The wound kept tearing at his muscles. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain was still unbearable. Kakuzu could only grit his teeth and let his injured arm hang helplessly beside his leg.
Many days had passed since his last encounter. Hiding in a tree hollow and nursing his wounds, he couldn't even say how long it had been.
All he knew was that the pills and bandages the Konoha Ninja had given him were much better quality than those from his village. As the days passed, feeling gradually returned to his arm, and his fingers could move again when he willed them to.
The assassination mission had been a fruitful one. He'd encountered a well-known core member of Konoha Hidden Village. Though he'd suffered a minor injury, it had been worth it.
He paced through the dense forest, stepping over dead branches and leaves. Lowering his eyes, he wondered how he would explain the failed assassination to his village.
It had been a mission he was supposed to die on. If he'd lost only an arm, those old foxes would surely assume he'd agreed to spy for Konoha in exchange for his life.
Should he tell them about the God of Shinobi's benevolence?
Their minds were full of cunning and scheming. They wouldn't believe that the legendary figure could be so kind. They'd cling to their preconceived notions: the God of Shinobi had to be cold-blooded and merciless. Otherwise, how could he have defeated Uchiha Madara?
The buzzing of insects filled his ears. His gaze followed the flickering shadows of their beating wings. A breeze slipped beneath his bandages, making his scabbed wound tingle. It was as if all his troubles had vanished into the golden autumn forest.
A ninja's instinctive sense of danger warned him that someone was