First Blood

Four figures emerged from the mist.

They were masked in black cloth and armed with swords. Their footsteps were kept low, and the spacing between them was decent—at least they had received some training.

Murakami Takuya drew his blade three inches, but after seeing the enemy clearly, he pushed it back in.

He rested his hand on the hilt and leaned his shoulder against a tree trunk.

The meaning was clear.

Kitahara Kaede swept a glance over them.

Four people, no chakra fluctuations, their weapons were standard forged long swords, and their movement patterns showed a foundation but lacked professionalism.

He took half a step back.

He did not need this kind of opponent, but Tsunade and Jiraiya did.

"Tsunade, Jiraiya, they're yours."

Before the words had even faded, Tsunade had already charged out.

As the first shadow swung his blade down, Kitahara Kaede noticed Tsunade's eyes—she wasn't looking at the blade, but at the opponent's shoulder.

The shoulder moved first, then the blade followed; it was the path-judgment method Hiruzen had taught them.

She had learned it well.

She sidestepped the blade and slammed her right fist into the man's face.

There was no hesitation in that punch.

The sound of knuckles hitting a cheekbone was short and dull.

The man's head snapped back, and his entire body hit the tree trunk before sliding down, motionless.

The second one circled from the side, his blade aimed straight for her ribs.

Tsunade ducked, swept the man's legs out from under him, and pinned him to the ground. She drove her knee into his sword-wielding wrist and brought her elbow down hard.

A short, muffled groan followed.

Fast, decisive; the entire process took less than ten seconds.

The other side was much more chaotic.

Jiraiya lunged forward like a sparrow that had just learned to fly—he thrust his kunai, but it missed, only grazing the opponent's shoulder, tearing the fabric and leaving a shallow cut.

The man, stung by the pain, swung his blade back in a horizontal slash.

Jiraiya jumped back, but his heel caught on a wet stone, and he fell backward.

The back of his head hit the ground, and his vision went white for a moment.

The blade came down.

He raised his kunai to block.

Steel met steel, sparks splashed onto his face, and his hand went numb from the impact, nearly dropping the weapon.

The blade wedged into the groove of the kunai.

For less than a second, the two stared at each other across the crossed metal—the opponent's eyes were visible behind the black cloth, pupils dilated and bloodshot.

He was afraid.

But a frightened person is more dangerous than one who isn't, because they will use all their strength.

The man pressed down with added force.

Jiraiya's arms trembled, and the kunai sank lower inch by inch.

The blade was only three fingers away from his nose.

He rolled to the side.

The sword slammed into the mud where his head had just been, sinking two inches deep.

Without time to think, Jiraiya scrambled up and thrust his kunai forward.

This time, it didn't miss.

There was almost no resistance as the kunai passed through the clothing, but it was different when it hit muscle—a viscous resistance traveled from the blade back to his palm.

The man stiffened.

The sword slipped from his hand and hit the ground.

A drop of blood ran down the kunai and landed on the back of Jiraiya's hand.

The fourth man watched his three companions fall within seconds; he couldn't even hold his sword steady, turned, and ran.

Kitahara Kaede flicked his wrist, and a shuriken flew from his hand.

The man took two steps forward, his legs gave out, his knees hit the ground, and then he collapsed onto the grass.

Kitahara Kaede pulled his hand back.

He hadn't moved from his spot the entire time.

His gaze had been on Tsunade from start to finish—he had thrown the shuriken with his left hand, while his right had remained gripped on his kunai.

If any of those four had posed a real threat to Tsunade, he would have been there before anyone else.

But it hadn't been necessary.

Tsunade had handled it herself.

The camp fell silent.

The sound of the stream became clear again, exactly as it had been minutes ago, as if nothing had happened.

Her right fist was still clenched.

Her hand felt unresponsive—those two punches had been so fast that her body had finished the action before her brain could react.

She looked down at the man on the ground.

His chest was still rising and falling, but very shallowly, and getting shallower by the second.

During training, they hit scarecrows. They would clap their hands and walk away when finished.

Scarecrows didn't make sounds, didn't fall backward, and didn't make you feel the sensation of bones shifting out of place in your fist.

She didn't speak, took a deep breath, and lowered her fist.

Over there, Jiraiya was bent over, vomiting.

He braced himself against his knees, retching twice, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

He hadn't put down the kunai in his hand, and the blood on it was already beginning to darken.

He stared at the kunai, his lips moving slightly.

"...Simpler... than I thought."

His voice was very soft, as if he were speaking to himself.

He wasn't bragging.

He was discovering something that frightened him—killing a person was far easier than he had imagined.

He thought he wouldn't be able to do it, that there would be a moment of hesitation.

But there hadn't been; his hand had been steady when the kunai went in.

He didn't know how to process this.

Kitahara Kaede glanced at them.

He didn't say anything.

When he first went to the battlefield, he had been even worse than Tsunade and Jiraiya.

He walked to the corpses and crouched down to open the first one's jacket.

No forehead protector, no ninja tool pouch, but a hidden pocket was sewn into the inside of the belt.

He pried it open with a kunai and poured out three Soldier Ration Pills.

He picked one up and held it under his nose.

It wasn't a civilian imitation; it was standard issue from a ninja village.

He checked the second and third bodies—Soldier Ration Pills, bandages, hemostatic powder, standard field supplies, nothing missing.

Kitahara Kaede stood up.

"Something's wrong."

He tossed the Soldier Ration Pills to Murakami Takuya.

"These people have no chakra, but their equipment is ninja-grade. The Soldier Ration Pills are standard issue; there are no civilian channels for the ingredients."

Murakami Takuya caught them, took a look, and did not deny it.

"Wandering samurai wouldn't carry these things. And wandering samurai wouldn't just happen to stumble upon our camp," Kitahara Kaede said.

Murakami Takuya was silent for a few seconds.

"Good judgment."

He paused. "But it's only a guess. We can't withdraw until we know the truth."

His gaze passed over Kitahara Kaede and landed on Tsunade and Jiraiya a few meters away.

"Let them catch their breath first."

Kitahara Kaede walked over to Tsunade.

She was still standing, her back straight, her chin slightly raised.

This was her habit when she didn't want people to see that she wasn't doing well.

He took a canteen from his tool pouch, unscrewed the cap, and held it out.

Tsunade looked at him.

She didn't take it.

She pulled her own canteen from her bag, unscrewed it, and took a large gulp.

Then she poured the remaining water over her right hand and rubbed it.

"Let's go." She tightened the canteen, no extra words.

Kitahara Kaede put his canteen away without a word.

She wasn't rejecting him.

She just didn't want to be handed anything at that moment, didn't want to be treated as someone who needed comfort.

Jiraiya walked over as well.

He finally put down the kunai, wiped it clean on the grass, and sheathed it in his tool pouch.

His movements were twice as slow as usual, but his hands were no longer shaking.

He looked at Kitahara Kaede and opened his mouth.

Normally, he would have been able to spout ten or twenty lines of nonsense. But this time, he chewed his lip for a long while without a single word coming out.

In the end, he just took out the notebook labeled "Hero Descending from the Sky with a Cool Pose (Pending)" from his pocket, glanced at it, and shoved it to the very bottom of his bag.

"Move out." Murakami Takuya turned toward the east. "Twelve kilometers ahead, we arrive at the perimeter before dawn."

The four of them packed up the camp.

They moved quickly, and no one spoke.

The sky was still dark, but the clouds in the east were beginning to turn gray.

Tsunade walked in front of Kitahara Kaede, her ponytail swaying gently with her steps, the rhythm no different from usual.

Jiraiya walked at the very back, carrying the large pack he had lugged the whole way, his steps heavier than when they had arrived.

The sound of the four pairs of footsteps crunched on the gravel path, and the sound of the stream gradually faded away.