Two years passed in a red haze of skirmishes, bitter winters, and shifting frontlines.
Ren was twenty-three now.
His frame had filled out into a lean, battle-hardened build.
The pale Kazeshira nerve pathways along his forearms were now crisscrossed with faint scars—trophies of surviving more than a decade in the brutal Warring States Era.
He stood on a high cliff overlooking the Nakano River.
Below, the water ran thick and red with blood.
The inevitable clash between the Senju and Uchiha clans had reached a boiling point.
Hundreds of shinobi locked blades in the shallow waters, roaring Jutsu lighting up the grey horizon.
Fireballs clashed against massive water walls, and the sheer density of chakra radiating from the valley made the very air vibrate.
Ren stood quietly at the edge of the conflict zone, his grey Kazeshira cloak snapping in the wild wind.
Behind him stood a small unit of six Kazeshira scouts, their faces tight with anxiety.
“Ren,” one of the younger scouts whispered, swallowing hard as he stared at the carnage below.
“The elders said to stay away from the main riverbed.
If the Uchiha or Senju main units turn their sight on us…”
“We aren’t here to fight their war,” Ren said, his voice flat and steady. This story is hosted at novelping.com.
His sensory skin, refined through years of continuous life-or-death adaptation, read the complex air currents of the entire valley.
“The Senju left-flank is crumbling.
A squad of Uchiha skirmishers is pushing toward the supply depot where our clan’s trade allies are pinned down.
We intercept them, clear the corridor, and pull our people out.”
“Understood.”
Ren leaped off the cliff, his movement effortlessly smooth.
He didn’t use flashy Jutsu or burn through his chakra pool.
As an Uchiha squad of three leaped across the river rocks toward the supply depot, Ren intercepted them mid-air.
His sensory skin picked up the exact arc of the lead Uchiha’s katana before the blade was even fully drawn.
Ren tilted his head three inches left, letting the cold steel whistle harmlessly past his ear.
In one fluid motion, he brought his wind-coated trench knife up, catching the enemy clean through the base of the throat.
He landed lightly on a river stone, spun on his heel, and flicked two kunai laced with Wind chakra directly into the chest of the second attacker before the third could even register his squadmates were dead.
Efficiency.
Speed.
Zero wasted effort. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
The surviving Uchiha backed away, his Sharingan spinning frantically as he stared at the seasoned warrior in the grey cloak.
“Who…
what clan are you?!”
Ren didn’t answer.
He flicked the blood off his blade, his blue eyes cold and unreadable.
Suddenly, a massive shockwave of pure, suffocating chakra erupted from the center of the battlefield.
The air pressure dropped so violently that even the river water bowed outward.
The heavyweights of the era were locking horns in the distance, their monstrous presence crushing the intent of every minor ninja on the field.
Ren felt the atmospheric pressure crush down on his skin, but his posture didn’t break.
He turned back to his squad, his mind already calculating their next tactical movement.
“Corridor cleared,” Ren ordered, stowing his blade.
“Grab the supplies and fall back to the sanctuary before the heavy units advance.”