Numbness

On the damp streets, three figures stood out, especially Koki, whose ninja Forehead Protector seemed to tread on people's tense and vulnerable heartstrings with every step he took in the humid air.

The surrounding crowd cast disapproving glances, their eyes revealing not only disgust but also a deep sense of fear and helplessness.

The Land of Rain was briefly bathed in the dawn of peace when Hanzo of the Salamander to power, and the people seemed to glimpse a ray of hope for the future.

During those years, life was still difficult, but at least order was maintained, and people were able to struggle in a relatively peaceful environment.

However, his good fortune did not last long. The sweet taste of power and comfort gradually eroded Hanzō's will. He soon became addicted to pleasure, became incompetent and powerless, and barely clung to life.

Thus, the Land of Rain, like a kite with a broken string, plummeted into the abyss of darkness, returning to its chaotic past.

No!

The situation is even worse than before!

The people harbored deep hatred for the hordes of ninjas, regarding them as "locusts."

The climate of the Land of Rain is already harsh, with continuous rain. The land is precious but often soaked in rain. The invasion of these ninjas only makes the lives of the people even worse.

They swept away the crops like locusts, ruthlessly plundering all the food, showing no concern for how the remaining people would survive the long planting season, nor for whether there would be any surplus food to plunder in the future.

For them, this is nothing more than a momentary act of plunder; satisfying their immediate needs is the top priority.

Anger simmered in people's hearts, like a suppressed volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. However, faced with the powerful ninja, they could only choose to remain silent and tacitly suppress their anger.

To ordinary people, the power of ninjas is like that of a deity in legend; their level of power far surpasses the imagination of mortals.

A fireball can reduce a building to ashes in an instant, a surging column of water can breach a sturdy dam, lightning can obliterate a person, and a mere gust of wind can easily claim a life...

For a ninja, taking the life of a civilian is a trivial matter.

What's even more chilling is that, in order to conceal their whereabouts, ninjas often ruthlessly kill even civilians who cooperate fully.

Faced with this cruel reality, people's anger can only be deeply suppressed in their hearts, turning into helpless silence.

The people here are like travelers groping in the dark, always hoping for the dawn of peace. They do not belong to either side of the war, and most of them do not even know whether their own family has ninjas.

But from their years of hardship, they deeply understood that if a great power didn't wage war, fewer ninjas would pass by, and their lives would be better.

Peace, a seemingly unreal dream, has become their most precious wish.

The heavy suffering was like an iron chain, firmly binding the fate of the people here.

They are not resilient and unyielding; that is merely a misinterpretation by onlookers of their powerless struggle. Rather, it reflects a sense of helplessness in the face of harsh reality.

In their youthful days, a Kakkō of rebellion still lingered in their hearts; they still had the strength to curse those "masters" who held high positions and levied exorbitant taxes.

They dared to vent their resentment towards the "ninjas" who devoured their food like locusts, and even dared to complain to the "God" who seemed to have never favored this land.

At that time, their eyes still burned with resentment towards the injustice of fate and a glimmer of hope for a better future.

However, the relentless passage of time eroded like flowing water, and the heavy burdens of life, like a stony boulder, slowly crushed the faint Kakkō in their hearts.

Then, the increasingly heavy pressure forced them to lower their heads and stare intently at the muddy land beneath their feet.

The struggle for survival forces them to engage in a life-or-death battle day after day between harsh nature and society.

The struggle for basic sustenance became the sole purpose of their lives, while the continuation of their bloodline was the glimmer of light they could grasp in the endless darkness. It seemed that this was the last reason why they persevered on this land of suffering.

In this long struggle, they lost too much—dreams, hopes, dignity, all gradually worn away by the relentless trials of reality.

Among this group of suffering people, perhaps some individuals still possess the capacity for thought, but the harsh reality renders their thoughts so powerless and pale.

They couldn't even scrape together enough to leave this land in search of a sliver of "food."

For them, thinking only brought conscious pain.

Each in-depth reflection on life is like grinding their souls on the whetstone of suffering, making them more deeply aware of their own insignificance and powerlessness.

On this edge of despair, numbness seemed to become their last refuge.

Struggling painfully on the edge of reason is far worse than indulging in numbness and letting this fleeting and thorny life come to an abrupt end.

In that cursed Land of Rain, besides the scarcity of sunlight, one rarely sees the faces of the elderly.

Most of the residents here are destined to grow old; disease, hunger, and war are like three ferocious beasts, ready to devour their fragile lives at any moment.

Life here is as light as a feather.

Noon had passed, but the relentless rain continued, intent on extinguishing the last glimmer of hope on this land.

The people of the Land of Rain have long since abandoned the overly extravagant emotion of "expectation."

Having witnessed their ancestors struggle through endless suffering throughout their lives, they calmly accepted the arrangements of their own fate.

Their eyes had long lost their former luster, leaving only a deep numbness and endless despair.

This land, like a bottomless abyss, mercilessly devours people's dreams, hopes, and souls.

This is a land stained with tears and blood, every inch of which bears the weight of the people's suffering and sorrow.

Even the gods, looking down from above, could only shake their heads helplessly and let out a sigh.