Ambushed, the Battle Begins

The caravan was attacked on the afternoon of the second day after entering the dense forest.

More precisely, everything went quiet first.

Namiashi Raidō was the first to notice something was wrong. The taciturn Special Jonin suddenly raised his right fist as they marched—fingers together, knuckles level with his shoulder, the gesture crisp and decisive. It was the signal to halt. Yamada, walking behind him, nearly ran into his back.

"Teacher Namiashi?" Yamada lowered his voice, his hand already reaching for the ninja tool pouch at his waist.

Namiashi Raidō turned his head slightly, angling an ear toward the depths of the forest like a hunting dog that had caught the scent of blood.

"The birds have stopped singing."

Takuma halted. He looked up at the canopy overhead. There were no birdsong. More than that, even the insects had fallen silent. It was as if someone had suddenly pressed a mute button on the entire forest. All that remained was the creaking of the ox cart's wooden wheels over the dirt road and the sound of their own breathing.

Chubei was still sitting on the cart, doing his accounts. His abacus beads clicked and clattered, and he hadn't noticed the change in the atmosphere at all.

"Boss Chubei," Takuma said quietly, keeping his voice as steady as possible. "Please take your workers and hide beneath the cart."

The old merchant didn't ask why. He pulled his two workers off the cart bed, and they curled up in the gap between the cargo and the wheels. Takuma's heart sank at their reaction. Only someone who had truly experienced danger would obey without asking questions.

Then he heard the whistle of something cutting through the air.

Three kunai shot out from the depths of the forest, flying in a triangular formation toward Namiashi Raidō's throat, heart, and abdomen.

Namiashi Raidō reacted faster than the kunai. He dodged sideways, bent at the waist, and stepped back, all in one fluid motion. The first kunai grazed his ear. The second passed beneath his arm and embedded itself in the cart's sideboard. He knocked the third out of the air with a kunai, and sparks burst from the metal-on-metal impact.

"Earth Style: Earth Wall!"

Namiashi Raidō formed a hand seal with one hand and slapped his palm against the ground. A two-meter-high earthen wall surged up from beneath the earth, blocking the front of the cart. Its surface glistened with damp soil, and it was thick enough to withstand a head-on assault.

Figures emerged from the forest at the same time, coming from three directions.

Two to the front left, and two to the front right. A standard pincer formation.

There were five of them. The man who stepped out at the front was burly, with a scar running diagonally from his left brow to his jaw, splitting one eye into a permanently narrowed slit. He carried a short blade with a dark red edge and walked at an unhurried pace.

The other four enemies closed in from the flanks. None of the five wore Forehead Protectors, and they were dressed in nondescript, mismatched combat clothes.

"Rogue ninja," Namiashi Raidō said, his voice as cold as a frozen river. "Outlaws with no village to call home. Don't let their gear fool you—every one of these men has blood on his hands. That's how they've survived."

The Scarred Man stopped ten paces from the earthen wall. He tilted his head and glanced over it at the three Genin, then looked away. His lips parted in a thin grin, revealing several teeth fitted with metal.

The Scarred Man raised his short blade and pointed it at Namiashi Raidō. His tone suddenly turned polite—so polite it sent a chill down one's spine. "Honored ninja of Konoha, we only want the cargo. Hand over your client, take your three brats, and leave. I won't kill you. Seems like a fair deal, doesn't it?"

Namiashi Raidō didn't answer. He held a kunai across his chest in his right hand.

The Scarred Man waited a moment, then his smile faded. He lowered his blade and spat out two words. "Attack."

The battle erupted without warning. The Scarred Man charged straight at Namiashi Raidō, bringing his short blade down in a powerful slash. Its piercing shriek as it tore through the air made their eardrums ache. Namiashi Raidō blocked the strike with his kunai and overpowered him, pressing forward and forcing the Scarred Man back a step. But another enemy's chain swept in from the left, its sickle aimed at his neck. Namiashi Raidō had to lean back to dodge while flinging two shuriken with his left hand to counterattack.

The three of them clashed, the shrill ring of weapons striking against one another filling the air. But Namiashi Raidō was pinned down on the front line, unable to turn around.

The other three enemies had already rushed toward either side of the cart.

Yamada Kenta and Sato Jiro went to meet them. The cargo and the client were behind them. There was nowhere to retreat.

Takuma faced two opponents.

The Iron-Spike Man and the Double-Axe Brute closed in on him from either side. Iron spikes glinted in the sunlight on the Iron-Spike Man's knuckles. Old scars covered both his arms, and his quick, precise steps marked him as a veteran of close-quarters combat. The Double-Axe Brute was short and thickset, with shoulders as wide as a door. He held a short-handled battle axe in each hand. Their blades were mottled with rust, but their edges had been sharpened to a bright gleam.

"Kid, your teammates won't last much longer." The Iron-Spike Man flexed his fingers, the spikes clicking against each other with a faint metallic rattle. "You planning to die on your own, or should we help you?"

Takuma didn't answer. His mind was racing far faster than usual.

Two against one. One was fast and experienced, the other strong and armed. His only choice was to trade injury for a chance to kill them.

He took a deep breath, then charged at them.

The Iron-Spike Man visibly hesitated. He'd seen plenty of Genin turn and flee in a situation like this, but this was the first time one had charged straight at two enemies. His moment of surprise lasted less than half a second before his combat instincts took over. He spread the fingers of his right hand and lunged, iron spikes aimed at Takuma's face.

Just before they made contact, Takuma shifted sideways and slipped past the Iron-Spike Man's right side. At the same time, he pulled two smoke bombs from his ninja tool pouch and hurled them at the ground. Thick gray-white smoke burst out, swallowing the area within five meters. The Iron-Spike Man's attack missed, his spikes cutting through the smoke without hitting anything.

As the smoke bombs burst, Takuma had already circled behind the Double-Axe Brute on the right. He raised his kunai and stabbed at the man's lower back.

The Brute reacted faster than Takuma had expected. He swung an axe backhanded, forcing Takuma to pull back. The blade grazed his coat, scraping off a strip of frayed fabric. But Takuma had accomplished his goal: his attack forced the Brute to turn, and as he did, he stepped on the two Explosive Tags Takuma had deliberately kicked beneath his feet while charging in.

The ignition crackle sounded especially sharp through the smoke. The Brute looked down and saw the flickering light by his feet. His pupils contracted.

The explosion drowned out his scream.

Flames punched through the smoke, and the blast hurled the Double-Axe Brute through the air. He crashed into the trunk of a cedar three meters away, his axes flying from his hands and embedding themselves in the ground. Half his body was charred, and his chest caved in. He struggled to get up, then collapsed.

But the explosion also scattered the smoke. The Iron-Spike Man had leaped out of range the instant it went off, and the contempt had finally vanished from his face. He narrowed his eyes at Takuma, who was rising from the remnants of the smoke.

Takuma wasn't in good shape. The explosion had gone off less than three meters away—close enough for the shock wave to shred the front of his clothes, leaving his exposed skin covered in tiny cuts and burns. A gash in his left side was seeping blood. His ears were ringing, and his mouth tasted of rust.

The Iron-Spike Man's gaze was fixed on the wound in Takuma's side.

The blood clotted. New tissue grew inward from the edges of the wound. Within seconds, fresh pink skin covered it. It wasn't just that wound—all the small cuts across his body from the explosion were healing at the same time, as if some unseen force were frantically repairing him.

The Iron-Spike Man didn't move. He stood five paces away, staring at the skin beneath Takuma's ribs, which had already been restored as if the wound had never been there. Apart from the tear in his clothes and the bloodstains, there was no sign that he'd had a bleeding gash there only seconds ago. The man's fingers curled and opened slightly, his iron spikes clicking together with a faint metallic rattle. It wasn't the rhythm of a fight. His hands were trembling uncontrollably.

"You're a monster..." The Iron-Spike Man's voice quavered.

In his life as a rogue ninja, he'd killed many people, both strong and weak. But he'd never seen anyone recover within seconds after taking a direct hit from an Explosive Tag. It was beyond anything he could comprehend.

Takuma pushed himself up from the ground and spat out a bloody mouthful. He glanced down at his left side. His skin had completely healed. The blood was still there, but the wound was gone. He wiped the corner of his mouth, then took a step toward the Iron-Spike Man.

His clothes were in tatters, and blood and burn marks still stained his exposed skin, but all the wounds themselves had vanished. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy and fell across him. His new skin glowed with healthy color, an unsettling contrast to his blood-soaked, shredded clothes.

"You're the monster." Takuma stared into the Iron-Spike Man's eyes and enunciated each word. "Your whole family's full of monsters."