During the time Senju Kyogawa was resting, he had not been idle.
Thinking carefully, some of the Senju ninja wounded on the battlefield had actually died from blood loss—trading wound for wound in order to perish alongside the enemy. Their injuries might not even have been fatal, but because the medical ninja squad had failed to reach them in time, they could only lie silently in eternal rest amid the corpses and bloodshed of the battlefield.
Over the past few days, Senju Kyogawa had encountered many such cases while leading the medical ninja squad from place to place.
What had they thought of before dying from blood loss? Their families, their friends, or the glory that belonged to Senju ninja? Had they died with regrets, or had they been glad to have taken one more enemy down with them?
As blood slowly flowed from their wounds, had they felt despair after losing the ability to move?
As their bodies grew colder inch by inch, had they felt even the slightest fear?
After sending out distress signals and waiting for medical ninja to come save them, only to never receive salvation in the end, had their hope turned into despair and disappointment?
And over these past few days, watching the young ninja bustling about just like him, seeing the innocence once visible in their eyes slowly turn resolute and heavy during these bloody, difficult times, he could not help but ache for these young ninja who should have been carefree children.
At the very least, in the country where he had lived in his previous life, children of five or six were at that age when even cats and dogs found them annoying. They were the little brats in adults' eyes, free to cry whenever they wanted and vent their tempers