"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"
A massive sphere of flame burst into existence, hurtling toward one of the bandits' wooden lodges. The dry timbers went up instantly, crackling and spitting embers into the night.
Shouts erupted as the bandits, roused from sleep, came stumbling out.
"Hah! Thought it was some rogue shinobi. Turns out it's just a brat."
Even with his mask, Izumi's small frame betrayed him—he was only four years old, after all. The bandit chief took one look and sneered.
"Whether I'm a brat or not isn't your concern," Izumi said coldly. "What matters is that you're about to become a ghost. After the things you've done… repent in hell!"
In the chief's hand dangled the severed leg of a child. The sight made Izumi's blood boil.
He launched forward like an arrow from the bowstring, sending fifteen kunai fanning out toward the chief. The big man moved with surprising agility, vaulting aside to evade. But just as he landed, Izumi yanked hard on the attached wires—the kunai curved midair and came at him again.
The second attack followed immediately.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"
Flames roared along the steel threads, racing to engulf the bandit chief. Izumi's wires tightened like a snare, binding him fast. Before he could react, the inferno swallowed him whole. His screams echoed through the camp.
"You filthy animals—all of you die! Fire Style: Pheonix Flower Jutsu!"
As the chief burned, Izumi unleashed his second technique. Small, fast-moving fireballs scattered, weaving through the air toward the onrushing bandits. Steel flashed as he drew the ninja blade from his back and met them head-on.
He'd never been formally trained in kenjutsu, but he knew the basics of body movement. Combined with his skill in shurikenjutsu, it was more than enough. Against ordinary men, they didn't stand a chance.
Meanwhile, Gin had slipped away to free the imprisoned women. When he appeared, the light returned—if only faintly—to their eyes. But remembering what they'd endured, many broke down sobbing.
The battle raged for half an hour before Izumi finally returned to Gin's side. His entire body was soaked in blood, as if pulled from a pool of it. His mask was cracked, and his clothes were torn in several places, exposing wounds both shallow and deep.
"He's the one who saved you," Gin told the women, letting out a quiet breath of relief. "If you want to thank someone, thank him."
The women stepped forward one by one to express their gratitude.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" Izumi asked. "There's no one else left in the camp. I'm afraid… the others have been killed."
He didn't tell them the worst—that the others had likely been eaten.
The women shook their heads silently and began walking toward the forest's edge. Izumi let them go… until a sudden thought made his heart jolt.
He bolted after them, following their trail toward a cliffside. By the time he arrived, only a single girl—no more than fifteen—remained at the edge.
"Wait! Don't!" Izumi called out.
The girl turned, her voice trembling but steady. "Little brother… thank you for saving us. But our families are gone. We know they were eaten by those monsters—and they even forced us to eat our loved ones' flesh. We can't forget. For us, death is the only release."
Before Izumi could reach her, she stepped backward into the empty air.
He lunged, fingers grasping desperately—but came away with nothing but a torn scrap of her clothing.