These scrolls contain the fundamental forms and principles," Izuku explained, his gaze intense. "The true mastery will come through rigorous training and the individual's own understanding and adaptation. You, Haruki, are my most trusted commander. I entrust these techniques to you. Select our most loyal and skilled samurai and ninja. Begin their training immediately. Focus on those with the discipline and spirit to truly grasp these arts."
Haruki listened intently, his initial surprise giving way to a profound sense of awe and the weight of the task before him. He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against the strange, potent script on the scroll.
"Daimyo-sama," Haruki said, his voice filled with determination, "I understand the gravity of this. We will select the most promising individuals and dedicate ourselves to mastering these Breathing Styles. Iceland will become a fortress of unbreakable swords."
Izuku nodded, a spark of hope igniting within him. "The time is short, Haruki. The fate of Iceland may very well rest on the edge of these blades. Begin at once."
As Haruki carefully rolled up the scroll, a new sense of purpose filled the room. The whispers of discontent and the looming threat of external forces now faced a potential countermeasure, a hidden power waiting to be unleashed through the dedication and discipline of Iceland's warriors, guided by the extraordinary knowledge bestowed upon their young Daiwisel
A notification echoed in Izuku's mind, a clear, digital chime that seemed out of place yet undeniably real.
[System Notification: Congratulations, Daimyo! 20,000,000 Gold Coins have been deposited into your Dimensional Inventory.]
Izuku blinked, momentarily taken aback amidst the gravity of his conversation with Haruki. A "Dimensional Inventory"? He focused his will, a nascent understanding of this "system" guiding him. In his mind's eye, a shimmering, ethereal space unfolded. It was vast and empty, save for a colossal mountain of golden coins that seemed to stretch into the non-existent ceiling. The sheer volume was staggering, a wealth beyond anything he had ever imagined.
He recalled the currency exchange rates the system had provided, almost as an afterthought:
* 1 Platinum Coin = 2.5 Gold Coins
* 1 Gold Coin = 25 Silver Coins
* 1 Silver Coin = 50 Copper Coins (Nikul)
Twenty million gold coins… his mind raced, calculating the implications. This was an astronomical sum. In terms of silver coins, it was five hundred million. In the smallest denomination, nikul, it was a staggering twenty-five billion. Even converting it to the highest denomination, platinum, it still amounted to eight million platinum coins.
Returning his focus to the present, Izuku maintained his composure as Haruki carefully secured the scroll of Breathing Styles. He couldn't reveal the sudden influx of wealth just yet, not until he fully understood the capabilities and limitations of this "system." However, the knowledge of this hidden resource sent a jolt of relief and possibility through him. The crippling tax hikes that had fueled the Kaze-no-Shinobi's discontent… perhaps there was now another way.
Once Haruki had departed, Izuku re-entered his mental space. He focused on the mountain of gold. Could he… interact with it? He willed a single coin to appear before him in the real world. A faint shimmer later, a solid, weighty gold coin materialized in his palm. It was intricately stamped with a design he didn't recognize, but the precious metal was undeniably real.
A wave of possibilities washed over him. This wealth could fund the training of the new Breathing Style users, equip them with the finest swords and armor, and potentially even alleviate the burden of the recent taxes. He could invest in infrastructure, strengthen their defenses, and perhaps even forge alliances through strategic displays of generosity.
However, Izuku also recognized the potential dangers. Such a sudden influx of wealth could breed corruption and attract unwanted attention. He would need to be discreet, strategic, and wise in its deployment.
For now, the priority remained the demonstration of his own strength and the commencement of the Breathing Style training. But the knowledge of the twenty million gold coins in his dimensional inventory was a powerful secret, a hidden ace in the hole that could very well determine the future of Iceland. The system, it seemed, had offered not just power, but also the means to secure it. Now, it was up to him to wield both wisely.