Rout * Ninja

When news of the disastrous defeat and annihilation of the entire army of the Koremori Kurikara Valley reached Kyoto, the last vestiges of dignity and order that the Taira had been struggling to maintain finally collapsed completely.

Kiso Yoshinaka's army advanced with unstoppable momentum, crossing Kaga and breaking through Echizen. Their advance was aimed directly at the west bank of Biwako, and Kyoto's gates were wide open.

In the streets and alleys, rumors were more biting than the cold winds of the North Plains—"The white banner of the Minamoto is about to be raised on the walls of Kyoto!" "The Taira is doomed!" "Run!"

The Taira clan members could no longer sit peacefully in the deep courtyard of Rokuhara.

Evacuation.

A hasty, desperate evacuation became the only option.

The once bustling mansion, Uwagi the Taira's supreme power, is now in chaos.

The chests and trunks were haphazardly loaded onto the oxcart, and precious items were knocked and damaged in the haste. The women were in a panic, and the cries of children mingled with the urgent shouts of the servants.

Servants bustled about, trampling precious flowers and trees in the meticulously maintained courtyard meant to showcase elegance, leaving muddy footprints all over the gravel path.

The days of leisurely moon-gazing, flowing wine cups on winding streams, and quietly listening to the flute seem like a magnificent yet fragile dream from yesterday.

When the dream ends, all that remains is the desolation of war and uncertainty about the future.

Kiyotsune stood under the now mostly empty corridor of his house, clutching his beloved flute tightly in his arms. His face was drained of color, filled with confusion and helplessness.

He was used to the protection of his brothers, used to finding peace in music and the company of friends; he had never seen such a cataclysmic upheaval and the collapse of his home.

His ears were filled with chaotic sounds, and he saw people rushing past him. He felt cold in his hands and feet, as if he were Ichiyo small boat abandoned in a stormy sea, and he had no idea what to do.

"Kiyotsune."

A calm voice sounded beside him.

Kiyotsune turned his head in a daze and saw Shinrei.

She was still wearing that dark Ninja outfit, and the red Butterfly at the back of her head was still as beautiful as ever.

She carried a small but neatly packed suitcase in one hand, and a small box that Kiyotsune used, containing some personal items, in the other.

"It's time to go." Shinrei's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly pierced through the surrounding noise. "The main force will be setting off soon, and we can't fall behind."

Kiyotsune's lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. He looked into Shinrei's calm eyes, and the composure in them gradually dispelled the confusion in his heart.

Shinrei didn't say anything more to comfort him. She simply stepped forward, stuffed the small box into Kiyotsune's arms, then turned around and gestured for him to follow.

Her steps were steady and quick as she walked through the chaotic courtyard, leading Kiyotsune toward the sedan chair not far away.

The figure wasn't tall, yet it inexplicably gave off a feeling of being able to rely on it.

Holding the box and the Shakuhachi, Kiyotsune subconsciously took a step and followed Shinrei.

Along the way, they encountered maids who had panicked and run in the wrong direction, and Shinrei would briefly point them in the right direction.

If she encounters a young child stuck at an intersection, she will take the child to their relative.

Her actions were silent yet efficient, naturally paving a way forward.

Kiyotsune followed behind her, and the panic gradually subsided.

Shinrei didn't tell him "Don't be afraid," but she showed him through her actions: Follow me and walk the path you're on.

Gradually, Kiyotsune's arms, which were holding the box, became less stiff, and his steps became much steadyer.

He stopped looking around blankly and focused his gaze on Shinrei's back. He followed her through a messy courtyard, through a terrified crowd, and finally joined the ranks of the core members of the Taira clan who were gathering.

Sukemori was anxiously taking stock of his staff and belongings.

Turning around, he saw Kiyotsune walking behind Shinrei. Although his face was still pale, his eyes were no longer unfocused. He was stunned for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief.

She whispered to Takuichi beside her, "Thank Shinrei is here..."

Takuichi, remaining vigilant, as a fast-moving Ninja might suddenly appear.

He, Shintarō, and Shinrei, along with other Ninjas stationed at the Taira, need to ensure everyone's safety.

The procession began to move slowly, emerging from the gates of the Taira residence, which had lost its former grandeur.

Kiyotsune couldn't help but turn around and glance at the home where he had lived for more than ten years.

A cold wind swept through the streets, carrying withered leaves and adding to the desolation.

He hugged the flute tightly and took a deep breath.

Just like the silent yet resolute silhouette of Shinrei.

No matter what lies ahead, whether it be sea or mountain, good or bad, we must keep going.

For the sake of living, for the sake of those around me, and for the tenacity for life that hasn't been completely destroyed by the chaos of the world.

He turned back, not looking back.

Following their family's group, they embarked on this perilous and shrouded journey to the Western Provinces.

However, as they had expected, the Minamoto Ninjas arrived before the main force.

The Wheels creaked and groaned as they rolled over the muddy road, still covered in snow. The journey was heavy and slow.

The Taira's massive army, like a wounded and dying python, snaked its way across the cold winter plains.

The elderly, women and children, family members and servants, Samurai, and Ninjas mixed in to guard the rear, together form a desolate scene of migration in the end times.

The atmosphere was so oppressive it was suffocating.

Apart from the sounds of Wheels, hooves, and heavy footsteps, almost no human voice could be heard.

Everyone's face was etched with exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty about the future.

Even Kiyotsune, who was usually the most talkative, just held his flute tightly and followed Shinrei silently, his eyes occasionally scanning the withered trees on both sides of the road and the undulating mountains in the distance with vigilance.

Sukemori rode in the middle of the family procession, with Takuichi following closely behind him like a shadow. Both of them were on edge.

They had received a warning from the Ninjas ahead using a secret technique.

There were multiple unidentified Chakra reactions, rapidly approaching from the flanks. Their intentions were unclear, but certainly not benevolent.

"They're here," Takuichi low voice, only Sukemori could hear it.

Sukemori gripped the hilt of the knife tightly and took a deep breath of the cold air.

Almost simultaneously, from the withered trees on the left side of the road, several dark figures shot out like arrows!

They wore dark, tight-fitting bodysuits for concealment, face masks, and white armbands bearing the emblem of the Minamoto clan.

The movements were swift and silent, the strikes ruthless, and the target clear—directly aimed at the seemingly vulnerable family quarters and supply vehicles within the convoy!

"Enemy attack--!"

A gasp shattered the oppressive silence.

"Protect the lady and the young master!"

"Stop them!"

The Taira clan's Ninjas reacted swiftly, charging forward without needing orders!

On the stage, the "Ninja Duel," which had been rehearsed countless times, was performed once again.

However, the atmosphere this time was completely different from any before.

Gone are the flashy moves and perfect teamwork designed for visual appeal.

Yes, it was just the most primitive and direct fighting and survival.

Kunai and Shuriken clashed in the cold wind, producing a piercing metallic clang.

Uchiha Izuna's Biwa became rapid and broken, like a blade scraping through bone, producing a sharp, clanging sound.

The audience was deathly silent.

No one applauded those exquisite movements or dazzling "Ninjutsu" effects anymore.

Because they all clearly saw that the Taira clan's Ninjas were at a significant numerical disadvantage.

Minamoto clearly came prepared, having deployed more manpower.

The Taira, after suffering a series of crushing defeats, fleeing in panic, and depleting their resources, already had few elite Ninjas to hire and keep by their side, and now they were even more stretched thin.

A Taira Ninja desperately parried his opponent's slash, but was Kunai in the ribs by another enemy attacking from the side, and collapsed with a muffled groan.

Two Taira Ninja stood back to back, trying to defend against attacks from all directions, but they were quickly overwhelmed by more figures.

Shintarō moved through the chaotic battle like a ghost.

His movements remained precise and ruthless, each strike aimed directly at vital points, rescuing his companions from danger or forcing back enemies attempting to break through the Defensive Line.

But he also had a tough time.

The enemy was fearless, well-coordinated, and outnumbered.

His dark Ninja outfit had been ripped in several places, and bloodstains were faintly visible.

His breathing was also rapid and labored.

He had to deal with threats from multiple directions at the same time, and also keep an eye on Koremori, who was being protected by several loyal Samurai and the remaining Ninjas not far away, his face as pale as paper.

Koremori did not participate in the battle; he simply stood there, staring blankly at the carnage before him.

As if the bloody scene before him had nothing to do with him, he had no wife or children behind him. They had been left in Kyoto because of the honor of Samurai, and no one would threaten the wife and children he had abandoned.

In retrospect, this was the right decision.

"Takuichi! Three o'clock!" Sukemori shouted sharply as he swung his sword to repel an enemy who tried to approach the carriage.

Takuichi moved instantly, the steel wire in his hand flashing coldly in the sunlight, precisely wrapping around the ankle of a Minamoto Ninja and yanking him down.

Sukemori immediately followed up with a fatal blow.

Shinrei stood guard near the sedan chair where Kiyotsune and several female relatives were.

She used the simplest and most effective Taijutsu and Shuriken to repel any enemy who tried to get close.

Her movements remained clean and efficient, her eyes calm, but fine beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, and her breathing became slightly rapid.

This encounter was short-lived, but exceptionally fierce.

The Taira clan's Ninjas and Samurai, with their fierce courage and desperate fighting spirit, ultimately repelled the attacking wave of Minamoto Ninjas.

The enemy left behind several corpses and, just as they had come, quickly disappeared into the woods on the other side of the road.

Calm has temporarily returned to the battlefield.

But the cost was devastating.

On the Taira side, several more Ninjas fell into pools of blood, never to rise again.

Samurai were also injured or killed. The air was thick with the stench of blood and the faint, burnt smell of Chakra residue.

The survivors, panting, bandaged each other's wounds, tallied their losses, and their eyes still gleaming with shock.

Sukemori jumped off his horse, his face grim as he looked at his companion's corpse on the ground. Takuichi walked to his side, a shallow wound on his arm bleeding, which he simply bandaged.

Kiyotsune's face turned pale, and she tightly gripped Guo Sheng's sleeve beside her.

Guo Sheng patted the back of his hand, his expression grave.

Shintarō slowly walked back to Koremori's side, his body bearing even more wounds, but he seemed to feel no pain, simply standing there silently, like a blood-stained statue.

Koremori's gaze finally stirred, landing on the wounds on Shintarō's body, before quickly shifting away, returning to its empty state.

The team must continue moving forward; it cannot stop.

The deceased's body was hastily buried by the roadside, and no tombstone could even be erected.

The injured were carried onto makeshift stretchers or horse-drawn carriages.

After a brief rest, this even more battered and desolate team set off again.

The Wheels rolled over the cold earth again, creaking and groaning as if in pain.

They arrived in Fukuhara.