Skirmish in the Mountain Forest

Matsumoto, the owner of the herbal medicine shop, came knocking with a cane in hand. He clutched a crumpled commission slip, his toothless mouth stretched into an exceptionally fawning smile. "Young man, I have a slightly difficult job for you."

Takuma took the slip, feeling a bit speechless. To think one could bypass the Hokage Building to issue private missions. On the paper was a drawing of a dark red vine labeled "Red Blood Vine." The collection site was in the cliff area deep behind Konoha Village, more than twice as far as the place where he had previously gathered Moonlight Grass.

"Red Blood Vines only grow in the crevices on the shaded side of the cliff. They are quite difficult to harvest, and the root system is also medicinal, so the more intact it is, the better." Matsumoto rubbed his hands together. "I'm a bit worried about sending a regular Genin, but for you, young man, it's definitely no problem. How about five thousand ryo?"

"Six thousand."

"Five thousand five, plus a pork hot pot."

"Deal."

The deeper one went into the mountains behind Konoha, the quieter it became.

At first, one could still hear the chirping of birds, the buzzing of insects, and the rustling of squirrels darting between branches. As he walked further, even the squirrels vanished, leaving only the sound of the wind whistling through the canopy. Takuma walked along, using a Kunai to carve marks into tree trunks while silently reviewing the hand seal sequences for Water Release that his father had taught him.

After rounding a massive tree struck down by lightning, the cliff appeared at the edge of his vision.

It was at least forty meters high. The grayish-white rock face was covered in various climbing plants, a tangled mess of deep and light greens that made it impossible to distinguish which was the Red Blood Vine. Below the cliff lay a dried-up riverbed filled with loose stones that crunched underfoot. Takuma tilted his head, searching for a long time until he finally spotted a few dark red vines in a recessed crevice. Their color resembled rusted iron, and they were pressed against the shaded rock so tightly that they would be impossible to notice without a careful look.

He tightened his ninja tool pouch, flexed his fingers, and began to climb.

The first ten meters went smoothly; the rock surface was rough, providing plenty of handholds and footholds. Around the fifteen-meter mark, the wall began to grow smooth, and the protrusions he could use for leverage became increasingly scarce. Takuma jammed his Kunai into a crevice to serve as a pivot point, inching his way up. When he reached twenty meters, the rock his left hand was gripping suddenly loosened, and his entire body sank abruptly. He jammed his right-hand Kunai deep into a crack, hanging in mid-air and swaying twice. Loose gravel fell from his feet, hitting the riverbed below with a crisp echo.

Once he steadied himself, he continued to climb, his movements more cautious than before. He tested every step three times before daring to shift his weight. It took nearly twenty minutes to reach the spot where the Red Blood Vine grew. He found a relatively flat foothold, pressed his back against the rock face, and freed both hands to begin digging with his trowel.

The root system of the Red Blood Vine was far more developed than he had imagined. The roots were buried deep into the rock crevices, gripping the stone like an animal's claws. He dug for nearly ten minutes, sweat from his forehead dripping down the bridge of his nose, his clothes rubbing against the rock with a dry, rasping sound.

"Is this thing part octopus?" Takuma cursed as he dug. Finally, the last main root loosened. He pulled the entire Red Blood Vine out by the roots; it was as long as his forearm, with the root system perfectly intact.

Carefully rolling up the Red Blood Vine and stuffing it into his herb basket, Takuma began his descent.

He had climbed down less than five meters when he stopped.

It wasn't that he had heard something; it was that he hadn't. The birdsong had vanished. Immediately afterward, a flock of birds startled from the distant canopy, flapping frantically toward the sky. Three figures darted out of the dense forest and landed on the dry riverbed.

Takuma pressed himself against the cliff, motionless.

There were three of them, all wearing dark gray, tight-fitting suits, with no ninja headbands from any village. One was a middle-aged man carrying a long sword, with an old scar on his left cheek extending from his brow bone to his jaw. Another was a tall, thin man with pouches full of Shuriken hanging from his waist. The third was a short man with bandages wrapped around both hands, who was currently unfolding a simple map.

They were not Konoha ninja. Nor did they look like ordinary wandering samurai. Their movement was too synchronized; after landing, they automatically formed a defensive formation without a single word of communication. The scarred man took the center, the Shuriken-wielding ninja faced the forest, and the bandaged short man faced the cliff. These were tactical habits only possessed by those who had undergone formal military training.

Takuma lowered his breathing, keeping his body pressed against the rock and using the color of his dark green jacket to blend into the vines. His situation was dire—ten meters from the ground, thirty meters from the top, and he had no time to go either way. If discovered, he would be a sitting duck on this cliff face.

"The direction is correct, right?" the scarred man asked, his voice low.

"Correct." The bandaged short man pointed to a spot on the map. "The weak point in the third patrol route on the outskirts of Konoha is right here in this cliff area. Over this ridge is the edge of their barrier sensor range."

"This godforsaken place doesn't even have a road. Are the people in Konoha bored out of their minds to set up a barrier here?"

"Precisely because there is no road, the patrol intensity is at its weakest." The scarred man said coldly, "Finish the marking and let's go. Stop talking nonsense."

Takuma's heart sank. He understood—these three were systematically scouting Konoha's outer defenses. This wasn't an impromptu crime like wandering ninja robbing a merchant caravan; it was organized, purposeful military reconnaissance. Such a thing should not be happening in the heart of the Land of Fire, and certainly not less than half a day's journey from Konoha Village.

The scarred man crouched down and used a Kunai to carve a mark into a large stone on the riverbed. The other two stood guard, dispersed.

The one facing the cliff happened to be the man with the Shuriken pouches hanging from his waist. His gaze swept over the cliff, from bottom to top, scanning it grid by grid like a comb.

Takuma buried his body into the vines and slowed his breathing frequency. His right hand had already reached for the Explosive Tag in his ninja tool pouch, while his left hand gripped a crack in the rock.

The man's gaze swept over a spot half a meter above his head and paused for a moment.

Then, it moved away.

"Nothing unusual on this side," the Shuriken-wielding ninja called out.

"Maintain vigilance," the scarred man said without looking up. "Once the mark is done, head to that high point ahead. From there, we should be able to see the overall layout of Konoha Village."

There was indeed a high point over this ridge that overlooked the silhouette of Konoha Village. Takuma had been there before and had even stood there to watch the sunset. If these three reached that position, the layout of Konoha's streets, the patrol routes, and the location of the Hokage Rock would all be recorded.

He had to do something.

A head-on conflict against three was suicide. Running back to Konoha to report would take time, and by the time reinforcements arrived, these people would be long gone. His only advantage now was that the enemy didn't know he existed—and the twenty Explosive Tags that Tenten had stuffed into his tool pouch.

Takuma took a slow breath and pinched three Explosive Tags between his fingers. Then, he released his grip on the rock and dropped silently from ten meters up. The loose gravel made a faint crunching sound under his feet.

"Who's there?!"

The Shuriken-wielding ninja was the first to react, but Takuma was faster. The three Explosive Tags sliced through the air, not toward the enemies, but toward the thickest old tree on the east side of the riverbed.

"Detonate!"

Three fireballs exploded simultaneously, the deafening roar shattering the silence of the mountain forest. A gap was blown into the trunk of the old tree, and thick smoke billowed into the sky, visible for at least several miles over the forest canopy.

"The brat is signaling!" the Shuriken-wielding ninja shouted, simultaneously throwing his hands up. Six Shuriken shot toward Takuma.

Takuma had already rolled to the side after landing. The Shuriken struck the spot where he had just been standing, sending stone shards flying in all directions. He flipped into a half-kneel, Kunai held horizontally in front of him, standing thirty meters across the riverbed from the three enemies.

The scarred man stood up slowly, the scar on his face looking even more ferocious in the smoke of the explosion. He stared at Takuma for two seconds, then suddenly laughed.

"A Genin brat from Konoha." His tone was like stating a simple fact. "You've got guts to make a move all by yourself. But you've made one mistake."

Takuma did not reply. He forced himself to slow his breathing, his gaze shifting rapidly between the three enemies as he calculated the distance, the terrain, and the possible attack routes.

The scarred man slowly drew his long sword from his back and pointed it at Takuma. His smile faded, and his eyes became as sharp as a blade.

"Kill this meddlesome brat."