Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 28

The port city of Kirigakure loomed before them, shrouded in the perpetual mist that gave it its infamous moniker—the Village Hidden in the Mist. The sea breeze carried a damp chill, mingling with the distinct scent of salt and iron.

Harry and Itachi stood at the edge of the docks, their disguises perfectly in place.

Harry had transfigured their appearances with a carefully woven spell—his once wild black hair was now a dull brown, his emerald eyes reduced to a forgettable shade of dark gray. His rugged but commanding features had softened into those of an ordinary middle-aged merchant, with a beard covering half his face.

Itachi, once a striking combination of his parents’ genetics, now appeared plain, his features slightly rougher, and his signature Sharingan-colored eyes were an unremarkable muddy brown.

Their clothes matched their new personas—travel-worn tunics, reinforced boots, and satchels filled with an assortment of exotic blades and small trinkets. They looked exactly like what they claimed to be:

Merchants. Dealers in rare and foreign weapons.

But appearances alone wouldn’t be enough.

Harry had taken the precaution of enchanting two necklaces, each one designed to suppress their immense chakra reserves, ensuring that no sensor nin in Kiri would feel their presence and grow suspicious.

"A chakra cloak would’ve been seen through in minutes," Harry had explained earlier while fastening the necklace around Itachi’s neck. "But this? This doesn’t mask your chakra—it makes it seem like there’s nothing remarkable about you in the first place."

Itachi had nodded, understanding immediately. A void in chakra detection was just as suspicious as a surplus. This way, their presence would fade into the background rather than alert anyone to a forced suppression.

The guards at the Kirigakure gates were heavily armed, their spears gleaming in the fog. Unlike Konoha’s relatively lax security, Kiri treated every visitor as a potential enemy—and for good reason.

A young, sharp-eyed guard stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over them. A sensor nin, most likely.

"State your business," the guard demanded, his voice carrying the sharp edge of suspicion.

Harry smiled, a practiced merchant’s grin, and opened his arms in an easy gesture.

"Merchants, sir," he said smoothly. "Traveling from the Land of Rivers. We specialize in weapons from the West—ornate, ceremonial blades and enchanted throwing daggers. We have fine wares that may interest the noble clans of Kirigakure."

The guard's eyes flickered with mild interest. Kirigakure valued weapons above all else, and many of their noble families had personal collections of exotic blades.

Still, the man was not convinced.

"And your papers?" the guard pressed, holding out a hand.

Harry reached into his merchant satchel, producing a forged set of travel papers, meticulously crafted with the help of his magic.

The guard examined them for a long moment before finally nodding.

"Welcome to Kirigakure," he said, stepping aside. "But don’t cause any trouble. If you step out of line, the Seven Swordsmen will cut you down before you can beg for mercy."

Harry gave a light chuckle, feigning nervousness, and bowed slightly. "I assure you, we are only here for business."

With that, they stepped through the towering gates of Kirigakure no Sato.

The hunt had truly begun.

The streets were crowded with merchants and traders, their stalls overflowing with dried fish, medicinal herbs, and crude but deadly weaponry. Kirigakure had long been a place of brutality, and the people reflected that—tough, hardened, always watching their backs.

Harry and Itachi moved with purpose, keeping to the cover of their fabricated merchant personas.

"We need to find an information broker," Itachi murmured as they navigated through the winding streets. "Someone with access to the underground networks. If Danzo and Orochimaru are here, they’ll be working through Kiri’s criminal underbelly."

Harry nodded, his sharp gaze scanning the crowds.

"Not just any broker," he corrected. "We need someone who deals in high-profile secrets—shinobi affairs, black-market experimentation. If Orochimaru is hunting for bloodline limit survivors, there will be whispers."

They passed by rows of shinobi training grounds, where children barely older than ten practiced lethal swordplay.

Itachi watched them quietly.

"Their training is brutal," he remarked. "I see why Kiri’s reputation is so feared."

Harry gave a slow nod.

"The Bloody Mist didn’t get its name for nothing."

Before Itachi could reply, Harry’s gaze landed on a dimly lit establishment nestled between two larger buildings—a seedy bar with no signage, the kind that only those who knew where to look would recognize.

"There," Harry muttered.

Itachi followed his line of sight and nodded.

"Shall we?"

Harry smirked. "After you, son."

They stepped into the shadows, the mist swallowing them whole.

The inside of the tavern was dark, filled with the scent of stale ale and damp wood. Conversations hushed the moment Harry and Itachi entered, but only briefly.

The man they were looking for was seated in the far corner, surrounded by bodyguards—an older shinobi with sharp eyes and a silver streak in his hair.

Harry approached confidently, taking a seat across from him without waiting for an invitation.

The man raised an eyebrow. "You must be new here."

Harry leaned forward, his grin relaxed but his eyes sharp.

"We’re looking for someone. We heard you know things."

The broker smirked, swirling his drink. "That depends on who you’re looking for… and how much you’re willing to pay."

Harry reached into his satchel and placed a small, weighty bag on the table. The sound of gold coins clinking together was unmistakable.

"Interested?"

The man’s fingers twitched. Greed. It was always greed.

"Go on," he said, leaning in. "Who are you looking for?"

Itachi spoke this time, his voice low and controlled.

"Danzo Shimura and Orochimaru."

For a split second, the broker froze.

The silence that followed was thick, dangerous.

Then the man let out a slow breath, his smirk fading.

"You two must have a death wish."

Harry’s smile widened.

"Not a death wish, friend. Just unfinished business."

The broker studied them for a long moment before finally nodding.

"I hope you’re prepared," he murmured. "Because you’re about to walk straight into hell."

The information came quickly after that.

Danzo was indeed in Kirigakure.

He had aligned himself with Orochimaru, funding the scientist’s experiments.

Bloodline limit survivors were disappearing overnight, taken to a hidden facility on the outskirts of the village.

Kiri’s current leadership was turning a blind eye, either too afraid to confront Orochimaru or outright benefiting from his work.


It was worse than they expected.

Itachi’s fists clenched under the table.

"We move tonight," Harry said, standing up.

The broker laughed.

"You’re insane," he said.

Harry simply smiled.

"You have no idea."

With that, Harry and Itachi vanished into the mist, their true hunt about to begin.


The bustling market square of Kirigakure was alive with activity, the air thick with the scent of salt, damp wood, and the metallic tang of sharpened steel. Merchants shouted over one another, selling everything from dried fish to exotic poisons. But the most valuable commodities right now were weapons—and Harry and Itachi were here to capitalize on that demand.

Not because they needed the money.

Not because they wanted to support either side of the civil war brewing in Kiri.

But because they had a role to play.

From the moment they stepped into the city, they had felt the eyes on them. Kiri’s shinobi—silent, disciplined, and unrelenting—were watching them. Some in plain sight, some hidden in the shadows, but all with the same mission:

To observe. To analyze. To decide whether these “merchants” were worth killing.

Harry and Itachi had rented a stall in the upper district, a place frequented by wealthy merchants, noble clans, and high-ranking shinobi.

It wasn’t the kind of place where foot soldiers came looking for cheap kunai.

It was a place where money bought power, and power was displayed through excess and vanity.

Harry had designed the entire display meticulously.

Not with battle-ready blades, but with masterpieces.

Each weapon was intricately crafted, its hilt inlaid with gold, silver, and rare gemstones. Some had serpentine engravings, others bore the emblems of forgotten clans, and a few were so ostentatiously decorated that they would break under the first real clash of combat.

But that was the point.

These weapons were for showing off, not for war.

And Kiri’s richest and most powerful wanted to show off more than anyone.

It didn’t take long for the first buyers to arrive.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in dark blue robes stepped forward, flanked by two heavily armed bodyguards. His forehead protector was polished, and the clan insignia on his chest marked him as someone important.

"You’re the new weapon merchants?" the man asked, his voice deep and authoritative.

Harry smiled, adopting the persona of a humble but shrewd trader.

"Indeed, sir. We bring only the rarest, most exquisite pieces from distant lands," he said, gesturing to the display.

The man stepped closer, picking up a katana with a pure silver hilt, its blade reflecting the flickering lantern light like liquid moonlight.

"This steel… It’s flawless," the noble muttered.

"Folded five hundred times," Harry said smoothly. "Tempered with enchanted oil to prevent rusting. A weapon fit for a warlord—or a man of wealth and taste."

The noble grinned, clearly pleased.

"How much?"

"Two hundred thousand ryo," Harry said without hesitation.

One of the bodyguards choked. "That’s—"

"A fair price for a weapon that will outlive its owner," Harry cut in.

The noble considered, then nodded.

"I’ll take it. And the dagger set there."

Harry clapped his hands together, pleased, as he made the transaction.

It wasn’t about the money.

It was about credibility.

The more they blended in, the less suspicion they would draw.

As Harry handled the sales, Itachi observed everything.

This was his lesson.

A shinobi was not just a warrior. A true shinobi could become anyone, fit into any role, slip through any crowd without raising alarms.

Harry glanced at him. "See how they react? Wealth clouds judgment. Even shinobi can be blinded by greed."

Itachi nodded.

"They don’t even consider that we could be spies," he noted.

"Because we’re playing the part too well," Harry said, passing a wrapped sword to another buyer.

Itachi took note of the subtle body language of their customers, the way shinobi acted when they weren’t in combat, how noble clans carried themselves with arrogance, and how even the deadliest killers had weaknesses when they let their guard down.

This wasn’t just about gathering information.

It was about learning the art of deception.

Of course, the real work wasn’t happening at the stall.

Harry and Itachi had sent out clones—both Shadow Clones and Wood Clones—to scour the city for signs of Danzo and Orochimaru.

While they played merchants in the daylight, their doppelgängers moved through the shadows, slipping into alleyways, blending into underground markets, eavesdropping on whispered conversations.

Each clone carried a fraction of their intelligence.

Each clone could vanish and transfer information back at the slightest hint of danger.

And they were already finding leads.

One clone had overheard whispers of missing bloodline users, their families vanishing overnight.

Another had tracked unusual shipments of medical supplies to an abandoned fortress near the outskirts of Kiri—a place rumored to be a research facility for Orochimaru’s experiments.

And one clone—just one—had gotten dangerously close.

Inside a hidden bunker beneath the city, it had seen something horrifying.

Rows of prisoners in glass chambers.

Some half-transformed, others disfigured by unnatural growths.

And standing in the middle of it all—

Danzo Shimura.

The clone had relayed everything before it dispelled itself to avoid detection.

That night, as Harry and Itachi locked up their stall and returned to their rented inn, they finally spoke.

"We found them," Itachi murmured, his expression dark.

Harry exhaled slowly.

"Danzo is experimenting on bloodline users," he said.

"With Orochimaru’s help."

There was no hesitation in Itachi’s voice. No doubt.

"We end this. No more waiting."

Harry nodded. Tomorrow, they would act.

Tomorrow, Kirigakure would bleed.