Four silhouettes emerged from the mist.
Faces covered in black cloth, wielding blades, their footsteps kept low, and their running formation was not bad—at least they had received training.
Murakami Takuya drew his blade three inches, but after seeing the enemies clearly, he slid it back in.
He rested his hand back on the hilt and leaned his shoulder against a tree trunk.
The meaning was clear.
Kitahara Kaede swept a glance over them.
Four people, no Chakra fluctuations, their weapons were ordinary forged long blades, and their running posture showed some foundation but was not professional.
He took half a step back.
He did not need this kind of opponent, but Tsunade and Jiraiya did.
“Tsunade, Jiraiya, they are yours.”
Before his words had even faded, Tsunade had already rushed out.
As the first black silhouette brought his blade down, Kitahara Kaede noticed Tsunade’s eyes—she wasn’t looking at the blade, but at the opponent’s shoulder.
The shoulder moves first, then the blade follows; this was the path-reading method Hiruzen-sensei had taught them.
She had learned it very thoroughly.
She sidestepped to let the blade pass and smashed her right fist into the opponent’s face.
There was no hesitation in that punch.
The sound of knuckles striking the cheekbone was short and dull.
The opponent’s head snapped back, and he slumped against the tree trunk, sliding down, never to move again.
The second one circled around from the side, the tip of his blade aiming straight for her waist and ribs.
Tsunade ducked to avoid it, swept her right leg to trip the person to the ground, rolled over to pin him down, drove her knee hard into his sword-wielding wrist, and smashed her elbow down.
A short, muffled groan.
Fast, decisive; the entire process took no more than ten seconds.
Things were much livelier on the other side.
Jiraiya’s posture as he lunged looked just like a sparrow that had just learned to fly—he thrust his Kunai, but it missed, only grazing the opponent’s shoulder, tearing through a layer of cloth and leaving a shallow cut.
The opponent felt the pain and swung his blade back in a horizontal sweep.
Jiraiya jumped back, his heel stepped on a wet stone, and he fell backward.
The back of his head hit the ground, and his vision went white for a moment.
The blade came down.
He raised his Kunai to block.
Steel struck steel, sparks splashed onto his face, and the webbing between his thumb and index finger went numb from the shock, nearly causing him to lose his grip.
The blade caught in the groove of the Kunai.
The two stared at each other across the crossed iron for less than a second—the opponent’s eyes were exposed from behind the black cloth, pupils dilated and bloodshot.
He was afraid.
But a person who is afraid is more dangerous than one who is not, because they will use all their strength.
The opponent added force, pressing down.
Jiraiya’s arms were trembling, the Kunai sinking inch by inch.
The blade was only three fingers away from the tip of his nose.
He rolled to the side.
The blade slammed into the muddy ground where his head had just been, sinking two inches deep.
Without time to think, Jiraiya scrambled up and thrust the Kunai forward with a tight grip.
There was almost no resistance when the Kunai passed through the clothing, but it was different when it hit muscle—a sticky resistance transmitted from the blade to his palm.
The opponent froze.
The blade slipped from his hand and hit the ground.
A drop of blood trickled down the Kunai and landed on the back of Jiraiya’s hand.
The fourth person watched his three companions fall to the ground in a matter of seconds; he couldn’t even hold his blade steady, and turned to run.
Kitahara Kaede flicked his wrist, and a shuriken flew from his hand.
The opponent lunged forward two steps, his legs gave out, his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the grass.
Kitahara Kaede withdrew his hand.
He hadn’t moved from his spot the entire time, just standing there.
His gaze had been on Tsunade from beginning to end—the shuriken was thrown with his left hand, while his right hand had been gripping a Kunai the whole time.
If any of those four had posed a real threat to Tsunade, he would have arrived faster than anyone.
But it wasn’t necessary.
Tsunade had solved it herself.
The camp fell quiet.
The sound of the stream became clear again, exactly the same as it was a few minutes ago, as if nothing had happened.
Her right fist was still clenched.
Her hand felt somewhat unresponsive—those two punches just now had been too fast; so fast that her body had already finished the action before her brain could react.
She looked down at the person on the ground.
His chest was still rising and falling, but very shallowly, getting shallower and shallower.
During training, they hit scarecrows.
Once finished, they would just clap their hands and leave.
Scarecrows don’t make sounds, don’t fall backward, and don’t make you feel that sensation of bones shifting out of place in your fist.
She didn’t speak, took a deep breath, and let her fist drop.
Over there, Jiraiya was bent over, vomiting.
He braced his hands on his knees, dry-heaving a couple of times, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
The Kunai in his hand hadn’t been put away yet, and the blood on it was already starting to darken.
He stared at the Kunai, his lips moving slightly.
“…Simpler…
than I thought.”
The voice was very soft, as if speaking to himself.
He wasn’t bragging.
He was discovering something that frightened him—killing a person was far easier than he had imagined.
He thought he wouldn’t be able to do it, thought there would be some moment that would make him hesitate.
But there wasn’t; when the Kunai went in, his hand was very steady.
He didn’t know how to process this.
Kitahara Kaede glanced at them.
He didn’t say anything.
When he first went to the battlefield, he was even worse off than Tsunade and the others.
He walked toward the corpses, squatted down, and opened the jacket of the first one.
No forehead protector, no Ninja tool pouch, but a secret pocket was sewn into the inside of the belt.
He pried it open with his Kunai and poured out three food pills.
He picked one up and held it under his nose. Read this novel at novelping.com for the best experience.
It wasn’t a civilian imitation; it was the standard issue from the Ninja Village.
He checked the second and third ones—food pills, bandages, hemostatic powder, standard field supplies, nothing missing.
Kitahara Kaede stood up.
“Something is wrong.”
He threw the food pills to Murakami Takuya.
“These people have no Chakra, but their equipment is of Ninja specification.
The food pills are standard issue from the Ninja Village; there are no channels for the raw materials in the civilian market.”
Murakami Takuya caught them, looked at them, and did not deny it.
“Wandering samurai wouldn’t carry these things.
And wandering samurai wouldn’t just happen to stumble upon our camp,” Kitahara Kaede said.
Murakami Takuya was silent for a few seconds.
“Good judgment.”
He paused: “But it’s only a guess; we can’t retreat until we figure out the truth.”
His gaze passed over Kitahara Kaede and landed on Tsunade and Jiraiya a few meters away.
“Let them catch their breath first.”
Kitahara Kaede walked over to Tsunade.
She was still standing, her back very straight, her chin slightly raised.
This was her habitual action when she didn’t want people to see that she wasn’t in a good state.
He took his canteen from his Ninja tool pouch, unscrewed the cap, and handed it over.
Tsunade glanced at it.
She didn’t take it.
She took out her own canteen from her bag, unscrewed it, and took a big gulp.
Then she poured the remaining water onto her right hand and rubbed it.
“Let’s go.” She screwed the cap back on, without any extra words.
Kitahara Kaede put his own canteen away without speaking.
She wasn’t rejecting him.
She just didn’t want to be handed anything at this moment, didn’t want to be treated as the one who needed comfort.
Jiraiya also walked over.
The Kunai was finally put down, wiped clean on the grass, and sheathed back into his Ninja tool pouch.
His movements were twice as slow as usual, but his hands were no longer shaking.
He looked at Kitahara Kaede and opened his mouth.
Normally, he would have been able to spout off ten or eight sentences of nonsense.
But this time, he chewed on his lip for a long time without a single word popping out.
In the end, he just took out the notebook that had “Hero descending from the sky in a cool pose (pending)” written on it, took one look, and stuffed it into the very bottom of his bag.
“Move out.” Murakami Takuya turned to the east, “Twelve kilometers ahead, we reach the perimeter before dawn.”
The four of them packed up the camp.
Their movements were quick, and no one spoke.
The sky was still black, but the clouds in the east were already starting to turn gray.
Tsunade walked in front of Kitahara Kaede, her ponytail swaying gently with her steps, the rhythm no different from usual.
Jiraiya walked at the very back, carrying the big bag he had been hauling the whole way, his steps a bit heavier than when they arrived.
The sound of the four people’s footsteps fell on the gravel road, and the sound of the stream gradually faded away.