Returning to the village was certain, but Lock did not leave immediately. He decided to rest and cultivate for a period of time to stabilize his injury before setting off. After all, Orochimaru had told him to return, but never specified when.
This cultivation lasted for a month.
In that time, although Lock's left arm had not fully healed, the injury had stabilized. The bones still needed much longer to recover, but at least it was no longer worsening.
Since that last conversation, Orochimaru had not sought him out again. Lock also kept his distance from others stationed here, though Hinata Hizashi and the others who had arrived with him would often come by to visit.
What surprised him the most was that even the cold-faced ninja Mizuno Kenta came the most frequently. For someone with such a stern exterior, his warm-hearted actions left a strong impression on Lock.
Meanwhile, ever since Lock's infiltration a month ago, the Kumo-nin had been completely silent. The scouts he had placed reported no signs of their return—almost as if they had vanished.
The two sides had been clashing at the border for half a year. Even if those battles were only small skirmishes, the sudden absence of any movement felt deeply unusual.
From what Lock heard from Hizashi and the others, Orochimaru had dispatched people several times to investigate Kumo's whereabouts, but nothing came of it.
Lock guessed that Kumo might be hesitating because of him. After all, he had killed three of their shinobi in succession—including two sensory-nin. That kind of loss wasn't small.
Whether they were merely hiding or plotting something else, Lock didn't know. Regardless, it no longer concerned him. He was injured, and Orochimaru had already instructed him to return to Konoha. His role in the border conflict was finished.
One day, Orochimaru summoned him again. Lock assumed it was to urge his departure and did not dare delay.
"Lord Orochimaru."
As always, Orochimaru's gaze made his skin crawl—sharp, probing, impossible to relax under.
In truth, Orochimaru's appearance was striking—handsome, elegant, with a strange charm. Lock had rarely seen a shinobi who could rival him in looks. As one of the Sannin, his strength was undeniable as well.
And unlike Jiraiya, whose reputation was mixed, Orochimaru's prestige in Konoha was unmatched. Even Tsunade, the First Hokage's granddaughter, might not command as much admiration. If the village were to vote on the next Hokage, Orochimaru would surely be the frontrunner.
That alone spoke volumes of his influence.
If Lock hadn't already known what sort of man Orochimaru truly was, perhaps he might have been drawn in too. But now? Absolutely not. He knew Orochimaru would remain in Konoha only for a time. Sooner or later, it would turn to disaster.
More importantly, Lock already belonged to Jiraiya's camp, and Namikaze Minato was his closest friend. His path was decided.
Orochimaru smiled faintly, as if always calm and kind before him.
"A month has passed. Your injury should have stabilized by now, correct?"
Lock nodded quickly. "Yes, Lord Orochimaru. I plan to depart in a few days."
"No need to rush. Wait two more days." Orochimaru waved a hand casually. "Because of the previous incident, the village lost many shinobi. Several were gravely injured. I plan to send them back together with the ashes of our fallen comrades. You can travel with them."
Lock bowed his head. "Understood."
As a shinobi, death was always near. Still, when possible, their remains—or at least ashes—were returned to Konoha's mausoleum, honoring their sacrifice.
Originally, Lock had thought the return journey alone would be dull. Now, at least he would have company.
"Prepare yourself. You will leave in two days," Orochimaru concluded.
Lock accepted the order and withdrew.
Two days later.
At dawn, a group of twelve departed the small town. Seven were heavily injured, four were assigned as escorts, and Lock joined them. The escort squad would only accompany them until the handoff at a forward Konoha stronghold.
Because they were mostly wounded, the group traveled quietly, keeping a low profile.
"Fujiwara-kun, we've heard about you. Amazing, escaping from a Kumo encirclement like that."
Along the way, the wounded shinobi often spoke to Lock. Being the youngest, they treated him warmly. Orochimaru had let slip pieces of his mission, so Lock's exploits were widely known.
He gave a wry smile. "Please, don't exaggerate. I barely survived. I failed to gather useful intel and was nearly killed."
A man in his thirties chuckled. "Don't be modest. They say you faced countless Kumo-nin—including the Raikage's son—and still lived. For us, that would have been impossible."
"That's right."
"Don't sell yourself short, Lock."
"You're still practically a kid, and already stronger than us."
"Hahaha…"
Teased endlessly by the older shinobi, Lock could only shake his head. He wasn't offended, just a little embarrassed.
If it came to crude jokes, he could easily outdo them—but he held back.
One of them added more seriously:
"Lock, Lord Orochimaru himself called you a genius. With your strength, you'll be a jōnin in no time. Don't be humble with us."
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