Konoha, Training Ground Seven, had become a grinder-like wasteland.
Concrete slabs jutted up in savage angles, blocking out the firelight beyond.
Yamada Kenta huddled in the shadows, his lungs heaving like broken bellows.
Thirteen years old, a Genin, with a pitifully small amount of chakra.
Half a year ago, cannon fodder with talent like his would have been a cold corpse by now.
But today, he was still alive.
Not only alive—he was tightly gripping a cold, heavy iron tube that smelled of blued metal.
A "Defender-II" assault rifle.
The energy slot on the side of the gun flickered with a faint blue glow, proof that his meager chakra had been squeezed into the magazine.
Fifteen rounds.
That was his life.
Thirty meters away, a reeking wind hit him head-on.
A Hellhound covered in bone spikes was tearing apart a corpse. The crisp crunch of bones being chewed struck Yamada's eardrums like a hammer.
Pain's Animal Path summon.
A nightmare that even Chunin dared not face alone.
Yamada's hands shook. The stock bumped against his collarbone with faint taps.
Iruka-sensei's roar from combat class filled his mind:
"Don't even think about being heroes! This gun isn't for you to look cool—it's for you to survive! Even if you have to live like dogs!"
Survive.
Yamada bit through his lip, and the taste of rust filled his mouth.
He suddenly leaned half his body out and centered the sights on the savage canine head.
No hand seals needed. No chakra refinement needed.
He only needed to move one finger.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
A half-foot tongue of ghostly blue flame burst from the muzzle.
Three-round burst.
The bullets tore through the air with the shriek unique to industrial civilization and instantly drilled into the Hellhound's eye socket.
Pfft! Pfft! Pfft!
No defense. No evasion.