The air on the border of the Land of Hot Water was tinged with the smell of soil and rust.
Uchiha Ryūha stood in front of Konoha Outpost No. 17, the dark red ground beneath his feet soaked with blood.
The wooden watchtower had snapped in half. Several oddly shaped kunai crackling with lightning jutted from its charred remains.
Even more horrifying was the open space in the center of the camp—more than a dozen Konoha Ninja corpses had been deliberately arranged into a twisted symbol.
It was a Kumogakure lightning emblem, pieced together from severed limbs and heads.
"Ugh—!"
Haruno Kazuya turned sharply and leaned against a charred tree stump, retching violently.
Fujiwara Itsuki's face was as pale as paper. He bit down hard on his lip, his fingernails digging deep into his palms.
Even Matsumoto Ryūichi, who had experienced several border skirmishes, swallowed hard, cold sweat beading at his temples.
Only Uchiha Ryūha remained calm.
He surveyed the slaughter, his gaze passing over each twisted corpse as if he were counting goods on a shelf.
The morning breeze swept by, ruffling the black hair over his forehead and revealing eyes so composed they were almost cold.
His powerful Reiatsu gave him unparalleled control over his mind.
Though he had never seen anything like this before, he could still keep a straight face.
"Get used to it."
A clean handkerchief was held out to Haruno Kazuya.
The boy looked up blankly and met Ryūha's indifferent gaze.
"Or die."
His voice didn't waver, as if he were stating a simple fact like "It's raining today."
Haruno Kazuya shuddered, took the handkerchief, and wiped his mouth haphazardly, forcing himself to stand straight.
"Sorry, Ryūha..."
"No need to apologize." Ryūha looked away and began walking slowly toward the center of the "lightning emblem."
"The first time you see a slaughterhouse, this is how you react.
The second time, a little better. By the third, you won't throw up."
He crouched beside a corpse lying on its back.
The Ninja was very young. His Forehead Protector sat crookedly on his brow, and his eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the gloomy sky.
His carotid artery had been precisely slit, but the fatal wound was in his chest—a charred hole that went straight through him.
The edges still showed traces of charred muscle and bone.
"Lightning Style: Lariat." Matsumoto Ryūichi walked over, his voice hoarse.
"It's a signature Lightning Release Taijutsu technique used by Kumogakure Jonin. They concentrate Lightning Release Chakra in the edge of their hand, giving it tremendous piercing power.
Whoever did this... was at least a Special Jonin, possibly even a Jonin."
"More than one of them." Ryūha touched the edge of the wound with his fingertip, picked up a bit of charred debris, and held it to his nose.
"Three different traces of Chakra.
One was skilled in Lightning Release Taijutsu, another used Lightning Release to charge their ninja tools for ranged attacks, and the last..."
He stood and looked toward several comparatively "intact" corpses near the edge of the camp.
They had no obvious external injuries, but blood trickled from their eyes, ears, noses, and mouths, and their faces were twisted with agony.
"Genjutsu.
Or some kind of Lightning Release secret technique that interferes with the nervous system." Ryūha reached his conclusion.
"A standard elite hunting squad led by a Jonin.
Their mission was clear: eliminate the outpost, leave no survivors, and spread fear."
"They succeeded," Fujiwara Itsuki said, his voice trembling.
"They didn't go far enough." Uchiha Ryūha turned and headed toward a half-collapsed storehouse behind the outpost.
"If they wanted to terrorize us, they should have let word get back.
But they killed too quickly and left no 'tongue.'"
He kicked open the broken wooden door.
Inside were stacks of supply crates, most of them looted.
But something moved in the shadows in the farthest corner.
Matsumoto Ryūichi drew his sword in an instant and stepped in front of Ryūha. Haruno Kazuya and Fujiwara Itsuki immediately formed Hand Seals, standing ready.
"Come out..." a voice whispered, so weak it was almost inaudible.
It was a Konoha Chunin, his abdomen pierced by a kunai and hastily bandaged with torn strips of cloth. Blood was still seeping through.
He huddled behind a crate, clutching a Ninja Hawk used for communications. The hawk was dead, its neck twisted.
"Someone's... still alive?" Matsumoto Ryūichi asked, shocked and suspicious.
"They left him here on purpose." Ryūha walked over to the wounded man and crouched down.
"They needed someone to carry the 'scene of the massacre' back and undermine morale on the home front.
Your injury isn't life-threatening, but you've lost too much blood. With the shock, you'll last half an hour at most. They killed your communication hawk, so you can only struggle back on your own to deliver the news—
but on the way, the blood loss and fear will make you describe what happened to every Konoha Ninja you meet, spreading panic like a plague."
The wounded man's eyes widened, tears mingling with the grime and blood on his face.
"I... I'm useless..."
"No, you're very useful." Ryūha reached out, a faint green glow gathering at his fingertips—it was the most basic Medical Ninjutsu, the Mystical Palm Technique.
He pressed his hand to the wound in the man's abdomen, temporarily stopping the bleeding.
"Tell me how many attackers there were, what they looked like, and which way they retreated."
Perhaps it was the instinct to survive, or perhaps the warmth from that small amount of healing Chakra. The wounded man panted as he gave a broken account.
"Six... six of them... wearing Kumogakure Forehead Protectors... The leader was bald, with a scar on his face. He used a Lightning Release hand blade... There was also a woman, with red hair.
She used electrified Senbon... Before they left, they... they said, 'Next time, Lord Two-Tails will come in person'..."
"Lord Two-Tails?" Matsumoto Ryūichi's expression changed dramatically.
"The Jinchūriki of the Two-Tails, Matatabi." Ryūha withdrew his hand, his expression still calm.
"Kumogakure's weapon of war is finally being sent to the battlefield."
After saying all that, the wounded man visibly began to fade.
Ryūha stood and said to Fujiwara Itsuki, "Make him a simple stretcher, give him a Military Ration Pill and some water, and take him to the nearest supply point behind the lines."
"Yes!"
"Ryūha, what do we do now...?" Matsumoto Ryūichi asked.
"Pursue them." Ryūha looked northeast, in the direction the wounded man had said the Kumogakure Ninja retreated.
"They left less than two hours ago, and they're carrying the supplies they looted. They can't be moving very fast.
And..."
He paused, a faint, icy curve forming at the corner of his mouth.
"If they dared to leave a survivor, they should have anticipated that he might bring pursuers."
Less than five kilometers into the pursuit, the edge of Ryūha's Reiatsu perception picked up an abnormal disturbance.
Six Chakra signatures were resting in a clearing among sparse trees.
Three of them were massive and violent, clearly belonging to the bald leader and his two main fighters.
The other three were comparatively weak and were likely Genin tasked with carrying the supplies.
"Prepare for battle." Ryūha raised a hand to signal the team to stop, his voice low.
"Matsumoto Ryūichi, take the red-haired kunoichi.
Kazuya, Itsuki, you two keep those two Genin occupied. Don't press the attack; just hold them off.
I'll handle the bald leader and the other Jonin."
"Understood."
"Attack together in three seconds."
Ryūha held up three fingers, folding them down one by one.
Three.
Two.
One.
"Move!"
Before you continue