Arthur sat behind the imposing oak desk in the heart of the capital of the Water Country.
Sunlight streamed through the grand windows, casting rays across stacks of parchment. The weight of responsibility was evident.
Today, he was not merely a ninja. Today, he was John Belfort, the acting leader of the Water Country, a role that demanded every ounce of his considerable focus and skill.
The days filled with rigorous training in combat, strategy, and acumen now felt distant, especially during quieter moments like this when he was engulfed by administrative tasks. He recalled the minor side mission to the Fire Temple—a mission so rare within the broader spectrum of his duties that it now felt fleeting.
It was a reminder of the balance he had to maintain: a ninja in the shadows but a leader by necessity.
Under the authority of feudal lord Hiromu, Arthur navigated the governance of an entire country. Hiromu, although ostensibly in charge, followed Arthur's directives with a willing obedience that made the young leader's path smoother.
Yet, therein lay the paradox of his position—the constant balancing act of authority versus organization.
Arthur's responsibilities flooded his mind as he rifled through documents, his eyes scanning not just the ink blotches, but also the implications lying beneath each line and figure.
He knew that a single misjudgment could lead his country into disarray.
A slip in financial management would cause a betrayal of trust from the citizens; a hasty military decision might ignite conflict with the Mizukage, escalating into a civil war again that could ravage everything he held.
In all of his work, there were nine things keeping his country together—seven of which he focused more on.
Military service. This obligation loomed large. Arthur understood that the defense of the Water Country against outside threats showcased the strength of a competent leader.
He meticulously kept an eye on the Mizukage, not from a place of animosity, but rather as a strategic precaution. Knowledge was the acumen of leadership; knowing when to strike and when to be still was as vital as any physical skill.
Land management. That had become something he deftly achieved with the assistance of his council.
Arthur relied on this council composed of dependable advisors, local lords, and skilled administrators. They governed the vast stretches of land and water under his purview, working tirelessly in agriculture, livestock, and resource management.
Yet, every document that crossed his desk required his scrutiny—he could not rely solely on others to safeguard anyone's welfare. To identify and fix these problems, he merged intuition and reports, always looking out for signs that might indicate trouble brewing.
Then there was protection of vassals. That was yet another priority that he delicately layered into his daily affairs.
Whether it was ensuring the safety of farmers bringing goods to the market or mitigating tensions between visiting merchants from the Land of Waves, he was attentive to every shade.
He restricted revelry among the guards when there were whispers of bandit activity along the borders, sending out more patrols lest an opportunity arise for mischief.
As Arthur continued to sift through paperwork, the duties of justice administration reminded him that even in his absence as a judge, decisions he made affected the fabric of society.
He consulted with local judges to ensure that their sentences remained fair and tempered with compassion. Rumours of the harshness of the law could shatter trust, and with trust dwindling, he might find himself leading a volatile land.
He couldn't afford to shake the foundation of integrity the Water Country stood upon.
Then came the challenging task of financial management. Every coin collected meant nourishment for families; each tax was a thread that kept society together.
Arthur poured over ledgers and documents, checking for errors or discrepancies that could signal corruption. He understood that financial decisions were close to the core of this country—too high taxes could fracture loyalty, while insufficient funds could hinder military readiness.
Risk, reward, and the care of his compatriots exuded from every calculation.
Next was building and maintenance. This offered hope to the frail citizens.
Renewal and construction turned towns into thriving hubs. Roads to link the capital with its surrounding villages, fortifications to protect against nefarious intents, and even buildings that nurtured art and culture paved a way forward.
He understood that nurturing creativity could unify his people deeper than what governance could. His vision extended beyond the mere bricks and mortar; to provide space for artists, musicians, and scholars cultivated a culture.
It also projected strength, which nearby land lords could not ignore.
A sudden knock on the door stopped his studious pursuit. Sparing a fleeting glance from his mountains of documentation, he said in a calm tone, "Enter."
In walked his secretary, a woman of quiet resilience whose meticulous record-keeping kept Arthur informed about the political shifts of neighbouring realms.
Her arrival signaled information, but it was also a reminder of the broader task of diplomacy (his seventh job) that he was interested in.
"Excuse the intrusion, lord John," she calmly began. "The other lords from the neighbouring regions are requesting a meeting. They wish to discuss potential alliances—some out of necessity, others out of ambition. How shall we proceed?"
Arthur leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Diplomacy was a tightrope walk—one misstep could lead to consequences that could destabilize everything.
"Send out emissaries," he replied, "but wear their intentions on our sleeves. We show willingness to discuss, but commitment to our land's well-being is of more importance, seeing that this is not an emergency. If they persist, then I'll go."
"Of course," the secretary replied with a bow. "There's also talk of a marriage alliance in the southern provinces that would strengthen our position."
"Explore it as you see fit," he commanded, "but ensure the two are in love before making any decisions."
Marriage alliances were his eighth job. They had been historically potent tools; they not only solidified relationships but also built political unions.
What he understood, however, was that no one should marry for the sake of power alone. Hence why he demanded to know if the two parties loved one another first.
As the secretary swept out of the room, Arthur settled back into the comfortable silence of his office.
There was one last job he had to attend to: patronage of the arts. Such investment affirmed the identity of the Water Country amidst so much strife—a cultural evolution that many artisans wanted support for their local crafts.
Just as he was about to review the next stack of papers, there was another knock at the door.
"Come in," he said, knowing that it would not be his secretary.
When the man entered, Arthur recognized him immediately—it was a local merchant from one of the smaller towns.
For weeks now, this merchant had been expressing his concerns about his failing business, complaints that had arrived at Arthur's desk with an alarming frequency.
Arthur's initial instinct was to shield himself from the continuous grievances of the populace; after all, a governor could not fix every individual's woes.
"Grab a chair and sit," Arthur gestured, shifting his mood to one of patient understanding.
The man fidgeted with the edges of his tunic and bowed before saying, "Thank you for seeing me, my lord."
"Let's not beat around the bush," Arthur said calmly. "I know you've been struggling, and I've seen your reports. Your business is not prospering as you would like. Tell me, what have you done to change your situation?"
The man's eyes glistened with frustration as he took a seat, anguish evident in every crease that marred his expression.
"I've tried everything!" he yelled. "Lowering prices, bringing in different goods, even offering discounts, but… nothing seems to work. Customers aren't coming to my store, and my debts are mounting—"
"Stop," Arthur interjected, signaling for silence. The man piped up after noticing his rudeness. "From what I've gathered, the issue isn't about your product range or pricing. You need to market your goods more effectively."
"Market?" the merchant frowned, his confusion momentarily paralyzing his words.
Arthur leaned forward with a dark gaze that penetrated the man's core.
"Yes, market. You need to ensure that people know about your store and understand why it's worth their time and money. Quality should always be prioritized over just lowering your prices. If they see the value in what you're offering, they will be more inclined to support your business."
"Are you saying I should spend more money?" the man's voice trembled with disbelief. "But my funds... it's all in the stock I can't sell!"
"Is that so?" Arthur calmly responded, reaching into a drawer and retrieving a small silk pouch filled with ryō. "I will lend you one thousand ryō with no interest. These funds are meant to help you reinvest into your business—as a last chance to turn your situation around."
The man's eyes widened before anxiety clouded his features. He stammered, asking, "I—thank you, but is this a loan?"
"Yes and no," Arthur replied. "Consider it a loan with a warning. If you do not produce real results in three months' time, I will have no choice but to cease your assets. That means everything you own could be forfeited."
The man swallowed hard due to the dichotomy of happiness and fear. So he said, "I… I will do my utmost, my lord! I don't want to lose everything."
Arthur nodded and said, "Then do not squander this opportunity. Use these funds wisely, increase the quality of your inventory, and ensure your store is advertised effectively. If you cling to these principles, you might avert this crisis. And remember, leadership is not merely about giving; it's equally about accountability."
With a mix of relief and trepidation, the merchant clutched the pouch tightly, sliding it into his cloak. Then he said, "I will make you proud, my lord. I swear it!"
"Swear not at all," Arthur replied, quoting from the bible. "Either by heaven; for it is God's throne: nor by the earth; for it is his footstool."
Watching as the man exited the room, Arthur felt that he still had a lot of work to do. It was moments like these that validated his role as a leader—a leader who did not abandon the citizens.
While things remained laden with challenges, he took solace in knowing that through guidance and opportunity, he was paving the way for possible growth, not only for that merchant but for the entire country.
As dusk fell, the documents continued to pile high.
Arthur took a breath. He stood there, looking out over the capital from his office window.
The streets, even at this hour, were filled with laughter and chatter among the marketgoers. Here, in these moments of simple joy, he knew it wouldn't last long.
He had chosen not to make rash economic decisions, which was why they felt secure at this hour. Instead, he focused on incremental growth—nurturing the roots of the Water Country so they could withstand storms yet to come.
The decisions he made today aimed not merely to govern the present but to construct a legacy that no average person could accomplish without faith.
As night crept into the capital, he returned to his desk.
"John Belfort" might not yet have worn the title of feudal lord, but he commanded such respect.
Every paper he signed, every decision he deferred, and every alliance he fostered reflected his belief in steadfastness—leadership not driven by the immediacy of rewards but by the profound impact of wise governance.
'There are still a few months until my lab is finished constructing,' he reminded himself.
One tumultuous night complete, several brighter dawns awaited.
Having a country was great and did show power, but he, a ninja, also knew the importance of growing that power.
With that quiet thought, Arthur turned off the lights in his office and vanished.