Bandit and Weaver

Cloud Thunder Mountain Range

The mountains rise into the clouds as if carved by a knife and axe, and the mist swirling around their waists never dissipates, making them look like a fairyland floating above the mortal world from a distance.

High Heaven Pavilion sits atop the highest point of these mountains, its black structure stretching upwards along the ridge.

It is the headquarters of Ninjutsu School, the absolute core of the Ninja World today, and a sacred place that countless people dream of entering but never manage to enter in their entire lives.

This is the home of the Otsutsuki Clan clan, who inherited the blood of Otsutsuki Indra and were enshrined as Clan of Gods.

It was also a hell for the descendants of the Ninja Sect who had been reduced to prisoners and stripped of their Otsutsuki surname.

"Hey! What are you guys trying to do?!"

A boy dressed in coarse cloth, who looked only eight or nine years old, was half-lying on the ground, one hand tightly covering his right arm.

The burned skin was a shocking blackish-red color, with uncongealed blood beads still clinging to the edges of the burn.

He winced in pain, but stubbornly refused to let the tears well up in his eyes. He simply raised his head and glared angrily at the three boys looking down at him.

The three boys were dressed in well-tailored black robes, the fabric gleaming with a subtle yet expensive sheen in the sunlight.

This formed a stark contrast with the boy on the ground, dressed in coarse, tattered clothes with frayed cuffs.

Their eyes were full of disdain, as if they were examining a piece of waste.

"You can't even be a good target, you're a complete waste."

The boy standing at the front had his arms crossed, his voice lazy, with a slightly impatient rising tone at the end.

"Exactly, those dark-skinned guys are much tougher than you. They can get up and keep running after taking three Fire Release, but you, you were knocked down by just one flame!"

"If you can't even do this properly, I really don't know what use you are in this holy land?"

The person next to him chimed in, kicking away a pebble that rolled to the boy in coarse cloth.

"Well, this guy is different from us elites chosen by the Holy Land; he's just a 'trophy' who's lucky enough to step into the Holy Land."

The third boy spoke in a sarcastic tone, his gaze passing over the boy in coarse cloth and landing in the direction of the main pavilion of the High Heaven Pavilion in the distance, a deliberate smile on his lips.

"That's true... Be grateful you were born into a sinful race, you trash."

After all, if it weren't for the blood in your veins that deserves to be exterminated, how could you possibly have the right to step into the holy land like us? Hahahaha...

The laughter was sharp and shrill, echoing across the square surrounded by mountains.

The boy in coarse cloth glared at the three faces before him, some mocking, some indifferent, and some gloating, his veins bulging on his forehead.

"You three bastards... I'll fight you to the death!!"

He sprang up from the ground, raised his uninjured arm, and charged towards the black-robed youth at the front.

A hint of disdain flashed in the eyes of the boy at the front, Chakra began to gather in his palm.

However, his arm was only halfway raised when his companion swiftly grabbed it.

His companion cautiously gestured with his chin in a direction not far away and said in a low voice:

"Let's hurry up and leave. I heard this trash seems to be getting quite close to some important figure from the Clan of Gods. Maybe that important figure is watching from nearby..."

Upon hearing this, the boy who was about to make a move visibly paused, his gaze passing over the shoulder of the boy in the coarse cloth and looking in a certain direction in the distance.

He saw the blurry black figure, and a dark resentment and disdain resurfaced in his eyes.

The boy pursed his lips, forcibly dissipating the Chakra he had gathered, and reluctantly let his hand fall back to his side.

"What's there to be afraid of? I've already done my research. The big shot protecting this good-for-nothing is just a marginal figure within the Clan of Gods. Even the official members of the sect don't take him seriously!"

Even so, he still took a half step back.

He turned around and, in that instant, casually punched the rough-clothed boy who had rushed in front of him, sending him flying.

The boy's thin body tumbled in the air before crashing heavily to the ground, his elbow hitting the stone slab with a dull thud.

"You've escaped death, you piece of trash."

The black-robed youth left the area without turning back, uttering those words. He then quickly departed with his two companions.

Their footsteps faded into the distance on the stone path, occasionally punctuated by a few suppressed laughs, as if they hadn't quite finished laughing.

The boy in coarse cloth winced and sat up, supporting himself on the ground. His intact hand covered the back of his head, where he had bumped his head and a bump had formed.

He stared in the direction the three had gone, his teeth grinding together.

"Hateful..."

The blurry black figure in the distance then hurriedly arrived.

"Zhi, are you alright? Zhi..."

Cough, cough, cough..."

The boy dressed in coarse cloth barely managed to lift his head. What came into view was a boy with long black hair.

The boy was even thinner than him, with pale skin and a faint bluish-gray tinge under his eyes.

He was hunched over, coughing violently from the strenuous exercise and sudden emotional shock, one hand on his knee, the other reaching out towards him.

The boy was wearing a plain white robe with almost no decoration.

In the High Heaven Pavilion, even outer disciples with inferior fabrics have to sew on the markings of their Ninjutsu School.

His white shirt, devoid of any identifying mark, stood out starkly, and it was also deeply painful to see.

The moment the boy named Zhi saw who it was, the resentment in his eyes seemed to be blown away by a gust of wind, leaving only a sudden surge of panic.

Ignoring the swelling on the back of his head and the burns on his arm, he scrambled to his feet, carefully supporting the white-clad boy's shoulder and gently patting his back with his uninjured hand.

The anger and humiliation in his voice were now diluted into frantic concern:

"Hey! Kou, are you alright? Don't scare me!"

The boy, called Kou, coughed for a while before his breathing gradually calmed down.

Seeing the boy's breathing gradually stabilize, the boy named Zhi finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He looked at the weak boy in front of him and said irritably:

"I've told you so many times, just stay in your room."

Why did you run out? Don't you know your own body?

The boy's cheeks were flushed an unnatural red from the violent coughing, contrasting sharply with the pale skin around them.

He raised his sleeve to wipe his mouth, and said softly, somewhat aggrieved:

"But... but... I heard you've been harassed, and I'm worried about you..."

"What trouble are those guys? They're just a bunch of trash who're just bullying others!"

Even if you hadn't come, I could have taken them all down by myself!

"But... but you've clearly lost so much blood..."

"What's wrong with a man bleeding a little?!"

Zhi's voice suddenly rose, but then she realized that her tone was too harsh and softened it abruptly.

He turned his head away from Kou's bright black eyes, his ears turning slightly red.

"Red is a symbol of courage!"

Kou wanted to say something more, but before he could speak, Zhi blurted out:

"Alright, alright, let's go back quickly! I'm counting on you to take care of my wounds, Kou!"

Kou looked at the smiling young man before him and nodded with a smile:

"Um!"

The two boys supported each other and slowly left along a side path at the edge of the square.

One was dressed in coarse cloth, the other in plain white; in this High Heaven Pavilion filled with black-clad figures, they looked like two puzzle pieces deliberately thrown into a corner.

They pieced themselves together, barely managing to create a little warmth to comfort each other.

No one noticed that a dark-haired youth was standing just a few steps away from them.

The expression on his face was so complex that it defied description.

He tapped and rubbed his throbbing temples.

The information about that period of history from a thousand years ago, which had been forcibly inserted into his mind, was still churning deep within his consciousness.

As he processed this vast amount of information—enough to overturn the entire history of the Ninja World —he watched the two boys' retreating figures with his Mangekyō Sharingan.

Kou's gaze shifted from the boy named Zhi to the back of Kou, a small and frail-looking boy in white whom he was supporting.

He tried hard to recall the figure he had seen in that fragment of memory where his pupil power had lingered not long ago.

The old man with white hair and a solemn face.

At this moment, Kou tried his best to overlap that withered yet sharp figure with the boy in front of him who was holding his companion's arm and trying to take each step steadily.

"Really...?"

Kou stood there, somewhat bewildered, muttering to himself.

His voice echoed in this space of consciousness, lingering for a long time...