Sowhere else entirely, Zeldris and Uchiha Itachi finally returned to base—blood-stained, battle-worn, and just a bit too casual for people who had probably committed cris in three nations before breakfast.
As they neared Zeldris’s residence, a figure stood theatrically under a large tree. Clad in black robes, arms folded like he was posing for a villainous portrait. And right next to him?
A suspiciously large bag that practically scread "definitely not a bribe, officer."
Zeldris’s lips curled into a knowing smirk.
There was only one man in the entire shinobi world with that kind of dramatic flair—and that much disposable inco.
Obito Uchiha.
The man, the myth, the walking conspiracy theory in a mask.
And once again, he had co bearing gifts. The kind with a lot of zeroes.
Zeldris practically jogged toward him like a kid spotting their favorite candy store—if the candy store wore a mask and committed war cris.
"Boss Madara!" Zeldris called out, cheerful as ever. "Did you wait here all this ti? Aw, now I feel bad. Want to co in for tea? Or should I roll out a red carpet and cue the dramatic lightning?"
Obito didn’t say a word. His gaze flicked toward Itachi, lingering like a man who rembered everything. His expression was unreadable—though to be fair, that was mostly because of the giant mask covering his face.
Then, with the trademark flair of soone who absolutely thrives on being mysterious, his Sharingan spun, and with a swirl of Kamui, he vanished.
No words. No explanation. Just left the money like a disgruntled ninja Santa Claus.
Zeldris raised an eyebrow. "Still mad, huh? Man holds a grudge longer than a grandma who got shortchanged at bingo."
But say what you want—Obito was consistent. You take soone from him? He sends money. Not assassins. Not threats.
Cash.
Now that’s class.
Before Zeldris could even finish ntally applauding his silent sugar daddy, the system chid in with its usual fanfare:
"Ding!"
"Congratulations, Host. Your personal assets have reached 200 million."
"Wealth value automatically updated."
"Current Wealth Value: 2000"
Zeldris grinned like a man who had just robbed a bank and gotten a receipt.
"Ahh... music to my ears. System, open the panel."
An ethereal screen flickered to life in front of him:
Host: Zeldris
Wealth Value: 2,000,000
Remaining Draws: 20
Obtained Rewards:
Tremor Tremor Fruit
Horse Talisman
Divine chanism of Magic Machines
Over the past few months, Zeldris and Sasori had been on a bit of a money-making spree—crushing missions, scaring rich clients, and occasionally extorting warlords (nicely).
Of course, Zeldris being Zeldris, he’d blown a chunk of that cash on system draws.
Unfortunately, the luck system was about as fair as a gacha ga run by demons. More duds than gold. One ti, he got a rubber duck.
Still, with twenty draws left, he figured, Why not tempt fate again?
Before he could start gambling his self-worth away, Itachi spoke in his usual cool, quiet tone:
"So... what’s next?"
Zeldris glanced sideways. "You just joined and already asking for missions? Man, chill. You’ve earned so R&R. Take a nap. Stare at the moon. Do brooding Uchiha stuff."
Itachi gave a soft nod. Silent. Stoic. Probably judging Zeldris in five different ways.
Suddenly, the crunch of leaves interrupted the mont.
A red-haired figure stepped out from the forest line, cloak fluttering slightly, expression unreadable.
"Sasori," Zeldris greeted with a casual wave. "Back from your murder vacation?"
Sasori nodded once, eyes already scanning Itachi with calculated interest.
Zeldris noticed and grinned. "Don’t stare too hard. That’s Itachi. Konoha’s brooding heartthrob. He’s one of us now."
Sasori’s brow arched. "Huh. Another Uchiha. What a surprise."
Itachi nodded back with all the emotional investnt of a brick wall. Internally, though, he was cataloging every possible weakness in Sasori’s joints. Old habits.
Zeldris clapped his hands together. "Alright, now that our puppet boy is back—report?"
Sasori’s tone turned serious. "I was approached by a shinobi from Iwagakure. Said he was sent by the Tsuchikage."
Zeldris blinked. "Wait, Onoki?"
Sasori nodded.
"The old fossil wants us to find a rogue ninja. Goes by the na... Deidara."
Zeldris froze.
"...Deidara? The BOOM-happy guy with an art degree in terrorism?"
"Sa one."
Zeldris groaned. "Oh, fantastic. The walking claymore with a superiority complex."
He ran a hand through his hair, already feeling the future migraines. "Tsuchikage must be desperate if he’s outsourcing to us. That, or this is a trap so obvious it might as well wear a signboard."
Still, there was one crucial detail.
"So... just out of curiosity—what’s the bounty?"
Sasori replied, deadpan: "Two hundred million."
Zeldris didn’t even blink.
"Accepted."
--------------------------------------
Support at patreon/Arthorain and read upto 50 Advanced Chapters!
Reviews
All reviews (0)