Granting happiness used to make my heart swell

---

I lined the rifle up against the first scarecrow and pulled the trigger.

In 1995, Jason Schayot spat a watermelon seed 75 feet and a few inches, laying claim to a fancy accolade in the Guinness Book of Records. I’m pretty sure he held his spot ‘till the Eldrazi hosted a picnic on Earth, of Earth.

The Veru IV could spit a watermelon seed as far as 1300 feet. 400 meters for you metric folks. It also boasted a muzzle velocity that would see any human’s lips torn apart. And it didn’t spit watermelon seeds.

Gwah! Gwah! Gwah!

A burst of three. Its report sounded like the unholy child of a bark and a wet cough. The rounds shattered against my victim in a squall of short-lived acid that turned the left side of Mr. Scarecrow into chunks of bluish ooze, metal frame included.

“I heard that ninja and Iaido practitioners are really good at deflecting projectiles, so I put a little surprise inside the ammunition. If you happen to miss your first volley with this model, you can get fifty-seven more rounds off before you have to feed it some more.”

I backed up my claim by wasting the middle and far targets, making sure to expend my remaining shots. I wasn’t the best marksman; the last scarecrow got lucky a few times. It wasn’t recognizable by the end of my presentation, though.

The Veru IV ejected its spent cartridge amid a trail of saliva. I made a show of offering it a replacement upside down and turned in the wrong direction which the tendrils snatched up and fixed into the proper alignment.

“So.” I petted the Veru IV’s barrel. “What do you think?”

Gato recovered his composure quickly. You don’t become illegitimately wealthy by letting shock or squick curtail you for too long. “I think you’re on the right side of crazy! How many can you cook up for me in a month?” His grin was wide and crooked.

It was a known fact that Gato’s ambitions sat beyond Waves’ economic sector. He’d bought or disappeared many members of the daimyo’s court, failing only against the most devoted and paranoid. While the loyalists didn’t have enough manpower to keep peace across the many islands dotting the nation, their estates were well fortified. Ronin were incredibly rare, rogue ninja were incredibly expensive, and Gato’s band of regular old rogues were incredibly outmatched. What I dangled in front of him was a solution to a three-year deadlock.

“Around two hundred if you only want rifles, more if you want me to throw some of the smaller variants into the mix.”

We discussed pricing and some of the finer points of my artifacts. I had to consult Ryota and Makiko for several paces as I didn’t know the value of the local currency. Gato didn’t seem offended.

Meanwhile, Waraji approached the first scarecrow, scabbard inches away from the gaping hole that used to be its side. He cast me a sideways glance, there was an obvious question on his lips.

I smiled, giving him a little wave. “The reactive elements are neutralized in seconds, it's perfectly safe to touch. The goop even helps plants grow; I like to keep things eco-friendly.”

Zori, though clearly weirded out, pointed at me. “Is the huge brush a gun, too?”

“Huh?” I cocked my head to the side. “Oh! You mean Manifold Spines!” I twisted to glance at the artifact on my back. Honestly speaking, I forgot that it was there sometimes. You know, like a cowboy’s hat. It was pretty to look at, unlike anything I’d managed to make until this point. Its handle was sleek and grey. It felt like wood, but it was always comfortably warm. It tapered wider until it reached a silver ferrule, the black bristles would shed and regrow over time.

I unslung it, the strap melting into a banded grip as it cleared my shoulders. “It doesn’t do much, but it’s a family heirloom. I think. It’s been with me for as long as I’ve walked this planet.”

I thrust it at him in both hands. “The brushy part’s really soft. Here. Feel.”

I pulled back a bit just before he took it. “But…” I lingered, giving both the ronin and Gato a look. The I’m-going-to-drown-you-little-brat impatience was gone now that he had a golden egg at his fingertips; I decided to try my luck.

“Only if I get to hold your sword! Pretty please?”

In my peripherals, I spied Waraji prodding the ruined scarecrow. The weakened frame listed off to the side.

I didn’t have an ulterior motive. I just really wanted to hold the sword. The circumstances of my arrival and the visit to the daimyo’s palace dampened some of my curiosity, but it was like throwing a cup of water into a well. I wanted to see everything.

“Heck, knock yourself out.” Zori smirked as the exchange was made.

“So cool! Thank- you?” The thing clattered into my hands, taking me off balance. “It’s heavy,” I muttered.

Zori laughed, then Gato’s head exploded.

In the three months it took to develop and refine the artifacts, the only living things they were ever brought against had been chakra beasts. Wave Country had little farmland as it was and the infamous dire vole didn’t make it easy to clear up more. When Makiko pulled Gato to the side to show him one of the pistols’ “unique functions” he became a pioneer.

A hail of gunfire erupted from the tree line, slagging Waraji. To his credit, he managed to draw his sword and take a step.

No less than 16 samurai came out of concealment. They were in full gear; blue segmented plates with the national crest (if only they knew it looked like a wifi indicator) emblazoned on their chests. Three of them had one of my creations trained and ready.

Zori dropped the brush and made to draw his sword, only to find it gone. He raised his hands instead. As if that would save him.

“What happened to capturing them, Captain!?” My heart thrummed in my chest. We went over how things were to happen weeks before we knew it’d even be feasible to pry Gato into the open. We had a solid plan. This wasn’t it.

Noboru Amano, leader of the daimyo’s 3rd Guard Company strolled forward. He was a lithe man with wispy gray hair tied into a bun. He had the slightest limp. “My apologies, but Lord Tatsuhito’s will differs from yours.” He signaled one of the men behind him who fished through his gear for a handheld firework.

A sharp crack and splatter of red against the morning sky ushered forth the roar of a cannon in the distance. They were shelling Gato’s nearest hideout if I judged the direction properly.

“You’ve done wonderfully, Maru-chan.” He gave me a thin-lipped smile as he placed a gauntleted hand on my shoulder. “Let me finish cleaning up. We have a timeline to keep.”

Ronin were given less consideration than rabid dogs, hence their scarcity. That didn’t mean Zori wasn’t useful to me, though.

“Don’t you dare!” I spread my arms out, refusing to give them a clear shot. “He surrendered!”

My escorts joined the samurai who helped them into mailed vests. For a civilian that killed someone in cold blood, Makiko looked rather serene. “You two were in on this? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I would have killed that man with my bare hands if I had to,” Makiko said.

“Maybe things are different where you’re from, but we can’t afford to be civil with scum like them,” Ryota said.

I checked to see that Zori was still behind me and regretted it. Waraji and Gato’s destruction wasn’t complete. In the latter’s case, I could see the remains of his head spilling on the ground. The acid tended to cauterize impacts, but blood still bubbled out from his ear and eye.

A deep breath. Blue.

Mana had a certain “base” effect on things by nature. Simply letting it flow from my connection to the land and into my body granted calm detachment and clarity of thought. I was still repulsed by the sight, and terribly upset at everyone, but I was able to put my brain ahead of my mouth. And my stomach.

“Maru...” Noboru said, squeezing my shoulder a little. He was trying to play the part of kindly old man, but his eyes were cold.

I ignored him. Noboru was a man of honor, Tatsuhito told him to treat me like a guest of his household. He wouldn’t hurt me.

“I’m sorry about your friend and boss,” I told Zori.

“Eh. Wari wasn’t my friend.” The ronin showed no visible signs of fear. How? I didn’t understand. My insides were roiling beneath my mana trance and my life wasn’t even in danger.

“Still, I’m sorry. No one was supposed to get hurt. Would you like to work for me?”

“Yeah. “He said. “I’d prefer that over being fertilizer.”

“I know that man!” One of the samurai blurted out. “If he was worth a single ryo, he would never have turned traitor! He’s trash!”

“Then he’s my trash.” I wanted to spit at the man, but it was hard to speak with inflection at the moment. I addressed Noboru instead.

“Please tie him to a tree and leave someone behind on watch. I want to ask Lord Tatsuhito if I can have him as a favor.”

Another cannon shot. Irritation crossed Noboru’s face for the briefest instant, only to be marshaled back into the standard mask of professionalism.

No? He was probably used to shutting down nobles who thought they could whine until they got what they wanted. It’s a good thing that that wasn’t the only card I could play.

“In exchange, I’ll heal your wounded and give you a bird’s eye view of the compound. Surely you wouldn’t want any of the crooks escaping into the countryside?” A large swath of my family, my father included, were officers, both NCOs and enlisted. Heck, were my lungs not made of crap back then, I’d be among them. If the military was anything like home, an offer of good intel and medical attention would prove enticing.

Noboru sighed. “Shiro!” He called. One of the samurai stiffened to attention. “Get the restraining wire!” Success.

“Thank you very much, Captain, this means a lot to me. I have one more big favor though.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Can you stay here while I find a place to puke?”

As my Blue trance ebbed, I emptied my stomach into the lake.

---

Past the lake and the forested area beyond, horses and a wagon laid idle for our party. I made sure to recover Manifold Spines and give Shiro, the man stuck on guard-duty, the stink eye while he secured Zori. I couldn’t do anything if he decided to slit his throat while we were gone, but I wasn’t above acting like a brat to dissuade the idea.

They told me that the wagon was meant for Gato and his thugs. That was a lie. Corpses could fit well into storage seals, my creations died in them. I watched the samurai and the two people I thought I knew load up the weapons. I didn’t talk, only partly because I was still filled with a nagging kind of anger that I should have been too mature to entertain. Tatsuhito had an informant on the inside of Gato’s organization, the former man had been in contact with a number of rogue ninja, even hiring a few, but they were all apparently one-off jobs and Zabuza’s name didn’t come up once.

But information could be wrong. Or fatally outdated.

A deep breath. I felt for the mana around me. In the distance, the lake rippled as autumn leaves kissed its surface. A mother rabbit was underground, nestled up with a pair of kits. More whispers came my way, carrying Blue and Green both. My micro-meditation session managed to calm my nerves even if there wasn’t enough time to form a proper bond with the land.

Preparations complete, Noboru helped me up his horse. His armor made for good handles, if a little cold.

We rode through a damp, unpaved road. My world devolved into a clambering of metal and hooves and wood. Noboru barked orders into a small radio intermittently. While my hearing was exceptional, I had to strain myself to pick up bits and pieces of incoming chatter.

Three teams. One for each of the compounds being torn apart by the daimyo’s men. One was already breached while the overseers of the other fronts wanted to stay at range for a little while longer and soften up any resistance. I stopped listening after a while.

The air of Wave country always carried traces of the sea, it mixed oddly with the familiar scents of oil and polish. I closed my eyes for no reason in particular.

----------------------------------------

Our destination came up too fast for my liking. Though I doubt there’d ever be a pace slow enough.

Another lake, though this one only had a few of the freakishly large waterborne trees crawling skyward. At the center was what used to be a perfectly manicured islet that was host to a mansion. Well. It used to be a mansion.

The Crepitus was a long, rectangular cannon on a four-legged platform. It was just as ugly, if not more so than my small arms. No one could say that it wasn’t effective though. Few of the outer walls and warehouses were more than piles of sludge, but the mansion proper only had a few holes in it. Entry points.

I blinked as I slid off the captain’s horse. “One, two, three, four…” Five Crepiti (Crepituses?). Three more than I remember making. Other than myself, only one person could perform any of the hatchery rituals. I wasn’t pleased.

In front of the cannons, a cluster of samurai was prone, weapons fixed on the compound. Others stood behind or beside the pieces. Waiting.

A single man with a crossbow shouted something rude about their mothers from across the lake, taking a pot shot. The bolt didn’t reach halfway. The living rifles reached him just fine.

“Captain!” One of the samurai, young and unhelmeted ran to meet us. He had a banner on a pole attached to the back of his armor.

“Lieutenant Zabi.” Noboru intoned. “How fares it?”

“We have boats ready to cross, but I don’t know how many survivors are left in the compound. We can force our way in, but we might take a few casualties if there’s more than a handful of them in fighting shape. My suggestion? Wait a bit; see if the other teams can bolster our numbers just in case.”

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Noboru brushed a bit of dust off my shoulder. “Can you look inside the buildings as well as above?”

“I can.” I unslung Manifold Spines. “I need twigs, lots of them.”

A gaggle of samurai hacked away at the nearby trees, no questions asked, while Zabi and Noboru watched me work.

I pulled upon a handful of Blue and a just dash of Green before squeezing the brush’s ferrule. Purple paint bubbled through the hairs.

“This is Maru, a guest of Lord Tatsuhito.”

“Oh. Hello?” Zabi said. His voice reeked of perturbance. This wasn’t a place for a kid, and I wasn’t wearing a headband.

“Hi,” I said. I wasn’t feeling nice, cordial was the best I could do. I didn’t want to be here, and the ritual required a bit of concentration.

“Have you seen a sorcerer before, Lieutenant?”

“Can’t say I have, sir.”

“Then pay close attention, you’re in for a treat.”

I took hold of another thread of blue, not enough to fall into a trance, but enough to help me focus. The wide circles I traced into the ground needed to be as close to perfect as I could make them. The ritual would be inefficient otherwise.

By the time I was done, there were three concentric rings big enough for me to lie in the center of. The outside edges bore symbols traced from my recently acquired eidetic memory. I looked up.

Three samurai struggled to keep their arms around piles of sticks and branches.

“Thank you, but… that’s too much.” The fact that they were also too large crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to make them feel bad for being enthusiastic. It didn’t take too long to pick out what I needed, so it was okay.

I sat cross-legged with a small bounty of wood, weaving Blue and Green through the sigil at approximately a 4:1 ratio. Setting the ground alight. There were a few gasps and muttering around. I’d drawn a small crowd. Good.

“Can one of you please hold onto me, I don’t want to fall and swallow the paint. It tastes bad.”

Someone stepped over the glowing symbols to take a firm grasp of my shoulders. I closed my eyes.

“Wake now, little ones. Cast forth your gentle wings.”

The twigs twisted and stretched, binding themselves together into the image of six hummingbirds. The spaces between their forms leaked blue mist. They had no eyes to speak of, but I saw through them all.

Into the air they (I? We?) sprung. One of the flock rose above the others, beholding the entirety of the compound and the land beyond. For a moment, it was distracted by how gorgeous the world looked from the sky. There was a certain bend where the sea met the horizon. The sun had fully risen now, glistening against naked tides.

Another darted forth. A rush of wind. It twisted through holes made into one, then two, then three walls, followed shortly by a brother. They combed through lounges that smelled of smoke and harsh drinks. The first group was easy to find. Forty-three men armed with bladed weapons, bows, and a single musket. The screaming of a Forty-fourth, not entirely whole, gave them away. It was a little more trouble finding the rest but find them they did.

Maru felt himself flinch as the third construct he sent burst apart. One of Gato’s men struck it with an axe. It hurt, but not on a physical level.

One of the flock landed on Noboru’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Ninety-six by his count.” He said.

Apparently, it was enough for the thirty-two samurai to dispatch with confidence. Four stayed behind to provide covering fire for the boats, not including Zabi or the captain.

It wasn’t a fair fight.

Some went in with Maru’s pistols, but most just used their swords. The screaming, the pleading, the desperate attempts at retaliation. The flock witnessed it all. They guided the armored men to anyone who tried to run or hide.

There were no prisoners.

I released the ritual, the birds breaking apart into ash. The last one trembled as it tried to return to me, a result of using more mana than necessary. The ratio was still off. The bird nestled against my cheek, lingering long enough for me to say thank you before it too, was no more.

“Captain Noboru?”

“Yes?”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No.”

“Ah, that’s good.”

I flung myself at the edge of the lake. My stomach had nothing to dump so I dry heaved for a bit.

“How can you do that to people!?” I hiccupped. My eyes and nose burned.

“We don’t like it. I don’t know anyone that does.” Noboru said. His voice was steel. “But cruelty in the field means that our lord and his subjects get to lie in their beds without fear.”

Of course. I already knew the answer. I’d heard some variation of the same many times over. I’d never truly understood what kind of horror they tolerated, though. Not until today. I could still smell the blood. Why was I ever disappointed at my inability to serve?

----------------------------------------

I only needed to heal four men and didn’t need to perform another scrying ritual. The other two compounds proved far easier to crack. They were storage and distribution centers, large ones, but not the only ones. Noboru assured me that the operation would go a long way. They’d recovered quite the haul of liquid and solid assets. Gato named no inheritors, it was federal property.

In silence we rode and sailed back to the daimyo’s district, my only source of White mana at the moment. The sun fell before we arrived. Still, paper lanterns ensured that regal blue roofs could demand the attention of all.

Every lawn was strewn with flowers of many colors. Kimonos and more exotic garments flittered about with no real urgency. Some of their owners spared Noboru and I the odd greeting or glance, others stopped at stalls hawking candy or grilled meat. Yet others chattered amongst themselves or simply enjoyed the sound of the glinting river that weaved through this molded garden of tranquility.

Somewhere, a koto sang.

We crossed through three gates before we reached the palace proper. A pair of guards rendered bows of respect to the captain at each.

Eventually, an old steward decked in deep blue and gold intercepted us, it was time to part ways.

“His Eminence would have words with you.” The steward said.

I chewed my tongue. I would have words with His Eminence.

It was a grave offence to meet my gods-ordained better soiled by sweat and dirt, so I was made to bathe. They even sent a maid to fuss after me. Puberty had yet to bare its teeth, so it was a lot less awkward than it could have been.

They never could manage to find a “fashionable” solution to my natural hair, so the maid tried to make do with sweet-smelling gel and a delicate brush. I let her try until it looked like she might have a small panic attack. We both needed to be put out of our misery. No, you did a wonderful job. Yes, I’ll tell Lord Tatsuhito the same.

Go away.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed being pampered. The occasion was just a bit more sour than I was used to. I simmered while I scrubbed my face one more time and slipped on a green yukata. They remembered my favorite color. Yay.

Finally, I was steered into a small meeting room. There was a low table with tea and soft pillows. One of which was filled by The Sea’s Will Made Flesh. The One Favored by the Tides. The Daimyo of Wave Country.

He had the black hair and eyes, but his features were more subtle than what the show series depicted of the now almost-extinct Uchiha. He wore a long-sleeved kimono that looked too stuffy to wear indoors.

Oh, and a member of his elite personal guard stood to the side. A woman with long purple hair and severe eyebrows. Her name was Shiori. She was nice.

When I first met my host, he asked me to guess his age.

I said 30.

He said 26. Just three years older than my actual age, and the head of an entire country. I didn’t envy him.

He didn’t expect to take up the position for another decade at the least, but his father suddenly passed a year before my arrival. The public story was a freak illness. Tatsuhito said it was poison. Gato’s fingers were long and scratched many times a day. It was only a matter of time before he got lucky.

“If it isn’t my young friend! I’m glad to see you returned to me safe and in good health!” His voice was light. Mirthful. I used to like the sound.

He waited. I waited. Shirori pressed her thumbs against her palms.

My breath hitched. I didn’t want to yell. I really didn’t want to yell. Mental fortitude, it seemed, had at least some chemical components. Bits and pieces that this body had no true control over. I wanted to act as cool-headed as him, to fight on an even level, but it took all my willpower to not unravel and embarrass myself. My face was too hot, my eyes were too wet, and I failed for the seventh time to throw myself into a Blue trance which only made me more frustrated!

“You broke your promise!”

“Maru-chan!” Shiori started, only to be silenced by a raised hand from Lord Lying Liar Who Lies.

“Drug labs, forced labor camps, human trafficking rings! Gato knew the locations of them all! He was our best lead to a quick and safe series of rescues, but now those operations going to go to ground or pack up and move! Young people! Women! Children! They’re going to suffer needlessly because you wouldn’t stay your sword for a few months at the most!

“I didn’t want to make the stupid guns! But you promised that they’d be only used as a threat if I could devise a way forward with minimal bloodshed! You promised! You promised and I believed you!”

I yelled at him more. A lot more. It didn’t feel good, but by the time I was done, I was too tired to continue.

Somewhere in my rant, I’d abandoned the seiza position (the uncomfortable knee sitting thing). I slammed my head against the table. It was only Shiori’s quick thinking that saved the tea.

“Maru. I may have kept certain details in my cloak, but I’ve never broken a single promise. Not to you. It hurts me to see you upset. But I can’t offer you an apology.”

He motioned for Shiori to put the tea back in its proper place. He took a sip. “I gave your scheme careful consideration, I even posed it to my advisors as an idea of my own. They said, ‘my lord, your idea is well thought out for one so new to the game. Well thought out, but unworkable.'

“My court isn’t the most secure of the Elemental Nations. You know this. A man like Gato would have a chance to escape our clutches if I had command over the gates of hell themselves. Even if we could hold on to him, he may have fed us unactionable, or even false intelligence.”

“You’ve made a power vacuum, you know. Killing that man.” I tried.

“Yes. That was my intention.” Tatsuhito said. “The bolder rats will try to make a name for themselves in the near future, and the wayward among the nobility will scramble to deal with them. There will be unrest for a time.”

“Which is why you’ve been running the hatchery behind my back.”

“Indeed. Your armaments hold terrible power, but the number you provided would never be enough to put down the last of that man’s dogs in good time. With the funds we’ve appropriated, and the hatchery running at full capacity, we can raise a battalion of- what was the word you used? Ah, yes. Fusiliers. In a shred of the time it takes to train the same number of samurai. With the leftovers, we can even afford to hire ninja with the ability to discern those who are truly loyal to Wave Country.

“I promised to root out the corruption plaguing this land in a manner that spills as little blood as possible. This is the way. If we act now, quickly, and with hardened hearts, our people will be safe before the harvest season ends.”

Our? I lifted my head. The earthy scent of the tea reminded me that I hadn’t had food for a while.

Tatsuhito sensed the question. “Yes, our.” He produced a small curved scabbard gilded in silver. Pretty, but impractical. A symbol of office.

“There will be a number of vacancies in the noble estates soon, including a place for you, where you will want nothing for as long as you live. Please. Walk by my side.”

I stood. I don’t know if my legs wobbled because my knees hurt, or because I hurt. It was probably both. I didn’t want to accept his answer, and I was done playing court magician.

“Lord Tatsuhito, He Whose Will is the Waves. Live forever.” I slipped into the formal address because it signified distance. It was stupid of me, childish even. But I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt my friend. “Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for letting me confide in you when I was lost. Thank you for putting your trust in me. But I regret that we must part ways for a time.”

“I cannot allow it, Maru.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“Can’t,” Tatsuhito said. “Wave Country is about to become dangerous. I’ll be damned if you were harmed as a consequence of my own designs. You may be a planeswalker, but you’re still human. A knife to the ribs while your guard is down will end your life. I will not ask you to develop more weapons for me. I will not ask you to help my men.”

Tatsuhito looked away. “And… if you ask it of me, you will never have to see my face again. But you will not leave the district until I’m confident that you can do so unmolested. Take some time to reconsider my offer. I’ve arranged for a guard detail from the Hidden Leaf to keep you safe in the meantime. Shiori.”

As bidden, the samurai slid open the door at her side of the room.

A man, lightly tanned with roguish features bowed. “Good evening. I am Asuma Sarutobi, Jonin Instructor of Team Ten.” He smiled, placing his hands on the heads of two familiar kids out of three. The left one, rotund with swirly tattoos at his cheeks, giggled. The other squawked about her long platinum hair. The middle one with a sharp chin and tired eyes stretched his neck out and yawned.

I knew them all, but they introduced themselves anyway.

“Choji Akimichi! How are you?”

“Ino Yamanaka! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“Shikamaru...”

“Is this your first C-rank?” I asked bluntly.

“Don’t worry,” Asuma said. “My team is competent. I'd stake my life on it.”

I was worried.

I was very worried.