Chapter 210 (Patreon)

The First Hokage was a leader with an exceptionally strong personality—the sort of man who perfectly embodied the hero of a passionate adventure story.

Persuading someone like him could be both incredibly easy and impossibly difficult.

On the one hand, Hashirama was trusting enough to believe almost anything someone told him without the slightest suspicion.

On the other hand, if a proposal went against his ideals or the dream he had devoted his life to, no amount of persuasion would make him accept it.

And what was Senju Hashirama’s greatest dream?

To bring peace to the world and put an end to war once and for all.

It was precisely because Kizaru understood the First Hokage’s character that he chose to approach the subject through the promise of peace and invited Hashirama to speak with him in private.

Once everyone else had left the room, Kizaru manipulated the natural energy in the surroundings and erected a barrier to prevent anyone from eavesdropping.

Hashirama watched him work, openly impressed by the precision with which Kizaru controlled natural energy.

“Lord First, I believe my uncle Danzō already told you about everything that has happened in the village over the past twenty years while you were on your way here.”

Seated across from Hashirama, Kizaru rested back in his chair.

“But before I explain what I have in mind, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

His usual carefree expression remained unchanged.

“What do you believe causes conflict and hatred between shinobi?”

Hashirama sat cross-legged with his arms folded over his chest. Bringing one hand to his chin, he fell into deep thought instead of answering immediately.

“Missions... No, that isn’t quite right. It must be competing interests,” Hashirama eventually replied, recalling his experiences during the Warring States Period. “Shinobi clans fought to protect their own survival and interests. Those battles caused casualties, and every death created even more hatred.”

“Then why do shinobi have to rely on missions to survive?” Kizaru continued.

“Because of money,” Hashirama answered without hesitation. “It takes a great deal of money to support an entire clan.”

“In that case, why can’t shinobi create wealth for themselves? Why must they accept missions in exchange for money?”

“That’s because...”

Hashirama naturally knew the answer, but the words caught in his throat.

Much like the samurai of old, shinobi belonged to a profession built around armed force and violence. They produced nothing of their own, instead relying on missions and the rewards offered for completing them.

“Because taking missions pays more than farming, and the money comes much faster,” Kizaru said, finishing Hashirama’s answer for him.

He paused briefly before continuing.

“But I don’t believe that has to remain the case. From the founding of Ninshū to the emergence of shinobi as a profession, the path was gradually led astray.”

Kizaru’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Chakra certainly possesses tremendous power in battle, but combat is far from its only use.”

“A shinobi proficient in Earth Release and Water Release could accomplish the work of dozens—perhaps even hundreds—of ordinary farmers.”

“Those who have mastered Yang Release could become the finest physicians and biological researchers in the world. If enough effort were devoted to medical ninjutsu and biotechnology, perhaps most diseases could already be cured. Perhaps we could even raise livestock and poultry that reach maturity in only twenty days.”

Kizaru spread his hands.

“If chakra were properly used to improve people’s daily lives, it could transform the entire world.”

Hashirama stared at him in astonishment.

The path Kizaru described was something he had never once imagined.

Hashirama’s original reason for creating the shinobi village system had been simple. He wanted children to receive proper education and training instead of being sent onto the battlefield at a young age, where they would be forced to fight for their lives.

At the same time, a village could serve as an organized body that accepted missions on behalf of its shinobi. Those missions could then be ranked according to difficulty, allowing shinobi to choose work appropriate for their abilities instead of needlessly throwing their lives away.

For the chaotic Warring States Period, when the average life expectancy was less than thirty years, Hashirama’s ideas had been remarkably progressive.

However, his upbringing and limited perspective had meant that every reform he envisioned remained centered around the shinobi profession.

That was simply a restriction imposed by his era and his own experiences. It did not mean the shinobi village system he created was inherently flawed or backward.

Kizaru was different.

In his previous life, he had lived in an age shaped by far more advanced ideas, science, and technology. That experience had granted him a much broader perspective. Standing upon the accumulated knowledge of those who came before him, he could introduce changes this world had never imagined.

“There’s a question I’ve been considering for quite some time,” Kizaru said. “What has the existence of the shinobi profession truly brought to this world?”

He deliberately paused.

“Eventually, I found my answer.”

“In the end, shinobi have brought nothing fundamentally new to the world. They are merely samurai with greater strength and more freedom to act.”

Hashirama finally grasped the sheer scale of Kizaru’s ambition.

Compared to the sweeping changes Kizaru envisioned, the shinobi village system Hashirama had created seemed almost insignificant.

“You intend to completely transform the shinobi profession?” Hashirama asked solemnly.

He could sense that Kizaru’s path might bring tremendous upheaval to the world.

Yet beyond that chaos, Hashirama could also see a faint glimmer of hope.

“Yes.”

Kizaru saw no reason to conceal his intentions.

“Being a shinobi should be only one of the professions available to those who wield chakra. It should never have become their only choice.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Lord First, do you truly believe that a shinobi proficient in Water Release or Earth Release would create less value by systematically studying agriculture and working the land than by completing missions?”

“I don’t know,” Hashirama admitted.

Having never farmed before, he refused to offer a careless judgment on something he did not understand.

“Your own grandson, Nawaki, has already proven it.”

At the mention of Nawaki, Hashirama’s attention immediately sharpened.

“Through his Grass Release, Nawaki has made achievements in agricultural research that are beyond any reasonable measure of value. No matter how many missions an ordinary shinobi completes, the wealth and benefits they create would still fall short of what Nawaki has accomplished.”

Kizaru’s tone remained calm, but every word carried absolute certainty.

“I would even go so far as to say that Nawaki will one day be revered as a saint throughout this world. In the future, countless people will sincerely respect him and offer him their gratitude.”

“They may build temples and shrines in his honor, raise him to the status of a god, and continue making offerings to him for generations.”

“Nawaki will...?”

Hashirama’s eyes widened.

It wasn’t that he did not want to believe Kizaru, but what he had just heard sounded far too unbelievable.

“You may not know much about agricultural production, so allow me to put it in simpler terms.”

Kizaru raised one finger.

“Take wheat, one of our staple foods. An acre of ordinary wheat produces between one hundred and three hundred kilograms per harvest. The exact amount depends on the farming methods used and the fertility of the soil.”

“However, the superior variety of wheat Nawaki developed using Grass Release can produce more than one thousand kilograms from that same amount of land.”

Kizaru looked directly into Hashirama’s eyes.

“I’m sure you understand what that means.”

Hashirama certainly understood.

The shock written across his face made that perfectly clear.

More than a thousand kilograms from a single acre!

If those seeds were spread throughout the world, wheat production could increase several times over. In theory, food would become so abundant that no one would ever have to starve simply because there was not enough to eat.

Only now did Hashirama understand why Kizaru held Nawaki’s accomplishments in such high regard.

“You’re thinking that if the wheat seeds Nawaki developed were distributed across the world, no one would ever starve again, aren’t you?”

Kizaru needed only one look at Hashirama’s expression to guess exactly what he was thinking.

Hashirama nodded eagerly. His expression was filled with excitement, along with unmistakable pride and relief at his grandson’s achievements.

“No.”

Kizaru’s answer came without warning.

“I’m afraid that isn’t what would happen.”

“Even if those seeds were distributed throughout the world, many people would still starve to death.”

Hashirama’s reaction reminded Kizaru of Nawaki.

As expected of a grandfather and grandson who shared the same blood—their thoughts and even their expressions were remarkably similar.

“Why?” Hashirama asked urgently.

“Because there are people who would never allow food to become freely available to everyone.”

Kizaru’s expression grew more serious.

“Most of the land capable of producing food is controlled by daimyō, nobles, and wealthy merchants.”

To ensure Hashirama fully understood, Kizaru decided to explain it as plainly as possible.

“Lord First, imagine that you are a noble who owns tens of thousands of acres of land. Every year, the crops harvested from that land bring you an enormous amount of wealth.”

“At the same time, by controlling the supply of food, you indirectly control all the civilians living under your rule.”

“You keep them barely fed enough to survive. Every day, they must sell their labor, their loyalty, and sometimes even their lives, all for the sake of another meal.”

Kizaru raised his hand.

“Then one day, someone comes to you with a superior variety of wheat. He tells you that these seeds can increase the yield of every acre to more than a thousand kilograms.”

“What would you do?”

“I would...”

Hashirama instinctively wanted to answer that he would accept the seeds and immediately begin planting them throughout his territory.

But the words never left his mouth.

Before, during, and after the establishment of Konoha, Hashirama had dealt extensively with daimyō and nobles. He knew their personalities and understood how they thought.

“An ambitious noble might obtain those seeds and plant them across all the land under his control,” Kizaru continued. “But he would never sell the increased supply of food cheaply to the civilians.”

“Instead, he would transport it elsewhere and sell it in markets where it would bring him greater profits.”

Kizaru’s voice remained relaxed, yet what he said felt colder with every passing moment.

“I can even tell you this much. Even if every noble began planting Nawaki’s new wheat and all of them enjoyed an unprecedented harvest, they still wouldn’t substantially lower the price of food.”

“They would sooner allow the grain to rot inside their storehouses.”

“They would feed it to livestock.”

“They would even burn it.”

“But they would never sell it cheaply to common people who couldn’t afford enough food to fill their stomachs.”

Hashirama felt as though a bolt of lightning had struck his mind.

He remained seated in stunned silence, his expression lost and bewildered.

Yet within that confusion, a tiny spark seemed to ignite.