Kenji's reason screamed at him. Go. This is a trap. Or worse, a distraction that will cost you your life and the mission. The mission comes first. That was the ironclad rule every shinobi was taught. The scrolls on his back could save hundreds, even thousands, of his comrades. The lives of a few nameless people could not compare.
But then, the image of the Third Hokage appeared in his mind. His words from Kenji's Jounin inauguration ceremony echoed. "The Will of Fire is not a flame to burn our enemies, Kenji. It is a flame to warm our people, to light the way for future generations. Remember this, a shinobi protects the king... and the king, here, is the innocent people."
Kenji gritted his teeth, a fierce internal struggle taking place in mere seconds. He was a tool of the village, a weapon. But he was also a ninja of the Hidden Leaf.
He made his decision.
As cautious as a stalking panther, Kenji approached the canyon. He used no clones; his chakra was almost completely gone. He relied solely on his stealth skills and senses, honed over hundreds of missions. There were no traps. No other chakra signatures besides one faint, weak source of life.
In a small cave carved deep into the cliffside, a small, flickering campfire illuminated two figures. A thin old man in tattered clothes was holding a small child. The child, around five or six years old, was moaning, her face flushed with fever. The crying Kenji had heard was coming from her.
Kenji remained in the shadows, observing for another moment. They were truly civilians, victims caught in the merciless gears of war.
He stepped out of the darkness.
The old man flinched, pulling his granddaughter closer, his eyes showing sheer terror at the sight of a ninja with a Hidden Leaf headband suddenly appearing. To civilians, any shinobi in wartime was an incarnation of death.
"Do not be afraid," Kenji's voice was low and hoarse with fatigue, but he tried to keep it gentle. He slowly raised his hands to show he had no hostile intent. "I am a ninja from the Land of Fire. I will not harm you."
The old man was still trembling, but the desperation in his eyes was greater than his fear. "Sir... Sir Ninja... please, save my granddaughter. Her fever is so high."
Kenji knelt, carefully setting the three wooden boxes aside. He placed a hand on the little girl's forehead. It was burning hot. Without bringing the fever down, she wouldn't make it through the night.
"I am not a professional medical-nin," Kenji said honestly, "but I will try."
He took a water flask and a ration pill from his pouch, handing them to the old man. "You should eat something. You need your strength."
Then, Kenji focused the last of his meager chakra into his palm. A faint, green-tinged aura appeared. It was the Shōsen Jutsu (Mystical Palm Technique), a basic healing art that most Jounin were required to know. His chakra was too weak to heal serious wounds, but it was enough to stabilize the girl's condition.
He gently placed his palm on her forehead. The warm energy slowly transferred into her, soothing the raging fever. She stopped moaning, her breathing gradually becoming more even.
The process took nearly fifteen minutes. When Kenji pulled his hand away, the green aura vanished. The girl's forehead was much cooler. He swayed, sweat beading on his own brow. The very last of his chakra had been wrung out. He was now weaker than an Academy student.
"Th-thank you, sir..." the old man stammered, his eyes welling with tears. "My name is Sadao, and this is my granddaughter, Hana. Our village... it was razed by the Hidden Stone. We have been fleeing for a week."
Kenji nodded, slumping to the ground, his back against the rock wall. He needed to rest. "Let her rest. The fever won't return for a few hours, but she needs real medicine."
Sadao nodded profusely. He broke the ration pill in half, carefully offering a piece to Kenji. "Sir Ninja, please, take this. It is the only way I can thank you."
Kenji hesitated for a moment before accepting. He was hungry, too. Silence fell over the small cave, filled only by the crackling of the fire and the steady breathing of little Hana. In that moment, there was no war, no mission, only three human beings finding life together in a land of death.
"Sir Ninja," Sadao said suddenly, breaking the silence. "You are trying to return to the Land of Fire, aren't you? The path to the north is very dangerous. Hidden Stone patrols are everywhere."
Kenji nodded. "I know."
"Go east," the old man said, his voice firm. "Follow this mountain range. It is longer, but safer. About a half-day's journey from here, there is an old, abandoned temple on the mountainside. The Stone ninja sometimes use it as a temporary supply cache. But they rarely visit it. From the temple, there is a hunter's trail that can lead you straight to the border without being detected."
Kenji stared at the old man. This information was priceless. A safer route, and the potential to find more medicine or supplies. His gamble, an act that went against shinobi protocol, had unexpectedly brought a ray of hope. The Will of Fire hadn't just saved a child; it might also save him.
"Thank you, Sadao-san," Kenji said, a rare sincerity in his voice. "This information is very important."
He looked at the sleeping Hana, then out at the night beyond. A new plan was forming. He would rest here until dawn, regaining some strength. And he could not just leave the old man and his granddaughter here.
His mission now had a secondary objective: get Sadao and Hana to that old temple. The road back to the Hidden Leaf had just become more complicated, but also... more meaningful.