As the wails mixed with the sick thrill of blades sinking into bellies, the narrow road had become a living hell. Demons howled as they crawled from the underworld, mercilessly reaping human lives.
Thud.
The last samurai collapsed; Hakken Yoru's body was stained with blood.
Scanning the battlefield, the dozen corpses—faces frozen in terror at the moment of death—and the ground soaked crimson made for a harrowing sight.
The two genin who had been guarding Nao now lay in the nearby weeds, retching. It was only their first C-rank mission. Death had once felt distant to them, something they imagined would happen far away. But this hellish scene crushed that illusion.
Huff~
Hakken leaned against a nearby tree and exhaled a cloud of stale breath.
He reached for the hand that had grabbed the blade, then took his flask and poured alcohol over the wound to disinfect it. He ripped open a bandage and was about to wrap it when a hand took the task from him.
Frowning at the cut on Hakken's hand, Itachi asked,
"Ken-san, knowing you, you could've easily dodged a lackey like that before he swung."
"You could even have killed him before he attacked. So why block it with your hand?"
Itachi didn't understand. He only knew Ken-san had no reason to be struck by that blow.
"Because I'm human."
Hakken shook his head; the killing intent in his eyes had faded. Of course he was human.
"And this… was my first kill."
His first kill.
Itachi felt a chill run through him—he had overlooked that. Like Hakken, this was his first time killing someone.
"I don't know if panic or fear will come," Hakken said. "But before those emotions hit, letting pain take their place works remarkably well."
"At least I killed every last one of them while still clear-headed."
He took a swig of liquor, a mocking curl at the corner of his mouth. Only when he'd actually killed did he realize how absurd the novels from his past life were—how casually their protagonists supposedly overcame that shock. Especially the first time.
Seeing Itachi trembling as he bandaged Hakken's hand, Hakken understood that particular psychology.
"But from today on, that feeling will be gone," he continued. "This is a will forged by blood. As a shinobi, not killing on a mission means being killed."
He clenched his bandaged hand; the burning pain drove home the world he lived in.
The Naruto World.
Beneath all the heroics lay the law of the strong devouring the weak. Even Naruto, wrapped in a protagonist's glory, knew that talking one's way out before defeating an enemy does nothing.
This was the real world.
And the man beside him—however you looked at him—had no romantic notions left.
"Ken-san…"
Itachi finally understood Ken-san's logic: dull the nerves with pain, pull himself through suffering, come to know fear more deeply—and then conquer it.
It was worry for Ken-san's safety that had made Itachi rush forward without restraint.
Had he truly beaten his fear?
Itachi didn't know. All he felt was that searing fury when the enemy's blade struck Ken-san.
No one hurts my friend. No one.
A stab of heat burned his eyes; he shook his head. Still, that final barrier hadn't been broken in one go. His Sharingan remained dormant.
"Hey, Jirō Kusanagi, Maru Keitai—stay behind me for the rest of the escort. Or you'll die."
Hakken flicked blood from his Zanpakutō, called to the two gagging extras, then stood and strode forward.
...
That faint, elusive ripple in his consciousness—the soul wave—was clear to Hakken. He didn't know whether this sudden assassination attempt was connected to it, but he was certain whoever made that ripple wouldn't let them travel the road ahead in peace.
There was a reason behind Itachi's first C-rank mission.
Those crimson, sorrow-filled Sharingan would soon open fully.
Damn it.
These were words I had said to them before. Now they came back to me in the exact same tone.
Jirō Kusanagi gave a bitter laugh and glanced at his pockmarked companion. What else could they say? Had Hakken Yoru and Itachi Uchiha not been suddenly assigned to their squad, this single assassination attempt would have wiped them out entirely.
Don't blame their failure on the absence of their Jōnin or missing teammates. This was a blunt demonstration of insufficient hard skill—perhaps they simply weren't cut out to be shinobi. Not every squad received the same treatment as Konoha's future units. Especially in this era, with Konoha still reeling from the heavy losses of the Third Shinobi World War, orphaned squads like this were common.
The team pushed on. Everything seemed to calm; a gentle breeze passed through, and then a masked figure appeared, staring blankly at the corpse on the road.
"One-hit kills?"
"I underestimated them. But things won't be so easy from here on out."
Space rippled as the masked man slowly vanished. He reappeared not far ahead on the escort route, and the ground around him began to split open, disgorging several odd, pale humanoid figures.
"Kill them."
"Yes!"
...
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