The capital of the Land of Iron announced itself long before we reached its gates.
The road widened, the stone beneath our feet changing from packed earth to carefully laid slabs, each one etched with shallow grooves to prevent slipping in the snow.
As one might expect from a nation that lived with plenty of snow, they were well prepared for it.
The city greeted us with towering walls of dark steel and stone rising ahead of us, banners snapping in the wind. Samurai stood at regular intervals along the ramparts and the road itself, their armor uniform, their posture immaculate.
"There she is," the wagon driver said as he heard Karin's gasp. "The pride and joy of the country—well, with the expectations of our proud samurai, that is," he added.
"Those walls are even bigger than those back in the Fire Capital!" Karin exclaimed.
"Ah, ahaha, they are some mighty fine walls, aren't they?" the man said proudly, as if he himself had built them.
Karin turned her head toward us and saw both of us sitting there, not looking out like her. "Mom!" she said, sounding utterly betrayed. "You aren't even looking!"
"Karin," Kanna urged gently, "come sit properly. It's so cold outside, your nose will freeze off."
"No, it won't!" Karin replied defiantly. "It's Mom who can't handle the cold—that's why we had to ride this carriage, because your toes were freezing off!"
From outside, we could hear the laughter of the driver.
Kanna's cheeks flushed red, and certainly not because of the warmth.
There was, in truth, desperately little of that out here on the road. Karin was fine; she was overflowing with chakra and vitality. I too was fine thanks to my mastery of chakra, including Ice Release.
Kanna was the only one struggling; she had suffered some deeply rooted damage back in Kusagakure. It wasn't bad enough to stop her from living a normal life, not even one of constant travel and work.
But she wouldn't ever be a shinobi, and even here, fighting both fatigue and frigid cold pushed her to her limits.
Kanna adjusted the blanket around herself, lips pressed into a thin line as she endured Karin's blunt honesty. She didn't scold her—she never did—but she did pull Karin closer, one arm wrapping around her daughter's shoulders to draw her back from the open side of the carriage.
"You'll catch the wind," she said softly.
"I won't," Karin insisted, though she did allow herself to be pulled in. She peeked back out anyway, eyes glued to the walls. "They look like they could stop anything."
"Right up until someone runs up them," I replied. "That's why there are guards on top, because walls alone can't stop a shinobi."
The carriage slowed as we approached the gates proper. The noise of the city grew louder, but also denser, more unclear. Too many sounds melting together all at once.
Becoming just the hum of city life.
Though beyond that was the attention on us. I had noticed the countless eyes of the guards on the carriage from the beginning but had thought little of it.
They were, after all, guards; it was their job to watch anyone approaching the city.
However, I was starting to suspect there was more to it, because the attention we were getting seemed excessive.
Plus, I could see more samurai gathering around the gates and walls as we got closer. Clearly, they were expecting us—or rather, expected me.
Not that it mattered; it was to be expected, really.
Five samurai stepped forward from beside the gate.
Traffic did not stop. Wagons and travelers continued to pass through the gates on either side of us, guided smoothly along by other guards, as if this interruption had been carefully planned not to disrupt the flow of the city.
They did not surround us.
They simply stood—at ease, hands resting near their blades, eyes forward. At their head was a man older than the rest, his hair streaked with grey, armor worn but immaculate. He studied the carriage for a moment longer than strictly necessary, then inclined his head.
"Kaguya-hime," he said, voice calm and respectful. "I am Takeda Masanori, retainer to Lord Mifune."
The wagon driver shifted on his seat.
His earlier pride drained away, replaced by the unmistakable tension of a man who had just realized he had transported someone important—the dangerous kind of important.
Inside, I felt Kanna stiffen beside me.
Karin leaned forward again. "Oh! You know who we are!"
Of course they did.
"My lord has been informed of your arrival," Masanori continued. "He welcomes you to the capital of the Land of Iron… and invites you to speak with him, should you be willing."
His tone carried no threat, but it left no doubt that declining would not make the attention disappear.
Still, it was worded as an invitation.
And given the old samurai was a man of honor, it wouldn't become a summons, nor a demand.
But if I didn't accept, things could surely become tense—not something that mattered much, but it was never a good idea to be on bad terms with your host.
"I am willing," I replied without hesitation.
Masanori exhaled—subtly, controlled, but unmistakably relieved. He bowed more deeply this time.
"Then, if you permit it, we will escort you to the inner district."
I inclined my head. "That will be acceptable."
I stepped fully out of the carriage and helped Kanna and Karin out before I paid the driver for his services. It was clear that he didn't want anything to do with whatever situation was happening, and I didn't blame him for that.
"Lead the way," I said to Masanori.
He gestured with one hand, and the samurai formation shifted smoothly, two taking the lead, the others falling into place around us—not enclosing, not crowding, but unmistakably present.
Karin trotted along between Kanna and me, boots crunching happily against the snow-dusted stone.
She craned her head upward, eyes darting from one armored figure to the next.
"So," she said loudly, with all the subtlety only a five-year-old could manage, "who's the guy we're going to meet?"
Masanori's steps did not falter.
"Lord Mifune is the leader of the Land of Iron," he answered evenly. "The strongest among our samurai, and the one entrusted with the safety of the country."
Karin hummed, considering this.
"Is he really strong?" she asked.
"Yes," Masanori said without hesitation.
Karin nodded, then immediately followed up with the far more important question.
"Is he stronger than you, Kaguya?"
The air shifted.
It was subtle, but I felt it all the same—the faint tightening of shoulders, the near-imperceptible change in breathing from the samurai nearest us. Pride, bristling quietly beneath discipline.
Kanna shot Karin a warning look. "Karin—"
"No," I said calmly.
Kanna fell silent at once.
I looked down at Karin, meeting her gaze properly before answering.
"No," I said. "He is not stronger than me."
The words were neither boastful nor dismissive. They were simply factual.
A blade scraped softly against its sheath somewhere to my left.
Masanori's jaw tightened for the briefest instant before smoothing out again.
Karin accepted the answer without hesitation.
She didn't have a good understanding of what it meant to be strong. And it was all a matter of perspective.
To Karin, even a genin would be strong. Even these samurai here were strong and exciting to her. And there was little difference between them in her eyes, because she had never really seen anything fight seriously.
Karin tilted her head, clearly satisfied with the answer, but her curiosity was far from exhausted.
She looked back at Masanori, then at the other samurai walking with us, their armor clinking
softly with each step.
"So he's strong," she said thoughtfully, "but not that strong."
No one answered.
Karin frowned slightly, sensing—if not understanding—the sudden heaviness in the air.
"…Is that bad?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No."
She relaxed instantly. "Okay!"
And just like that, whatever tension had been building lost its edge. Karin skipped a few steps ahead, boots kicking up powdery snow, before spinning around again.
"Then is he stronger than ninja?" she asked, pointing vaguely in the direction we were heading.
"That," I said, "depends on the ninja."
Masanori glanced at me. This time, he couldn't disagree with my words, because despite how much pride all samurai had in Mifune, it was a fact that he was only barely around S-rank and was publicly considered beneath all the Kage in strength.
Karin seemed to mull that over as we passed deeper into the city. The capital unfolded around us in orderly layers: wide streets kept meticulously clear of snow, iron lanterns lining the roads, steam rising from vents cut into the stone where heated water flowed beneath. Smithies rang in the distance, not chaotic but rhythmic, controlled.
Samurai presence was everywhere, yet never oppressive. They watched, but they did not harass. Merchants traded freely, civilians moved without fear.
A city that trusted its defenders.
"Kaguya," Karin asked suddenly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret, "if he's not stronger than you… why is he in charge?"
I smiled faintly.
"Because being in charge is a lot of work, and if I had to do all that work, I wouldn't be able to teach you how to use a sword," I said simply.
She gasped. "Oh! Right! Okay, then he should be in charge." She nodded sagely, as if this settled the matter for good.
Masanori picked up on that. "You know your way around a sword, Kaguya-hime?" he asked.
He kept the respect in his tone, but he couldn't hide a hint of surprise.
He had seen the Kaguya clan before, but all they ever used were their bones. Sure, they used them as swords at times, but never with the same skill as someone truly dedicated to the blade.
"I doubt I can compare to Mifune when it comes to the sword, but I know enough to teach a child," I said honestly.
While I had trained a little, most of my training as a child had been in the Gentle Fist. And no amount of watching the world from above had allowed me to become a true master of the sword.
Yet I still considered myself above a novice.