At the border of the Land of Rivers, dusk was as red as blood.
Shinichi stepped over a dry branch, producing a faint crack beneath his feet.
He looked up at the sky. The dying sun had stained the clouds crimson, as though the Uchiha Clan crest were burning across the heavens.
Behind him, several Root ninja corpses lay scattered across the ground. Blood seeped into the scorched earth, drawing flocks of scavenger birds.
"Tch, just a bunch of trash."
He flicked his wrist, the Three-Tomoe Sharingan slowly turning as it carved the final images of slaughter into his eyes.
The thrill of battle still boiled through his veins.
Every hand seal his enemies formed, every tense inch of muscle, had nowhere to hide beneath those scarlet eyes.
He could even predict the trajectory of kunai slicing through the air, returning their ninjutsu in kind as though toying with prey—Fire Release against Fire Release, Water Release against Water Release, chakra collisions exploding into brilliant flames across the wilderness.
Especially...
"Uchiha Style: Shuriken."
A frenzied curve lifted at the corner of his lips as his thoughts flashed back to the previous battle...
His hands flicked out six shuriken like lightning.
The blades did not fly straight. Instead, they crossed through the air in bizarre arcs, colliding with one another midway as sparks burst into scattered golden glimmers beneath the evening sky.
The first shuriken was avoided when the ninja on the left tilted his head aside—but just as it brushed past his ear, it was struck precisely by the second shuriken flying in from behind!
The redirected blade snapped back like a venomous serpent, plunging straight through his throat.
The ninja on the right rolled away, but the third shuriken had already predicted where he would land.
The blade embedded itself