Chapter 68 The Bizen Style

On the top floor of Tenshukaku Tower…

The ruler of the Land of Iron, Mifune, sat ready to meet Renjiro and his team.

In person, he looked just like Renjiro remembered from the anime—his head wrapped in bandages, wearing a formal kimono, and sitting in the traditional kneeling position on a three-step platform. His back was perfectly straight, his posture formal and disciplined.

But in real life, there was something sharper about him—like a sword drawn from its sheath, radiating quiet but dangerous strength.

Despite this, Mifune also carried himself with the calm authority of a true leader, a man tasked with keeping the samurai tradition alive in a world now ruled by shinobi.

The audience chamber was huge, stretching hundreds of square meters. Tall, decorated stone pillars stood in rows on each side, each carved with detailed, lifelike designs.

Guards stood in perfect symmetry, moving only with precision. From his raised platform, Mifune looked down on everyone in the room.

After Renjiro and his companions entered, Mifune asked in a calm voice: “How is Lord Third Hokage these days?”

It was clear he already knew about the Nine Tails incident, but had chosen not to mention it.

Renjiro bowed slightly and replied in a calm voice: “He is in excellent health, still as strong as ever. In fact, he has returned to his position as Hokage.”

Then Renjiro reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed scroll: “This is a personal letter from Lord Third. He asked me to deliver it to you, Mifune-sama.”

One of Mifune’s closest aides, Koji, stepped forward, inspected the scroll, and then handed it respectfully to his lord.

Mifune read the letter in full view of Renjiro’s party, his expression calm and steady. When he finished, he looked up and gave a faint nod.

“I see… the words of the Third Hokage are, as always, precise and to the point.”

Renjiro bowed slightly, and said in a respectful voice: “Sandaime-sama sends his regards, Lord Mifune, and hopes our villages continue to stand in mutual respect.”

“Indeed.” Mifune replied, in a deep voice: “It is good to see Konoha still values the bonds we share, even in such turbulent times.”

Renjiro gave a small smile, and continued: “A blade stays sharp only when both sides honor the steel, Lord Mifune. Konoha has not forgotten.”

Mifune’s eyes flickered briefly with approval: “Well spoken.”

They exchanged a few more courteous remarks, trading formalities in formal and polite manner, and just like that, the diplomatic mission was technically complete.

Despite the weight of the term, this was not a grand state-level envoy mission, it was more of a symbolic gesture, a political courtesy rather than a formal treaty. The process was neither long nor complicated.

In the end, Mifune’s stern demeanor softened slightly, as he said: “If you have time, stay and join me for dinner. It would honor me to host warriors of your caliber.”

Renjiro shook his head with a polite smile: “I appreciate the offer, but we must resume our mission.”

A flicker of understanding crossed Mifune’s face: “A shinobi’s duty never rests. Very well—safe travels.”

Everyone knew it was just an excuse; a famous shinobi like Renjiro had no standing to warrant a personal banquet from a nation’s ruler. Mifune took no offense and did not press further.

The meeting should have ended there, but there was one unpredictable factor in their group.

Might Guy.

True to form, Guy took Renjiro’s earlier words at face value. Just as Mifune was preparing to leave, Guy suddenly stepped forward, eyes blazing.

“Lord Mifune!” His voice rang out in the grand hall, brimming with excitement: “May I have the honor of testing my strength against the skill of your samurai?”

A stunned silence followed. The timing could not have been worse—in front of the country’s leader, such a request sounded dangerously close to a provocation.

Several samurai stiffened, exchanging sharp glances.

“Is he… challenging us?” One muttered under his breath, as his hands shifted toward sword hilts.

Renjiro felt his stomach drop: "Oh crap! Guy, you idiot!"

Leaning toward him, Renjiro said quickly in an angry voice: “What are you doing? Apologize to Lord Mifune—now!”

But Guy only gave Renjiro a wide grin: “Renjiro, the flames of youth burn brightest when tempered in the forge of battle! This is my chance!”

Renjiro pressed a hand to his face: “You’re going to get us killed…”

To everyone’s surprise, Mifune let out a short chuckle: “Haha!"

Fortunately, Mifune was not the sort to be easily offended. With a single glance, he saw through Guy’s blunt, guileless nature. There was no malice in the request, only the pure enthusiasm of a true ninja.

“Very well.” Mifune said with a faint smile: “If you wish to test yourself against my men, I will grant your request.”

Guy’s eyes lit up instantly like a child: “Really?! That’s amazing, Mifune-sama! I promise to give it my all!”

Mifune gave a short nod to his aide: “Escort him to the training grounds. Let him face the samurai.”

“Yes, Mifune-sama.” The aide replied, motioning for Guy to follow.

Guy began hopping around in excitement like a child. Even the previously offended samurai exchanged glances, their irritation melted into reluctant amusement.

“Hah… this shinobi.” One of them muttered under his breath: “He has a weird, but honest personality.”

Mifune’s gaze shifted back to the rest of the Konoha team: “And what about the rest of you? Will you join the sparring?”

Renjiro gave a polite bow and said: “I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.”

“Same here.” Kosuke added with a chuckle: “These old bones aren’t what they used to be.”

“I’ll go.” Hakuya said, stepping forward: “I can’t leave Guy alone. He might… overdo it.”

---

Leaving the Tenshukaku, Renjiro parted ways with Kosuke, who wanted to explore the capital’s unique architecture.

“Don’t get lost.” Renjiro called over his shoulder.

Kosuke waved without looking back: “You just worry about your shiny new blade. I’ll worry about not getting mugged.”

Renjiro smirked: “If you get lost, don’t expect me to come rescue you.”

With that, he turned toward his own goal—a new ninja blade.

The Bizen Style was one of the Land of Iron’s most renowned forging traditions, so finding its workshop wasn’t difficult. He stopped by a local vendor, the smell of grilled mochi wafting from the man’s stall.

“Excuse me.” Renjiro said: “where can I find the Bizen Style forge?”

The man glanced at him, then at the forehead protector tied around his brow: “Konoha, huh? You’re a long way from home. Follow the main path toward the Three Wolves Mountains. When you see the stone lanterns, head into the back valley. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” Renjiro said, giving a polite nod before continuing on.

Eventually, he reached the Bizen Style headquarters—and stopped mid-step.

“This is… it?” He muttered under his breath. For a place so famous, he had expected an imposing, prestigious complex. Instead, the headquarters was little more than a cavern carved into the rear mountainside.

Still, appearances mattered little. As he approached, a middle-aged man in his forties emerged from the shadows, eyeing him cautiously.

“You’re from Konoha?” The man asked curiously.

“I am.” Renjiro replied politely, reaching into his coat: “I’ve come on behalf of the Third Hokage.” He took out a tightly rolled scroll: “This is his personal letter for your master.”

The man took the letter, examined the seal carefully, then looked up with a small nod: “Follow me. You’ve come a long way, Leaf shinobi. Let’s get you inside.”

Renjiro fell into step beside him, glancing around at the quiet, rocky path: “You live far from the main settlements. Not exactly easy to find.”

“That’s the point.” The man replied with a faint smile: “Oh, where are my manners, Chiko Ryusui. Third son of Chiko Suishin.”

Renjiro’s brows rose: “The Great Swordsmith? The head of the Bizen Style’s Ichimonji school?”

Ryusui chuckled and said proudly: “You’ve done your homework. Yes, Suishin is not just my father and the clan head of the Chiko family. He also bears the title of Ōkatana Kajishi—an honor granted only to the most skilled smiths in the world.”

Renjiro nodded in quiet respect, but another question itched at him: “I’ve heard the name ‘Bizen Style’ before, but… what does it really mean? Is it just a technique?”

“It’s more than a technique.” Ryusui shook his head and continued: “It’s the birthplace of our forging tradition—the founding ground of a craft lineage. Think of it this way: just as all temples might trace their origin back to one ancient temple, all sword smithing styles in the Land of Iron trace their roots to Bizen.”

“I see… so it’s not just a style—it’s the source.” Renjiro’s eyes glimmered with curiosity.

Ryusui gave a satisfied nod: “Exactly. And the reason we build our forge here, so far from civilization, is simple.”

Renjiro glanced toward the barren cliffs: “To keep outsiders away?”

“That, and practicality.” Ryusui replied: “The constant hammering of iron would drive most people mad. And more importantly…” He stopped and gestured toward the dark mouth of a cavern ahead: “Beneath this cave runs a natural channel straight to an underground volcanic magma flow. That heat is perfect for forging steel of the highest quality.”

Renjiro let out a low whistle: “No wonder the blades from here are so famous.”

Ryusui gave a small, knowing smile: “We take pride in our work here. Follow me.” He guided Renjiro into a modest guest room carved into the rock: “Wait here for a moment. My father will see you shortly.”

Renjiro nodded, taking a seat. The quiet of the mountain cave was broken only by the faint, rhythmic ringing of hammers from deep within the forge.

---

After a short while, the sliding door opened. Ryusui stepped in, this time accompanied by an elderly man.

“Renjiro.” Ryusui said with a serious voice: “Meet my father, Chiko Suishin—head of the Chiko clan, and the greatest swordsmith of the Bizen Style.”

Renjiro rose to his feet and bowed deeply: “It’s an honor to meet you, Suishin-sama.”

Suishin’s sharp eyes scanned Renjiro from head to toe before he gave a small grunt. Up close, Renjiro could see the truth—Suishin’s face was deeply lined, his hands trembling ever so slightly from age.

Inwardly, Renjiro’s thoughts darkened: "This… is the man everyone calls the greatest swordsmith?"

Renjiro hid his doubt behind a polite expression, but deep inside he was thinking: "How could someone so frail, who struggles even to speak and walk, forge a weapon worthy of my needs?"

“How’s that damn monkey Sarutobi doing?” This was the very first thing the great swordsmith said to him.

Pfft!

Renjiro nearly choked, caught completely off guard.

“That’s… quite an opening line.” He muttered under his breath, a wry smile appeared on his face.

For all the tremor in Suishin’s aged voice, his tone carried a sharp edge of authority—a glimpse of the unyielding spirit that had made him a legend.

“Lord Third is, of course, still hale and strong…” Renjiro began, doing his best to praise his Hokage, layering on a string of compliments.

“Hmph!” Suishin cut him off with a snort, dismissing the flattery with a flick of his hand: “Enough of that. I didn’t invite you here to exchange pleasantries. Tell me—why have you come to my forge?”