Deep inside the mountain stronghold, Shinya sat on a stone worn smooth by years of use.
There was nothing remarkable about him.
He was of average height and build, dressed in ordinary coarse cloth—the sort of man who would disappear into a crowd the moment you looked away.
Only when he raised his eyes toward Shirakawa Kisuke did something difficult to read flicker through them.
“The daimyō’s estate sent people again,” Kisuke said hoarsely, staring straight at Shinya.
“You should still leave for a while and lie low.” Koichiro and several of the other young men immediately began grumbling, loudly asking what there was to be afraid of.
Shinya, however, unexpectedly nodded.
“You’re right.
We should leave.” His attitude was almost sincere as he inclined his head slightly.
The tension in Kisuke’s shoulders eased by a fraction.
“Life outside isn’t easy.
Eat and drink your fill tonight before you go.” He gestured for the men behind him to lower the shoulder poles.
“Thank you.” The curve of Shinya’s lips deepened, faint lines forming at the corners of his eyes.
“Koichiro, call everyone over.
We’ll eat our fill, rest for the night, and leave at dawn.” The stronghold quickly came alive.
Many of the men were clearly reluctant to leave again, but Shinya evidently knew how to silence their complaints.
During the meal, Kisuke and the villagers who had accompanied him were unusually enthusiastic.
They constantly poured more sake, piled food into the young men’s bowls, and repeatedly reminded them to be careful on the road.
After several rounds of drinking, an unnatural flush spread across Koichiro’s face and those of the others.
Their gazes gradually became unfocused.
Shinya had drunk quite a bit as well, yet his eyes remained perfectly clear.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile still lingered on his lips.
Kisuke noticed it, and his heart slowly sank.
There was something cold hidden beneath that smile.
The night deepened, and a pale moon hung above the treetops.
Only after snores began rising throughout the stronghold did Kisuke slowly stand and wave toward the pitch-black forest.
A faint rustling came from the undergrowth, like a snake sliding through fallen leaves.
Led by Shirakawa Sōsuke, the villagers emerged silently from the shadows, gripping farm tools that had been sharpened into weapons.
At first, hesitation still showed on some of their faces.
But when the first short scream tore through the silence of the night, their expressions quickly hardened until only numb determination remained.
“They chose this road themselves,” Sōsuke said quietly, his voice as cold as an icicle.
“They robbed caravans and dragged the entire village toward disaster.” His gaze swept across the villagers.
“Think about your empty rice jars.
Think about the goods you can no longer sell.” Screams mingled with the dull thuds of blunt weapons striking flesh and the fading groans of dying men.
The sharp stench of blood spread through the cold night air.
Sōsuke’s voice remained unnaturally clear amid the chaos.
“Once they’ve finished killing and robbing the smaller caravans, sooner or later they’ll turn on the merchants who do business with us.” “Once a man has tasted the rewards of taking something without working for it, he can never truly go back.” “This is the price they pay for letting an outsider lead them astray!” He forced the final words through clenched teeth.
Under the moonlight, dark-red liquid dripped from the villagers’ sickles and pitchforks, striking the soil one drop at a time with soft, heavy taps.
The old man walked over to Shinya’s ‘corpse’ and viciously drove his pitchfork into it several times before finally straightening.
“Gather everything.” He didn’t even glance at the deathly pale Kisuke beside him.
There wasn’t much wealth in the stronghold.
Sōsuke gave everyone who had taken part that night a share, then gathered the remainder together.
“These—and these as well.” The old man pointed at the bodies scattered across the ground.
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
“Take them back as proof, Kisuke.
Tell those two shinobi this is all that was left.
The bandits probably squandered the rest already.” “Y-Yes…” Kisuke’s voice trembled badly.
“This matter ends here.
No one speaks of it again.” Sōsuke’s gaze scraped across every villager’s face like a blade.
“The bandits were eliminated by the Konoha shinobi.
That’s the story we tell outsiders.” Only after everyone stiffly nodded did he look away.
Carrying their pitiful amount of ‘spoils,’ the villagers of Shirakawa Village silently disappeared into the deepest darkness before dawn.
The stronghold was left in deathly silence, filled only with the pungent smell of blood.
When the eastern sky finally began to turn gray, a figure slowly sat up among the corpses.
Shinya brushed the blood and grime from his clothes and looked toward the faint light on the horizon.
An amused smile curled across his lips.
“I originally planned to raise them for a while longer…” he murmured mockingly.
“I suppose this saves me the trouble.” He looked around at the corpses of the men who had once obeyed his every word, and his smile deepened.
“Now I can go live peacefully in the Land of Tea.” “A shinobi?” A cool voice suddenly broke the silence.
Shinya’s entire body stiffened.
He snapped his head upward.
A boy dressed in dark-green shinobi gear stood soundlessly atop the stronghold’s broken wooden palisade.
His forehead protector reflected a cold gleam in the first light of dawn.
He dropped to the ground as lightly as a falling leaf.
Shinya’s pupils contracted.
He instantly retreated several steps, every muscle in his body tightening as he stared at the Konoha symbol on the boy’s forehead protector.
“A group of ordinary people managed to slip from the Land of Rivers into the Land of Fire, then flee all the way into the Land of Rain.” Shuji’s voice was calm, but his gaze was probing.
“I knew there had to be someone guiding them from behind the scenes.” Shinya swallowed, but his voice remained surprisingly steady.
“A few petty bandits causing trouble would be a C-rank mission at most.
Fewer than twenty targets means the Land of Rivers wouldn’t offer more than fifty thousand ryō.” His eyes remained fixed on Shuji’s hands, watching for the slightest sign of hand seals.
“That amount isn’t enough for two shinobi to risk their lives.
I never personally took part in the robberies, and my name isn’t on the Land of Rivers’ wanted list.” As he spoke, he subtly adjusted his breathing.
“Report the truth and let me leave.
Your mission will still count as completed.” He spread his hands slightly, showing that he posed no immediate threat.
“Why risk your life over such a small reward?
A fight between shinobi has far too many uncertainties.” “You seem to understand the business quite well.” Shuji rested his fingers lightly on the ninja-tool pouch at his waist.
“You deliberately kept the scale of the attacks small enough that the bounty wouldn’t justify a fight between shinobi?” The faint curve of Shinya’s lips returned.
“The bodies on the ground are more than enough for you to complete your mission.” “In theory, yes.” Shuji nodded.
“The Land of Rivers sends commissions to Konoha, Sunagakure, and Amegakure.
To calculate the reward this precisely…” His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Are you from Sunagakure?
Or Amegakure?” “Let me guess.
Someone this cautious must be—” Before he could finish, one of the ‘corpses’ behind Shuji suddenly sprang upright.
Splinters flew away, revealing a cold humanoid puppet concealed underneath.
Its joints snapped with harsh clicking sounds.
Its mouth opened—and dozens of senbon needles gleaming with an eerie blue sheen shot toward Shuji.
Shuji reacted instantly, whirling around to face the puppet.
At the exact moment his attention shifted, Shinya’s hands became a blur.
His wide sleeves flared like the hood of a striking cobra.
More than a hundred poisoned senbon erupted from within, streaking through the dim light.
At the same time, his chest swelled sharply as though he had sucked all the surrounding air into his lungs.
“Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!” A violent blast of wind exploded from Shinya’s mouth, catching the cloud of poisoned senbon and hurling them forward.
The force of the wind gave the hidden weapons terrifying speed and penetrating power, transforming them into a howling net of death that completely engulfed Shuji’s back.
Pfft!
Pfft!
Pfft!
Pfft!
The dense sounds of needles piercing flesh came like rain hammering broad leaves.
Shuji’s body jerked violently, then began to convulse.
Tiny blossoms of blood burst across his eyes, cheeks, neck, chest, and limbs almost simultaneously.
Dark-blue poison rapidly spread around the puncture wounds.
He staggered once, then pitched forward and crashed heavily onto the cold earth, motionless.
Shirakawa Village lay beneath a thin veil of mist just before dawn.
The air was cold and damp, carrying the scent of soil and vegetation, yet even that couldn’t completely hide the faint metallic smell of blood.
Itachi stood at the village entrance, watching the villagers silently return with several crude bundles in their hands.
There was no grief on their faces—only crushing exhaustion and numbness.
Shirakawa Kisuke walked at the very back, his steps unsteady as though he might collapse at any moment.
Itachi’s appearance was like a stone dropped into stagnant water.
The entire group stopped, and every gaze settled on his small figure.
Shirakawa Sōsuke pushed through the crowd and stepped to the front.
His wrinkled face resembled dried tree bark, while his eyes remained sharp and cold.
“Lord Shinobi of Konoha,” the old man rasped.
“The bandits have been eliminated.
There wasn’t much left.
It’s all here.” He pointed toward the bundles.
“The village chief will explain what happened.” Itachi’s gaze swept over the dark-red stains on the villagers’ clothes and farm tools.
Finally, his eyes returned to Sōsuke’s face.
Those black, obsidian-like eyes remained perfectly calm as his clear voice cut through the morning mist.
“Shuji-senpai asked me to deliver a message to everyone.” The village entrance fell utterly silent.
Even the sound of breathing seemed to diminish.
“First: Konoha already knows everything that happened at the mountain stronghold last night.” The statement struck the crowd like a block of ice.
Several villagers visibly swayed.
Kisuke’s head snapped up, terror filling his eyes.
Sōsuke’s expression darkened instantly, and veins bulged across the back of the hand gripping his cane.
Itachi’s voice remained completely level.
“Second: everyone will give outsiders the same account.
The bandits were tracked down and eliminated by Konoha shinobi Shuji and me, Uchiha Itachi.
The villagers of Shirakawa Village provided necessary assistance during the operation.” He paused and looked directly into Sōsuke’s eyes.
“Third: your decision to deal with your own people is an internal village matter.
Konoha has no comment and will not interfere—on the condition that this matter ends here completely and that no further trouble affects the trade road or the client who issued the mission.” Sōsuke stared fiercely at Itachi, his chest rising and falling heavily.
Only after a long silence did he force a reply through clenched teeth.
“…Understood.” His voice sounded like sandpaper scraping stone.
Itachi gave a slight nod and said nothing more.
He turned away, his small figure silently disappearing into the thinning mist as he sped toward the mountain stronghold.
The villagers remained frozen until he vanished completely.
Only then did suppressed murmurs erupt among them, fear and delayed dread winding around their hearts like cold vines.
Sōsuke slammed his cane against the ground.
“Quiet!” he barked.
“Do exactly as the shinobi said!
Clean everything up and get back to your lives!
And if anyone dares let even half a word of what happened today slip out—” His bloodshot eyes swept over the crowd.
He never finished the threat, but the chill in his gaze silenced everyone immediately.
Shirakawa Kisuke looked at his older brother.
His lips moved, but in the end he said nothing.
His already hunched back seemed to collapse a little further.