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Chapter 151: Temptation by the Falls
🕑 Added 2025-11-27 15:32:13 +0000 UTCWe lingered in the Land of Waterfalls longer than strictly necessary.
Partly because the terrain was kinder.
Partly because I saw no gain in rushing Kanna and Karin through endless stone and ash.
Partly because I was tempted.
Tempted to visit Takigakure.
This was the closest I had been to a tailed beast I could reasonably access. The Seven-Tails would surely allow my chakra to reach entirely new levels, my power to go from just S-rank to beyond that—to the level of Pain, and even Madara before his supposed death.
With that, I would be invincible in this current age. I could carry out my plans with no worry…
But it wasn’t without its downsides.
Claiming that beast would make Zetsu’s plans a whole lot more difficult. Not impossible, but difficult. It was also likely that any attempt at infiltrating Isshiki’s organization would be compromised.
Something I couldn’t allow.
I needed to eliminate him, and preferably before Zetsu moved forward with his plan, which only gave me less than twenty years.
Not long at all.
So while I knew I couldn’t go and claim that part of my chakra… the temptation still slowed my steps and made me take a longer, more scenic route.
…
On the nineteenth day inside Waterfall territory, we reached a broad lake fed by a waterfall that thundered down from a high cliff. Mist drifted across the surface in shimmering sheets, turning the air cool and refreshing.
Kanna froze at the sight.
“It’s… beautiful,” she whispered.
Karin’s reaction was far less poetic—she squealed and slapped her tiny hands on Kanna’s shoulders in rapid excitement.
I scanned the area with my Byakugan—habit, not caution.
No threats.
Just water, stone, and calm civilians fishing at the far end of the lake.
Good.
“We will rest here,” I said.
Kanna blinked, surprised. “Really? Here?”
“Yes.”
She smiled softly—relieved, happy, overwhelmed. It was hard to tell with her sometimes.
I set up a small camp at the edge of the lake: a bench of polished stone, a flat table for food, and a shaded slab raised for Karin to sit on while she played. Earth Release made such conveniences trivial.
Kanna had gotten used to this by now, so with practiced ease she unsealed item after item from a sealing scroll. Tablecloths, clothes, cushions for the hard benches, fine plates and cutlery, real glassware to drink from.
Expensive storage boxes were also unsealed, each a marvel of sealwork that allowed one to keep food stored fresh. They weren’t that big, and the price meant only nobles really used them.
Which naturally meant we used them.
While she did that, I watched over Karin, who had promptly rolled off the blanket Kanna had spread out for her. She had found herself a small pebble and, like all small children did, tried to put it into her little mouth.
With a faint smile, I reached forward and flicked the pebble from Karin’s hand with a bone needle thinner than a hair.
“No,” I said simply.
Karin blinked at me.
Then squealed again.
…
We ate, we rested, and for a time, nothing tried to kill us. It was almost… peaceful.
Karin crawled toward the water again, captivated by the crashing falls above us. The sound clearly fascinated her. Each time the water hit the lake with a roaring splash, she squealed and lifted her hands as if applauding nature itself.
Kanna flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry… she’s just so excited.”
“She is fine,” I said.
I stood, brushed off my robe, and stepped toward the lake’s edge.
As the waterfall thundered above, I raised one hand—not dramatically, not forcefully. Just a simple outward gesture.
Chakra filled my palm, invisible but unmistakable.
The waterfall… slowed.
Kanna gasped softly.
The water thickened like syrup, its descent turning sluggish.
Then slower.
Then slower still.
Karin stared, jaw hanging open.
And for a brief heartbeat, the waterfall stopped—suspended in midair like a pillar of glass, droplets hovering weightlessly.
Karin shrieked with delight.
The suspended water trembled. A few droplets drifted upward, caught in the gentle eddies of chakra pressure.
“It’s incredible,” Kanna whispered.
“It is just chakra control,” I corrected. “Nothing more.”
With a flick of my wrist, the pressure shifted again.
The waterfall restarted all at once—roaring back to life in a thunderous curtain.
Karin clapped wildly.
Kanna laughed under her breath, a sound so rare from her that even I paused.
“She loves it,” Kanna said, almost in awe.
Karin scrambled toward me with open arms—her version of asking for more.
I lifted a hand.
Chakra in my fingertips brushed the lake’s surface.
The water rose in smooth spirals—thin ribbons winding upward like serpents made of liquid silver. They looped around Karin, careful not to touch her, forming dancing shapes.
Karin squealed and reached, her tiny fingers brushing the surface of a spinning loop.
It rippled gently under her touch.
Kanna pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes bright with something fragile and aching.
“Kaguya-hime…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re… you’re so gentle with her.”
I tilted my head.
“Children are precious,” I said simply. “And I guess, they have always been a weakness of mine.”
Indeed, I had to admit that children were my weakness.
Or rather, my children were.
Just like the version of me who moved to embrace Naruto and Sasuke as soon as she saw them after coming out of her seal. I was naturally far less affected by them now, having had time to come to terms with everything. But at my heart, I, Kaguya Ōtsutsuki, was a woman who loved her children, even if they didn’t love her back.
“You… you still miss your children?” Kanna asked carefully.
“No mother wouldn’t,” I said. “But I know they picked their own path, one that led away from me. I don’t blame them; if anyone is to blame, it is that toad who led them astray.”
A chill went through the clearing as I couldn’t help but release my killing intent when I thought about that damned toad.
If not for him, none of that back then would have happened.
I quickly calmed myself, not wanting to upset the other two. They might not be sensitive to killing intent, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t feel something was wrong.
…
Even late into the afternoon, we remained by the lake.
I had performed a few more tricks for Karin, showing both her and Kanna the more wondrous side of chakra—one people rarely used, since everyone who mastered it used it for killing one another.
Even using Earth Release to make proper camps like I did wasn’t common, despite its usefulness.
The shinobi were trapped in their current mindset, one they had been in for generations: that chakra was for killing and staying alive. Any other use was a waste.
Foolishness—but then again, they were largely fools, serving powerless nobles rather than ruling the lands themselves. If that wasn’t the height of foolishness, then what was?
The sun was starting to set, and normally I wouldn’t sleep outside, even if we had tents, but today I would make an exception, because Karin had really enjoyed her time here. Even now, as Kanna tried to wash her hands, Karin tried to splash her back.
That little one had plenty of energy. She would grow strong in the future.
Part of me wanted to say she would be a good shinobi, an excellent kunoichi, but that wasn’t what I wanted for her.
I didn’t want her to be a shinobi. In my world there would be no such thing.
Really, using my noble chakra to be little more than killers… a waste beyond wastes.
But that did mean I would have to either find a new path for chakra users… or collect all chakra inside myself again.
One would be difficult.
The other would make me the enemy of the entire world. And if I chose the path of a villain, then I would likely have fate itself turn against me, because we all knew: villains never won.
If they did, it was because they weren’t the villain in the end.
I was drawn out of my thoughts as my Byakugan caught a few chakra signatures moving toward our direction, and they were doing so quickly and deliberately.
I couldn’t help but sigh.
It didn’t take much guesswork to figure out who these signatures belonged to.
Shinobi of Takigakure.
Likely drawn here by the bloodlust I’d flooded the area with. Kanna and Karin might not be able to pick up on it right away since it wasn’t directed at them, but any half-decent shinobi would have noticed it from far away.
And these clearly had.
Kanna didn’t notice them yet. She was too busy wrestling Karin’s hands away from the lake.
“No—Karin, sweetie, you can’t—please just stay still—”
Karin kicked her foot and splashed water all over her mother’s lap.
Kanna squeaked.
Karin giggled.
That was the moment the three Waterfall shinobi broke through the treeline and skidded to a halt at the lakeshore.
Their eyes widened at the sight of us—fine silks, a blindfolded woman sitting calmly beside a rippling lake whose surface still shimmered unnaturally from residual chakra, a mother and child resting peacefully at a stone table.
They didn’t recognize me.
Not at first.
They simply sensed danger.
“Identify yourself,” the lead shinobi demanded. “And state your purpose in Waterfall territory.”
His tone was calm, but his chakra spiked sharply.
I didn’t bother standing.
“Traveling,” I answered.
He blinked. “Traveling… through Takigakure land?”
“Yes.”
Kanna froze mid-motion, holding Karin awkwardly in her arms. Her eyes darted between me and the operatives, panic starting to bloom.
Another shinobi, younger, nudged the leader and whispered urgently, “Captain… the blindfold. The chakra feel. That could be—”
The third shinobi flipped open a battered bingo book, turning pages with shaking fingers.
It took only a few seconds before he found the sketch.
Before his face drained of all color.
“C–Captain,” he croaked, turning the book around.
The leader’s eyes flicked down.
Then widened.
Then very carefully returned to me.
“…Kaguya-hime,” he said slowly. “Rank: S. Status: rogue. Extremely dangerous. Do not engage.”
Kanna stiffened like a struck deer.
The other shinobi gulped audibly.
I remained seated, unbothered, one elbow resting on the stone slab I’d shaped earlier.
“You are far from your last confirmed sighting,” the captain said, rallying whatever courage he had left. “What business do you have here?”
“Passing through,” I repeated calmly.
“That is… not acceptable,” he tried. “This is Waterfall jurisdiction. We cannot simply allow a high-threat rogue to wander freely.”
“You are not allowing anything,” I replied, finally lifting my chin in his direction. “I am walking.”
The man’s jaw clenched.
“You must leave quickly,” he said. “Immediately. For the safety of our people.”
“I will leave,” I said, “when I choose to.”
The lake seemed to still.
Even the waterfall’s roar felt quieter.
The captain’s chakra flared with anger—offense—fear—but he swallowed it all down because reality was reality, and he was not suicidal.
“Do you realize where you are?” he tried again, voice tightening. “This is the Land of Waterfalls. We do not permit—”
“You permit nothing.”
I let the words drop like cold stones.
“You do not have the strength to stop me. You do not have the authority to order me. And your so-called Kage would not dare provoke someone of my current standing.”
All three shinobi flinched.
Kanna stared at me, horrified and awed all at once.
The captain swallowed, fists trembling at his sides.
“You are… dangerously arrogant,” he said tightly.
I tilted my head, unconcerned.
“No. Just correct.”
Tension thrummed through the clearing like a taut wire. The man looked at his subordinates, as if silently asking whether they stood any chance at all.
They did not.
Finally, through clenched teeth, he forced the only answer possible:
“…Very well. But cause no trouble within our lands.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
His nostrils flared—but anger meant nothing without power behind it.
He turned sharply.
“Waterfall, withdraw.”
The three shinobi leapt into the trees and vanished without another word, though I could feel the heat of their resentment long after they were gone.
Silence drifted back into place.
Kanna swallowed hard. “K–Kaguya-hime… weren’t you afraid to anger them?”
I turned my head toward her, mild amusement tugging at my lips.
“Kanna,” I said softly. “Fear exists only for those who lack power to enforce their will.”
She looked down, hugging Karin a little closer.
I continued:
“That is why nobles rule. Why shinobi obey. Why armies march. Why nations survive. The world bows only to strength—real or perceived.”
Kanna nodded slowly, absorbing the lesson.
“And that,” I finished calmly, “is why even offended shinobi can do nothing but step aside.”
Karin babbled happily, splashing Kanna again.
And just like that, the moment passed.
But the lesson did not.
Kanna would remember what she saw here:
How even anger fades in the face of overwhelming power.
How the world rearranges itself around the strong.
How everything—respect, safety, peace—flows from strength first.
