The freezing water was like a thousand needles piercing Kenji's skin. He was swept away, tumbling, crashing into submerged rocks he couldn't see. Water flooded his nose and mouth, stealing the air from his lungs. He tried to swim, but his body was depleted and the current was too strong. For a moment, his mind went blank. Was this the end? To drown like a useless fool in the middle of nowhere?
But then, the image of old Sadao's worried face and little Hana's clear eyes flashed in his mind. He had made a promise. He had to live.
That will, the last flickering flame in his cold body, roared to life. Kenji used the last of his strength, floundering in the water. His hand brushed against a floating log. He clung to it like a lifeline, letting the current drag his body along. He had no strength left to swim, able only to entrust himself to fate, fighting to keep his head above the water.
He didn't know how long had passed before the log bumped against a muddy bank. Using every ounce of his being, Kenji dragged his body ashore. He lay there, trembling on the cold ground, coughing violently to expel the water from his lungs. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain and exhaustion. His chakra was completely gone. He was just an ordinary man, injured and on the brink of death.
The cold and darkness began to claim him. If he lay here, he would die of hypothermia before dawn.
No. I have to move.
He told himself. He crawled, dragged, and pulled his body deeper into the riverside woods. Luckily, he found a small rock alcove, just enough to shield him from the relentless night wind.
First mission: Fire.
His hands were trembling and numb. He could barely hold onto his single remaining kunai. He gathered the smallest dry twigs, arranging them with great difficulty. Then, he used the edge of the kunai to strike a piece of flint he always carried. Once, twice, nothing happened. His hands were too weak.
He gritted his teeth, channeling all his focus. For the Leaf Village. For Hana. For Ryo-senpai.
Flick! A small spark flashed, catching on the dry tinder he had prepared. A thin wisp of smoke rose, and then a weak flame flickered to life.
Kenji almost cried with relief. He carefully added larger branches. The fire gradually grew, its warmth beginning to spread, chasing away the deadly chill.
Once his body had warmed slightly, he began to assess his situation. He was covered in countless bruises and scrapes, but fortunately, no bones were broken. He took off his soaked outer clothes, drying them by the fire. He checked the secret scrolls hidden in his tunic. They were wrapped in multiple layers of cloth; they were soaked, but the ink hadn't smudged. The mission was still intact.
Then he opened his right hand, which had been clenched shut since the shrine. His stiff fingers slowly uncurled. Lying in his palm, crushed and wet, was a single black crow feather.
The only clue. Proof of the traitor.
He carefully placed the feather on a flat stone near the fire to let it dry. He stared at it. A cold fury began to smolder within him, replacing the fear and desperation.
The enemy wasn't just the Stone Village. The enemy was also a venomous snake hiding right within his own village. Someone who had callously murdered their own comrade. Kenji was no longer just carrying the village's mission; he now carried the blood debt of Morita Ryo.
He sat there by the fire all night, without sleeping. He let his body slowly recover, letting his chakra regenerate bit by bit. His mind worked ceaselessly, forging a new plan.
He couldn't just run back to the village. The traitor knew his face. He could be ambushed at any moment, or worse, he could reach the village and report to the wrong person, walking straight into a trap. Someone who could perform such a high-level Genjutsu and operate secretly within the Anbu ranks was certainly no common shinobi. They could have allies everywhere.
No. Running was no longer an option.
As the first rays of the new day shone through the leaves, Kenji made his decision. He stood up, his body still aching, but his eyes held no trace of fatigue. His gaze was now as sharp and cold as steel.
He had to change the game. Instead of being the hunted prey, he would become a ghost. He would move in the shadows, gather more information, and find the traitor's identity before he set foot in the village.
He would no longer run. He would counter-attack.