Chapter 195: Ch-195 Ice throne.
Inoiki offered a faint smile as he looked at the old man. "My body heals fast. I’m a shinobi, after all."
The old man nodded knowingly. "That much was obvious the moment we found you. No ordinary man survives injuries like those. Judging by the state of your leg when we found you, I’d wager you fell from quite a height."
"You could say something like that," Inoiki replied with a shrug, not elaborating further.
Then his expression grew more serious. "Can you return my belongings?"
"Of course," the old man replied. "I’ll have Giyu bring you everything we recovered."
A short while later, the boy—Giyu—returned, carrying a small bundle in his arms. He handed over a torn, bloodstained outfit and a battered ninja pouch.
"Thank you," Inoiki said, taking the pouch. He opened it and retrieved a scroll, then formed a quick series of hand seals. With a soft puff of white smoke, a bundle of money appeared in his hand.
Giyu’s eyes widened in awe.
One—he had never seen anyone summon anything from a scroll, let alone money. And two—he had never seen that much money in his entire life. The wide stack of bills seemed almost surreal in his eyes.
At that moment, the old man re-entered the room, now carrying a tray of warm food. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the money in Inoiki’s hand, surprise flashing across his weathered face.
Inoiki calmly set the bundle down beside him on the bed and addressed the man. "I’ll need new clothes. Is there a shop nearby that sells them? If there is, could you bring me something similar to what I was wearing before?"
The old man nodded after setting the tray down. "There’s a small tailor’s shop in the village. I’ll see what I can find that matches your style."
Inoiki gave him a polite nod of appreciation. "Good. And please—keep the rest of the money from that bundle. Consider it a token of my gratitude. For saving me. For helping me."
The old man blinked, taken aback by the gesture. He looked at the bundle, then back at Inoiki, as if trying to gauge whether he was serious.
The old man looked at the bundle of money again, then slowly shook his head.
"I’m grateful for your generosity," he said quietly. "Truly, I am. You’ve given more than we could ever expect. And it’s true—we’re poor, as you can probably tell from our home and our clothes. In ordinary times, I would’ve accepted your help without hesitation."
He paused, his face darkening with frustration and helplessness.
"But these aren’t normal times. Every month, like clockwork, our homes are ransacked by so-called ’bandits.’" His voice turned bitter. "They wear the masks of bandits, but we all know who they really are—ninja from Kusagakure. They come under the guise of thugs, stealing what little we have."
Inoiki listened quietly, his gaze fixed on the old man.
"We’re powerless against them," the man continued. "The Daimyō of the Land of Grass turns a blind eye. Complaining only makes things worse—if the Kusagakure ninja catch wind that we spoke out, they make an example of us. Families have disappeared for less."
He sighed and looked toward the door, as if expecting the next raid at any moment. "They have a way of sniffing out money. We don’t know how. But if they find even a few extra coins hidden in our homes, they take everything—and if they suspect you lied, they kill the whole family."
Inoiki’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the weight of the man’s words. Then he nodded, calm but resolute.
"I understand."
He leaned forward, placing a hand gently atop the bundle of money beside him.
"But listen to me," he said, his voice low and firm. "You don’t need to hide this."
The old man looked up, startled.
"I don’t care what the other villagers might do, or what they might think. This village is where I woke up alive. You didn’t just find me—you treated me, fed me, sheltered me. That makes this place—and your family—worth protecting."
The air in the hut grew still.
"I will protect this village," Inoiki continued.
The old man opened his mouth to object, but Inoiki raised a hand.
"You don’t need to lie or hide anything. If they come and you tell them the truth—that a stranger gave you this money—they won’t dare touch you. And I promise you this—after I deal with those bandits, I’ll make sure Kusagakure knows not to lay a finger on your village again."
He leaned back, voice softening. "You probably don’t believe me right now. I wouldn’t blame you. But they will listen to me."
Inoiki glanced at the bundle again. "So keep the money, old man. Openly. If it’s stolen, that’s my loss, not yours. You’ve already done more than enough."
The old man stared at him for a long moment, the weight of years of fear and resignation clashing with a sudden, flickering hope.
After a few moments of quiet thought, the old man finally nodded and said, "Thank you... truly. I’ll do as you say."
With that, he turned and walked out of the hut, heading toward the village’s small shop to purchase clothing for Inoiki. Left alone, Inoiki turned his attention to the tray of simple food the old man had brought earlier—steamed rice, a small portion of vegetables, and warm broth. As he ate, he began making light conversation with Giyu, the boy who had first found him awake.
Giyu was shy at first, but curiosity quickly overcame his hesitation. The two exchanged a few short, pleasant words, and Inoiki found himself oddly comforted by the boy’s presence.
Roughly thirty minutes later, the old man returned, holding a neatly folded set of new clothes. It was a plain black kimono paired with black pants and a simple pair of wooden sandals.
"I brought these," he said, handing them to Inoiki. "They’re the closest I could find to what you wore before."
Inoiki nodded appreciatively and took the garments. "Thank you. You can leave me alone now—I’ll manage on my own."
The old man hesitated, concern evident in his furrowed brow. "Are you sure? Your legs—"
"I’ll manage," Inoiki said again, gently but firmly.
There was something in his eyes—calm, focused, unwavering—that made the old man step back. Without another word, he nodded and exited the hut, closing the curtain behind him.
Left alone, Inoiki floated up from the bed, rising slowly into the air by channeling his psychokinesis. The garments hovered beside him, and under the smooth control of his mind, each piece of clothing gently moved to wrap around him—his kimono adjusted, folded, and tied; his pants fitted snugly; the sandals settled over his feet, guided as though by invisible hands.
Once dressed, he extended his arm and focused his chakra once more.
From the air in front of him, a throne of glistening ice began to take shape—majestic, sharp-edged, and elegant. It formed beneath him, cold and regal, and then slowly rose, floating effortlessly under his psychic control.
The throne passed through the doorway and emerged from the hut.
Outside, both the old man and Giyu were waiting. The moment they saw him, their eyes widened in awe. Inoiki sat upright, calm and composed, surrounded by a quiet, almost otherworldly aura. He looked like something from legend—his figure commanding, his expression serene.
"Thank you again," Inoiki said, his voice warm but composed. "For saving me. For sheltering me. I owe you more than I can repay."
The old man bowed slightly, overwhelmed but sincere. "It was what I should do... as a human."
Inoiki gave a respectful nod in return.
And then, without another word, his throne lifted higher into the air, rising steadily above the village, the faint shimmer of frost trailing behind him like a breath of winter wind.
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