Chapter 28

"Move along, move along!" Several men in dark uniforms suddenly appeared, helping the drunken men who could barely stand out of the tavern. Others who had passed out were carried away directly. As for where they were being taken, Saitama did not care.

"Sir Ninja, my master needs to rest. Could I trouble you to move elsewhere? This is a small token from my master." A man with a pencil mustache approached Saitama's table and set down a high-value banknote, enough to spend an entire afternoon at any tavern in Konoha.

"No need, Steward. He is the ninja who accepted our commission." A deep, resonant voice came from behind the mustached man. It belonged to the sturdy man who had seemed thoroughly drunk.

"Yes!" The mustached man looked Saitama over in surprise, unable to hide the shock in his eyes.

"A pleasure." The burly man still reeked of alcohol, but his eyes had regained their clarity. None of his earlier drunkenness remained.

The tavern had already been taken over by the burly man's attendants, and no one was surprised by his transformation.

"A pleasure." Saitama rose and clasped the man's outstretched right hand.

His palm was rough, and thick calluses covered the web between his thumb and forefinger—this was Saitama's first impression. Clearly, this man was no pampered noble.

"Creak—" The burly man dragged over a chair and sat down without ceremony, while the mustached man retreated to a spot three paces behind him.

"Uchiha Saitama. I'll be handling the escort mission this time."

"Hayaharu Shimo, your employer." The burly man looked Saitama straight in the eye, showing no disdain for his youth.

"You're carrying out the mission alone?" Though Saitama had a steady bearing, Shimo did not dare take matters of life and death lightly.

"Yes." Saitama nodded calmly.

"What? How can the Hokage be so perfunctory!" The mustached man suddenly rushed to the table and shouted furiously, his face flushed red.

"Steward!" Shimo barked.

"My apologies for my impropriety." The mustached man gritted his teeth and stepped back into place, his clenched fists turning white.

"You're from the Uchiha clan?" Shimo got straight to the point. His blunt manner actually made Saitama feel more at ease.

"Mm."

"A jonin at your age? That's rare indeed," Shimo remarked. In his eyes, a ninja who looked this young would be considered a genius in any hidden village.

"I'm a chunin," Saitama replied evenly. At the start of a mission, honesty was more important than concealment.

Shimo's brows immediately knotted together. He had specifically stated in the commission that they might encounter enemies at jonin level, yet Konoha had only sent a chunin?

Has Konoha truly declined to this extent? The thought made his chest tighten.

After hearing Saitama's words, the mustached man's ears reddened slightly, yet he still forced himself to remain perfectly still.

"You said your name is Uchiha Saitama?" Hayaharu Shimo suddenly recalled a piece of news he had happened to hear while speaking with Konoha ninja a few days ago.

"Mm." Saitama's gaze was sharp as he stared directly into Shimo's eyes.

"The one from the Sand Village battlefield?" An unbelievable rumor flashed through Hayaharu Shimo's mind.

"I only returned from the front yesterday." Saitama sensed that the man seemed to know something.

Even nobles in the capital have heard about it? Saitama was secretly surprised. Some members of his own clan still did not know about his accomplishments, yet now they had been revealed by a noble who lived deep within the capital.

"I have no further questions. I look forward to your guidance, Sir Ninja!" Hayaharu Shimo abruptly rose and bowed solemnly.

The hand tugging at the mustached man's whiskers suddenly trembled.

A chunin is being sent alone on the mission? My lord is...

Though filled with doubts, the obedience ingrained in him over many years made him swallow his questions. He only needed to carry out orders!

"Pass the word. We depart at one in the afternoon!" Hayaharu Shimo turned and gave the order, then looked at Saitama with some hesitation.

"I'll follow your arrangements." Saitama nodded.

"Go make preparations." Hayaharu Shimo waved his sleeve.

"See you shortly." With the handover complete, Saitama rose to take his leave.

"Wait..."

"Just call me Saitama." Seeing that the other man was unused to honorifics, Saitama offered it himself.

"Saitama, then. See you shortly?"

"Mm."

His blue robe brushed past the threshold, and his figure gradually vanished around the street corner.

"My lord!" The mustached man hurried forward.

"This man is highly skilled. There is no need to worry," Hayaharu Shimo said, seeing through his subordinate's concerns.

"Do not underestimate Konoha's chunin." He rubbed the teacup in his hand, his gaze drifting farther and farther away.

Seeing this, the mustached man said no more. He turned to urge the others to pack their luggage. The capital's affairs could not be delayed. Though his lord had not said so openly, he must surely be anxious.

Although Saitama had told Granny Xiang that he was going on a mission, he had not mentioned that he would be leaving the village today. While his employer made preparations, he decided to return and say goodbye.

"Granny!"

"You're back, Saitama?"

At ten in the morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains into the room. Uchiha Kaori leaned against the headboard, her eyes fixed on the television across from her—a set Saitama had specially bought for her when he visited the market a few days ago.

The television faced the bed directly, allowing the old woman to see the screen with the slightest lift of her eyes. Picture frames were neatly arranged on the bedside table, each photograph recording fragments of this grandmother and grandson's life together. The boy in the pictures had grown taller by the day, while the wrinkles on the old woman's face deepened with every passing year. The most prominent was a family photo taken during the New Year. In it, Saitama rested both hands lightly on the old woman's shoulders, while Uchiha Kaori's wrinkled face overflowed with happiness.

"Granny, I'm going on a mission," Saitama said from the doorway. The old woman's pupils trembled almost imperceptibly, but her voice remained exceptionally calm. "Go on. These old bones of mine are tougher than you think."

The boy walked to the bed and tucked in the covers. As he turned, his clothing stirred a faint breeze. When the door clicked shut, Uchiha Kaori stared blankly at the picture frames covering the wall, and the television suddenly seemed very far away.

The sound of a water droplet hitting the ground shattered the silence.

"The target has left the village."

"Proceed according to plan."

Within the sealed space of crisscrossing pipes, the tapping of a cane against the floor rang especially clear as several dark figures flashed through the shadows.

Smoke curled through the Hokage's office, and the ember in Hiruzen Sarutobi's pipe flickered by the window.

Outside the tavern, Hayaharu Shimo's caravan stood ready to depart. More than a dozen attendants clustered around the mustached steward, while the client leaned his head out of the carriage. "Mr. Saitama, can we leave now?"

The boy leaped onto the flat roof of the carriage. Remembering the pointed-roof carriages from television dramas in his previous life, he could not help smiling. At the crack of a whip, the convoy slowly rolled out of the village.

After registering at Konoha's gate, Saitama and the others set off from the village in grand procession. At this pace, Saitama estimated it would take another half a month to reach the capital.

For now, Saitama could not abandon the servants traveling with them, so he could only sit idly in the carriage and practice fine chakra control.

They left the village at noon and traveled east for more than half a day, only stopping when the sun began to sink in the west.

"My lord, shall we camp here tonight?" The mustached man bent to help Hayaharu Shimo out of the carriage, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Start a fire, prepare food, and set up the tents. There are a few blankets in my carriage. This damned weather..." Hayaharu Shimo jumped down from the carriage, casually stroking the mane of the carriage horse as he issued orders to the mustached man.

"At once! I'll see to it immediately!" The mustached man was long accustomed to his master's temperament. He withdrew deferentially and went to relay the orders.

As the mustached man headed toward the servants in dark robes, Hayaharu Shimo looked up and called, "Saitama, aren't you coming down to rest?"

"I'll scout the area." Saitama stood, dusting off his trouser legs as his sharp eyes swept over the darkening forest. They were far from Konoha now, and he had to admit that his earlier estimate had been wrong—these servants could actually jog alongside the carriage the entire way. The physical strength of ordinary people in the ninja world was truly remarkable.

"Whoosh!" Saitama sprang into the woods, beginning his reconnaissance with the camp as the center.

"My lord, please sit." The mustached man somehow produced a wooden chair. Hayaharu Shimo gave an absent-minded response, his gaze still roaming the tree shadows in the twilight. "Bring me something to drink. The journey has made me thirsty."

The mustached man soon returned carrying a jar of alcohol. "This is Konoha sake we brought when we left the village."

"It's even better than the finest brew from the capital." Hayaharu Shimo tore off the clay seal and inhaled deeply. After taking a long drink, he narrowed his eyes. "Bring more back next time."

When Saitama returned, stepping over fallen leaves, he found Hayaharu Shimo clutching the sake jar and drinking heavily. He could not help frowning—this man had already reeked of alcohol before they departed, and now he was indulging again.

Though spring's chill had yet to fade and Hayaharu Shimo did not seem like the sort to drink himself into trouble, Saitama had always believed that anyone unable to control even their appetite would ultimately accomplish nothing.

He stood with folded arms, watching coldly as the group set up tents and built a bonfire. In the distance came the crackling pop of sizzling fat, mixed with rough laughter and chatter.

"Saitama! Come have something hot!" Hayaharu Shimo waved a roasted beast leg browned to a crisp, grease spattering into the fire with a loud sizzle.

"No need." Saitama took a hard flatbread from the bundle tucked against his body. Its dry wheat flavor spread between his teeth. This was an iron rule for ninja—during a mission, trust only the rations you brought yourself. Who knew what schemes might be hidden in a stranger's cooking smoke?

The sounds of people tearing into meat came from beside the bonfire. Saitama's Adam's apple bobbed, but he bit down even harder on his flatbread.

As night fell, four tents sprang up like mushrooms. The mustached man occupied one alone, while the attendants crowded into the other three. Saitama sat cross-legged atop the carriage, while Hayaharu Shimo's snores inside the compartment beneath him made the canopy tremble.

A river of stars spilled across the sky, and the blade reflected their light in a silver arc.

"This world's night sky..." Saitama suddenly sheathed his sword and listened closely. A faint crunch of fallen leaves came from the ten o'clock direction. Two masked figures stood atop the treetops. The ninja wearing a Shura mask tapped the trunk with a bent finger. "We meet again. You treated my companion quite harshly last time."

Saitama landed soundlessly, his thumb resting against the sword guard. The night wind swept lingering sparks between the three of them.

"Root?" Saitama frowned slightly, recalling the Root ninja he had frightened into trembling.

"What do you want with me?" He was still puzzled. Given Danzo's hostility toward the Uchiha, there was no reason for him to try to recruit Saitama time and again.

"It is the same invitation as before. We hope you will join us. Your talent is obvious to all, so consider it carefully." Shura's voice was cold and mechanical, utterly without inflection.

"I'm a member of the Uchiha clan. Why should I join an organization of unknown origins like yours?" Saitama's lips curved in mockery.

"Because my lord needs your talent!" Shura's tone was slightly stiff, as though stressing an order that could not be defied.

"Heh. And if I refuse?" Saitama sensed the two men's auras gradually becoming dangerous, and his voice turned cold as well.

"My lord said that it would naturally be best if we could recruit you. But if you refuse to cooperate... bringing back a pair of eyes will do." Beneath Shura's mask, bloodshot eyes stared at him without blinking.

"Interesting!" Lightning flickered around him as Saitama sprang toward the woods, unwilling to involve innocents.

"Pursue him!" At Shura's command, the man wearing the Demon mask immediately followed.

"Uchiha Saitama, I'll ask one last time. Will you agree?" Shura blocked his path, his killing intent growing ever stronger, like a final ultimatum.

"You're already talking about digging out my eyes. Do you expect me to stand here and wait for you to do it?" Saitama sneered, his body suddenly bursting forward as he struck first!

Bang! A lightning-wreathed kick slammed viciously into Shura's face, while his long blade chopped straight toward Demon.

"Hmph! You don't know what's good for you!" Shura took the kick but spoke coldly as if nothing had happened.

What? Saitama was startled. He was certain that strike had landed. Even a jonin could not have emerged completely unscathed.

"Buzzzzz—" A dense hum of beating wings suddenly rose all around them. Countless black shadows surged out of the darkness, encircling the battlefield.

The night was already dark, and the insect swarm was tiny. Saitama's gaze hardened as he silently activated his Sharingan.

"The eyes my lord wants... are these?" Shura murmured to himself. He had seen plenty of three-tomoe Sharingan. Mere two-tomoe ones were not worth fearing.

He spread both arms, and the swarm rushed at Saitama like a tidal wave.

The Sharingan's perception allowed Saitama to ignore the darkness. Every movement of his enemies and every flight path of the insects lay clearly before him.

"Hiss—"

"Crackle!"

Chidori Stream gathered in his palm before wrapping itself around the blade.