The embers of battle cooled quickly, leaving behind only a suffocating stench of blood and rust within the mountain stronghold.
This had been a slaughter.
Before the combined might of an elite Jonin and two top-tier Genin, the so-called wandering samurai were no sturdier than withered autumn branches.
Uchiha Nain leaned against a charred wooden pillar, her face drained of all color.
She wiped her kunai again and again, her grip tightening until her knuckles turned white, as if trying to scrub away the sticky sensation and pungent smell—along with the images that kept replaying in her mind.
From the nearby woods came the sound of Hyuga Chihori retching uncontrollably.
Kazama Ryū alone remained composed.
He moved methodically among the bodies, checking every corner with a blank expression, like a meticulous cleaner.
He understood that the revulsion following one’s first kill was a compulsory lesson for every ninja.
Endure it, and you become a tool.
Fail, and you become a name carved on a grave.
There was no time to linger on unnecessary emotions.
In the samurai leader’s room, Ryū lightly kicked the bedframe with his toe.
A loose wooden plank flipped open, revealing a hidden compartment beneath.
Inside lay a single scroll.
He retrieved it and handed it to Sarutobi Sanaru, who was surveying the aftermath of the battle.
“Sensei, I found something.” Sanaru accepted the scroll, still wearing the relaxed expression of someone who had just completed an easy mission.
He unfolded it casually and began deciphering the coded markings.
After only a few lines, the smile vanished from his face.
A heavy chill spread across his features.
His breathing grew uneven.
“This… this isn’t a wandering samurai group…” Sanaru’s voice came out dry and hoarse, trembling despite himself.
Nain and Chihori, who had just begun to recover, hurried over.
What the scroll depicted was not some bandits’ treasure map, but a long, winding route.
Like a venomous serpent, it coiled tightly around the main supply arteries deep within the Land of Fire.
This was Konoha’s logistical lifeline.
And the endpoint of that route pointed directly toward the frontline where the Third Shinobi World War was about to erupt.
“They’re Iwagakure’s forward reconnaissance unit,” Sanaru said grimly.
His expression darkened to the extreme.
A mere C-rank mission had uncovered war-level military intelligence.
Without hesitation, he pulled a specially prepared scroll from his vest and attached it to the leg of a ninja hawk.
“Chirp—!” The hawk soared into the night sky, carrying the highest-level warning straight toward Konoha.
But the instant it disappeared beyond the horizon— Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Four massive surges of chakra erupted from the surrounding forest like volcanic explosions.
The oppressive pressure crashed down like a mountain, engulfing the entire stronghold.
The air itself seemed to solidify.
Even the wind fell silent.
Four figures appeared like specters, sealing every possible escape route.
At the center stood a tall Iwagakure Jonin.
His forehead protector glinted coldly under the moonlight, and a cruel smile—like a cat toying with trapped prey—curved his lips.
“Thanks for the signal, Konoha brats,” he said mockingly, his voice echoing through the still night.
“Now, leave your lives behind.” Sarutobi Sanaru’s pupils shrank to pinpoints.
“Iwagakure… Explosion Corps!” He pulled Ryū and the others tightly behind him.
Chakra roared to life throughout his body as he shouted sternly, “You three, run!
I’ll hold them off!” Nain, who had only just steadied herself, was seized by an even deeper terror.
Hyuga Chihori didn’t dare activate her Byakugan fully—the chakra radiating from those figures alone felt enough to scorch her eyes.
Run?
Ryū’s gaze, however, was as deep and cold as an abyss, utterly calm.
Where could they run?
One elite Jonin, backed by three seasoned Chunin.
This was no longer a question of victory.
It was a question of survival—how many would live.
His first true battle of life and death had arrived far earlier than expected, and in the most brutal way possible.
Ryū said nothing.
He simply forced the chakra that had only just recovered to surge violently through his meridians, like a raging river.
A max-level Wind Release: Great Breakthrough stood ready.
Betting everything—perhaps he could still tear open a path to survival.