Chapter 3.3

As stupid as it sounded, I think I had been going in completely the wrong direction in attempting to understand what I needed to do to accelerate my growth as a Maia. Originally, I’d thought of the process in much the same way as one would of bodybuilding. You put enough strain on muscle you wanted to develop till you reached hypertrophy, waited for it to heal, consumed enough protein, and repeated the process ad infinitum until it, well, paid off.

I’d been incredibly foolish to do so. I had known that an Ainur wasn’t an existence bound in flesh, my Maiar self hadn’t even possessed a physical form in the Timeless Halls, but I’d severely misunderstood what that truly meant. I knew also that no Ainur, not even the Valar, were made complete from the beginning. If we were, why would any Maia become any Valar’s pupil? What could they possibly teach us that we did not already know? Even Sauron, Lord of the Rings, had not started as powerful as he was in his prime.

But then, if the Ainur were not made complete, how did one grow?

I had eons of memories within me, but not one could tell me how to grow past the stage I was seemingly stuck at. At the height of a Maiar’s powers, the very world around us could be formed to our will. Here and now, I was at a level where performing even the slightest applications of the Song took too much out of me, and greater feats that would’ve been commonplace in Aman knocked me unconscious.

I knew at-least part of that had to do with the fact that I had ‘forgotten’ the name Eru had given my Maiar self. The Weirding Way allowed me to analyse my situation in novel ways that simply wouldn’t have occurred to me before. For one, the perk wanted me to grow, it didn’t want to shove unlimited power into my hands. For two, a Maiar’s name reflected something about The One’s thought from which one sprang. For all that I had the Maia’s memories, I was fundamentally a different being to the one that existed before.

And yes, I did not have a mantle that allowed me to specialise, that much was true. Sauron, as the Smith’s apprentice, had become masterful at all things related to crafting. Olorin, who proclaimed himself Gandalf to the people of Middle Earth, had learned the functions of a leader and guide from Manwe himself. Both had adopted lesser mantles at the feet of their patron Vala. I had no such being to guide me.

Looking at the three pieces of information together, I concluded that it wasn’t going to do me any good to try and remember something that didn’t apply to me in the first place. If I wished to gain more power, I would have to craft a name for myself. That was the advantage of being a blank slate, wasn’t it? Holding the capacity to decide for oneself what one wished to be. The question remained, how was I to do that? How was I to decide for myself what part of Creation my nature most aligned with?

I continued to devote at-least two mental partitions to considering the question as I went about all other businesses.

As the days passed, I trained with the Sand-nin increasingly often, getting more adept at fighting battles that were significantly more chaotic than the ones I had ‘experience’ with. Baki and I had reached an accord over time, getting to know that for all our odd interactions, at the end of the day, there was no reason for us to continue to be even mildly hostile towards each other. Even Rasa, a decidedly unfriendly man by his very nature, had begun to warm up to me. The catalysis for that particular development had been Gaara’s first time reaching Imperfect Chakra Mode. Apparently, Gaara had demanded a match with Raasa shortly after I’d passed out.

Now that was a boy after my own heart – I completely understood the desire to stress test one’s capabilities after getting a power boost. Rasa had deemed his son’s newfound powers “acceptable”, but Baki had confided in me that Rasa had been on the backfoot almost the entire time, unable to keep up with the sheer speed and strength the Jinchūriki had been able to bring to bear without resorting to lethal means.

Beyond my usual schedule of creating metal for the blacksmiths and spending my evenings discussing strategy with Rasa and his counsellors, I’d begun to spend significantly more time with the Sand Trio. I fashioned odd things for Kankuro to enhance his puppet creations with, giving what few pointers I could on how he needed to approach fighting differently.

His usual play of relying on Karasu’s admittedly impressive durability limited his capacity to respond to multiple threats at once. If enemy-nin maneuvered him into a situation where he couldn’t respond to them at the same time, he was toast. Slowly, his abilities improved. His offensive strategies became more flexible, he improved the responsiveness of his Taijutsu, and he even managed to make greater use of his puppets while he was engaging other opponents.

Well, it wasn’t perfect, I thought, remembering the time I’d managed to crack his nose with a punch because he’d been far too busy with maneuvering Karasu to attack Temari to remember I was also present on the field.

Temari and I… well, I’d grown closer to her more than anyone save Gaara. Although we hadn’t done much more than kiss when no one was around, our bond had deepened on a level entirely separate from what few romantic interactions we’d had.

Simply put, she was the first person I’d explained even a fragment of the nature of my powers to since I’d arrived in this world. I hadn’t told her of the more… outlandish… elements of my existence – I would not blame anyone for not believing me if I told them I’d made a bargain with an eldritch being to live and fight and grow in fictional worlds – I’d still told her of beings who my Maia self had known.

Even Gaara – for all that he thought me to be a saint, or perhaps even more than that, for all that I trusted him to keep what I told him to himself – did not know of such things.

Over time, I’d told her other things, too. Nothing too critical to my nature or fundamentally dissimilar to what she thought of the world. I’d Sung to her of the shores of Aman, of the Valar who I was most familiar with, and she’d clung to every word as if it were gospel. And perhaps it was, I thought. What inspired no small amount of appreciation in my heart for her was that I knew she hadn’t told anyone else of what I confided in her, for such a deceit would have clung to her like a noxious cloud to my senses.

We sparred on the training grounds often, and although I knew exceedingly little of her particular fighting style, the Weirding Way allowed me to pick apart many seemingly insignificant aspects of her movements that affected things from the potency of her attacks to the momentum she could bring to bear at any given time.

I wasn’t foolish enough to think Rasa didn’t know by now, but he said nothing to me, and I said nothing to him. Kankuro and Gaara seemed just as oblivious to it all as everyone else – save Baki, whose eyes were trained on me like a hawk whenever we were together.

And at any rate, I was soon going to have bigger things to worry about.

“…and even if we set the diplomatic consequences of intruding into Fang’s territory aside, the ridges will pose significant challenges to the logistics of any such operation. Our best bet, as I have continued to argue these last few days, is to fortify our defences on our side of the border,” Daiki argued, hands folded in his lap. Daiki was one of Rasa’s counsellors – the Jonin Commander, in fact. He’d been perfectly explicit in his opposition towards the idea of advancing, advocating that any such manoeuvre would spell disaster.

I understood the sentiment, even if I thought that his strategy of maintaining the status quo was bound to fail at some point in time.

“What defences will you prepare that would stand up to the fury of two Jinchūriki, Daiki-san?” Chiyo responded calmly, one bushy eyebrow raised as she looked at the son of the man who’d once learned at her feet. Daiki gritted his teeth but didn’t immediately retort.

“And what will happen, Honoured Sibling,” Daiki finally replied, “When we push our forces north, past the very ridges that give the Land of Fangs its name, and find that Han or Roshi – or, Kami forbid, both – have positioned themselves behind our forces? Who among us is willing to argue in favour of the wisdom of such a strategy?”

There were many more ninja seated in the Hall of Wisdom – Suna’s massive, open air version of a conference room – but no one rose to the challenge, not even Chiyo's brother Ebizo, who had come out of retirement only at his sister's insistence. No matter how much Daiki’s advocacy for the status quo grated on the nerves of some – including Rasa, I knew – no one in the hall could say Daiki's arguments were without merit.

Han and Roshi, as with all Jinchūriki who learned to harness the powers of their Biju, were forces of nature that simply couldn’t be defended well against, not by the simple act of erecting forts or camps. That would work as a buffer against regular ninja who were constrained to operate within reach of logistics companies by virtue of their limited chakra, but Jinchūriki held no such weakness. No village would have brought out what were essentially the Shinobi World’s equivalent of nuclear weapons to a conflict short of a war, but this was Iwa.

Sixteen years ago, Minato Namikaze had singlehandedly forced Onoki to accept peace and cemented his place in the annals of history, but that was not all he had done. In his butchering of a thousand souls in a matter of minutes, he had pushed Iwa into a horribly self-destructive siege mentality. Even now, sixteen years later, Iwa was convinced that they had to bring overwhelming firepower to even the smallest engagements. The Yondaime Hokage had died to the Kyuubi’s claws more than a decade ago, but Iwa continued to live in his shadow, perpetually afraid of even the possibility that such a horrible defeat could be suffered again.

For that reason alone, Onoki and his War Council were unwilling to take risks even with a low intensity conflict as the one they were engaged in currently. Even routine engagements that should’ve resulted in few ninja casualties had to be reinforced with at-least one of the Jinchūriki they had at their disposal.

That was what it meant to be a legend, I thought, to have accomplished feats of such magnitude that it terrified your former enemies into committing acts of great stupidity out of sheer fear, no matter that an entire generation had been born and grown up in the time since you’d passed. To be a legend was to impose your will onto the world in such a forceful manner that it was remembered long after you were gone.

And then I froze. The Grimoire granted me the ability to roll for perks when I accomplished a great feat, as I had received after holding my own against Gaara’s team and letting the Jinchūriki and his Biju hash things out, just as it had let me know I'd partially achieved something after I’d succeeded at helping Gaara to attain Imperfect Chakra Mode. Sure, I hadn't really minded not being able to do so after the latter, but that was because I wanted to develop my pool of CP as much as possible before I rolled so I wouldn’t leave potent perks on the table.

Both times, I had done something no one expected me to, and truthfully not even myself.

Here, now, as I'd accidentally stumbled upon the truth that had been eluding me, I realised the feat wasn't just about letting others discover their true selves. It was about discovering more about myself. The Grimoire burned within me, asking to be used.

The Ainur were never made to be worshipped, not even the Valar… but that was in a world which had metaphysics that fundamentally differed from this one. Ainur there gained mantles either at birth by virtue of Eru’s Will, or by continuously perfecting a certain craft under the guidance of one who had a greater version of said mantle.

Neither applied to me, and if neither of two of the most defining principles that applied to the Ainur applied to me, what did that say about the rule for rejecting mortals’ faith?

Distantly, I was aware that I’d stood up in the middle of my thoughts, that I was now standing in front of one of the great balconies in the Hall of Wisdom that overlooked the village. I saw great columns of smoke rising from the foundries of the village that now worked day and night. I saw columns of traders leave and arrive, where before there had been perhaps a third of the number that now snaked up and down Suna’s streets. I saw parents walk hand-in-hand with their children, heard their laughter bubbling upwards. I saw humans living out their lives and realised how foolish I had been.

Singing wasn’t like working out a part of my body. It wasn’t physical, it was part of my soul. I hadn’t gotten more adept at using its powers simply because I’d used it more often, but because each attempt had shown mortal men, women and children a glimpse of something utterly beyond them. Something divine. Whether I had known it or not, I’d been encouraging people to have faith in something greater than their own lives – and, inadvertently, in me. What had the blacksmith said to me, that he prayed Kagutsuchi watched over me always? Kagutsuchi was the patron deity of blacksmiths in Shinto mythology. Did that not mean he thought, on some level, that I was blessed by the divine? And after that interaction, did my ability to create metal not increased notably?

Was it not, true, then, that attempting to brute force my way into a mantle simply wouldn’t work? Perhaps the answer to my central question was that a mantle could not be taken, it had to be bestowed, earned, but not won.

I had been so utterly consumed in the day-to-day that I’d forgotten to ask the questions that really mattered.

“-leiman, are you okay?”

I turned around, answering Rasa’s concern with joy. A beatific smile stretched across my face as my happiness grew, the mere existence of which suspended motes of light around my frame. I wasn’t supposed to reveal so much of my true nature to those who sat on his council, but I found myself hardly caring. Yes, I didn’t know for certain if I’d cracked the puzzle, but I felt so much closer to realising the truth than I ever had before. I ignored the question, ignored the awe that spread across the faces of those unfamiliar with my powers. Instead, I grabbed a hold of the Celestial Grimoire, instructing it to roll. It chimed once in my soul, telling me that it had successfully attached to something. It stopped just shy of consuming all the CP I’d gathered so far.

New Perk! 400 CP Deducted.

I felt knowledge and power slam into me in waves, as if the mighty gales of a tempest had resolved to assault me. This time, though, I didn’t buckle under the weight of an entirely new school of magic from an entirely different universe grind into my brain and soul. Instead, I welcomed it with open arms, embracing all that it offered.

Death From Above, Warhammer Fantasy: Imperial Colleges of Magic

As much as they are astrologers, the Celestial Wizards are still called to battle in the name of the Empire. In such battles, they call down death from the very sky. Bolts of lightning arc between enemies, blasts of wind mow down cadres, and comets flatten entire units at a time. You are especially adept at this, as your spells of wind, weather, and heavenly bodies strike half again the area they normally should.

I delved deeper into the school of magic, understanding instinctually that that calling upon these powers carried inherent dangers that risked unsettling my very being, but understanding also that it resolved a major deficiency in my power-set. I was proficient – more than merely proficient – at melee, I could even swing out with limited applications of the Song at mid-range, but I had no answer to ninja who could attack me at great ranges save my barriers, which I already knew couldn’t readily hold up to more powerful jutsu. This fixed that, giving me the capacity to reach beyond my surroundings.

I locked eyes with Daiki. “The underlying issue with any plan of attack is one of terrain, correct? We can’t attack from a distance easily, and if we move enough of our forces north, we risk undermining our capacity to defend in case Iwa’s Jinchūriki show up on Suna’s side of the border.”

Daiki nodded slowly, his mouth parted ever so slightly.

I smiled. “Then it’s a good thing I’m no longer bound by such limitations.”

If faith was to be the instrument of my growth as Maiar, then I would do what so many before me had done in this world. I would take a fight that seemingly couldn't be won and impose my will upon the battlefield so completely that not even my enemies would be able to deny my might.

Making my way to the table, I began explaining what I’d need for the fledgling plan forming in my mind. Rasa, Daiki and Chiyo chipped in when they felt necessary, fielding my queries, and fixing any misunderstandings when they arose. I could sense the hesitation from many of the hall’s occupants, but Rasa had a knowing glint in his eye, as if he had divined some great secret that others simply weren’t privy to. Even Daiki, ever ready to show others the folly of their ways, seemed content to let me work. Half-a-dozen mental partitions fired at once to factor in my new powers and how they would be best deployed in tandem with Suna’s other assets.

The others’ silence at my erratic actions gave way soon, the cold calculus of war guiding our discussions. Slowly, a plan of action began taking shape.

AN: Post feedback, I decided to shift the lewd forward chronologically. Now, the scene with Temari ends roughly when the first kiss ends. Rest assured, it will show up in the next chapter or so, likely right before the Iwa Conflict Arc begins. Also, not posting any previous chapter publicly today. I want y'all to have read 6 chapters ahead by tomorrow. Will get to work on that.

Anyway, I'd love more feedback, thoughts, guesses. To stave off any complaints, let me just say the new perk isn't nearly as potent as the plain text might suggest. I'll use authormagik so that its still a potent power boost, but not a gamechanger by any means. Organic reasons for why that's the case will be made clear when its shown in action.