The figures of Shūji and Itachi receded along the trade route. One watching gaze withdrew from the shadows; a figure rapidly headed toward the village interior while several other shadows quietly followed behind.
The young man in dark green shinobi attire leaned against a zelkova tree's shadow, Itachi crouched quietly beside him. The two watched those followers trail Shūji's shadow clone, gradually disappearing in the direction of Koizumi Town.
Inside the village head's residence, the lamplight burned brighter than usual. Several weighty village elders had gathered here. The air filled with oppressive anxiety.
"I said long ago we should report immediately! When those bastards snuck back, I knew sooner or later it would bring disaster!" A hoarse voice first broke the silence, carrying irrepressible fury.
Initially, the villagers truly didn't know what those departed young people were specifically doing. Until news came from the Land of Rivers pursuing bandits, and the village happened to be missing over a dozen able-bodied young men. When these people reappeared, the plundering incidents reignited. Such coincidence was enough for Shirakawa Village's core figures to piece together the unsettling truth.
Opposite, a middle-aged man wearing round glasses pushed up his slipping frames, the lenses reflecting the dancing flames: "When the pursuit team came asking, we insisted we knew nothing. Now change our story to knowing? What will the officials think?" His voice wasn't loud, but each word was clear. "Besides, life is harder now, but still manageable. If outsiders learn our village produced bandits..."
"Your warehouse is cleared out, naturally you speak lightly!" A man with a scarred face and burly build slammed his hand on the low table, rattling the teacups. "Half a year's harvest is still piled in my warehouse! If this continues, the whole village will have to tighten their belts and drink wind!" His eyes were bloodshot with rage.
"Those two shinobi... already guessed." Shirakawa Kisuke, seated in the main position, spoke with a parched voice, as if squeezing out the words with all his strength.
The room instantly fell deathly silent.
"Bang!" A white-haired, white-bearded elder, Shirakawa Sōsuke, fiercely slapped the table, spilling tea water. His hawk-like gaze swept across everyone, voice carrying weighty pressure: "We can't hesitate any longer, Kisuke! Those are shinobi who accepted the commission!" His withered fingers gripped the table edge tightly. "Where are they now?"
Shirakawa Kisuke's lips trembled: "I... I sent someone to notify Koichirō... told them to..." The old man's calloused hands clutched his robe corners tightly. "That child... he was just led astray by outsiders... he used to be a good boy..."
"Enough!" The burly man harshly interrupted, voice like grinding sand and stone. "Koichirō's hands are already stained with blood! He's long ceased being a child! Village Head, if you keep protecting him, do you want to drag the whole village down with you?"
Shirakawa Sōsuke slowly stood, his stooped form casting a huge, swaying shadow in the lamplight that shrouded his younger brother: "Kisuke, this is no longer about a few dead outsiders." His voice was low like thunder rolling across the ground. "With shinobi involved, there must be a conclusion!"
"...We can't hand them over." The bespectacled middle-aged man spoke after long silence, voice labored. "Even more, we can't let outsiders know they're Shirakawa Village people."
"Then what do you mean?!" The burly man whirled around, murderous light flashing in his eyes.
Shirakawa Sōsuke slowly closed his eyes, the wrinkles on his face deep as if carved by blade in the lamplight: "After the Warring States period¹ ended, this trade route finally prospered, and we've only had a few decent days." He reopened his eyes, now like a frozen lake. "The village's reputation is our lifeline. Every household depends on the merchant caravans for their living."
"Kisuke, you must cooperate."
"Elder brother, but..."
"There are no buts!"
The feeble objections were completely swallowed by the lamp wick's crackling pops, ultimately transforming into several suffocatingly heavy sighs. When the villager assigned to surveillance returned again, confirming that the two shinobi had indeed left the village boundaries, the air inside seemed to freeze instantly, then violently surge. No one spoke further as they quickly and silently dispersed, melting into the village night.
Soon after, at the threshing ground, over forty able-bodied young men gathered beneath the cold, clear moonlight. What they held were no longer farm tools, but gleaming weapons—sharpened sickles, pitchforks with menacing teeth, strong bows gripped tight by hunters, strings already drawn taut. One familiar face after another was now stretched tight with tension.
Shirakawa Sōsuke stood at the formation's forefront, Shirakawa Kisuke beside him, with several carrying poles of wine and meat behind them. The moonlight flowed like water, stretching this silent formation and those cold blade tips into long, twisted shadows that wound toward the deep mountain forests. Only heavy breathing and the occasional clang of weapon against weapon remained in the air.
This was not a truly peaceful era. The Warring States had ended only fifty-four years ago. In that age, those conscripted to battlefields weren't only shinobi. White-haired Shirakawa Sōsuke was a survivor who had crawled out from those mountains of corpses and seas of blood—he knew how to command a slaughter. Like a silent serpent, the formation slithered toward the mountains behind the village under the old man's lead.
"Did senpai anticipate this scene?" Itachi's voice rang out in the tree shadows, breaking the silence. His pupils reflected that moving formation below.
Shūji leaned against the tree trunk, slowly shaking his head, shadows casting deep darkness across his face.
"I considered several possibilities. They would reach internal consensus and confess to us, requesting confidentiality."
"Someone among them would choose to tip off the bandits out of personal feelings."
"They would descend into chaos first... This one alone I didn't anticipate."
He gazed at those cold gleams flashing in the moonlight below—those were the normally honest neighbors, uncles and elders. "For the village's reputation, to preserve their livelihoods, they chose to handle it themselves."
An indescribable complexity churned in his chest. Were these villagers too rash? Or was his understanding of this world's true nature too shallow?
"However, it's also the correct choice." Itachi's voice emerged, so calm it bordered on detached, forming a jarring contrast with his eight years.
He watched that formation disappearing into the dark mountain forest. "Having them personally settle the evil their own village bred counts as both atonement and maximum preservation of the village's foundation."
Shūji turned his head, gaze falling on Itachi's face that still bore childish features yet showed no ripples of emotion.
Beneath the moonlight, those black eyes were bottomless.
It seemed that in the end, his own understanding of this world had been too naive. He shifted his gaze back to those mountain forests outlined in grotesque contours by moonlight.
Halfway up the mountain, a concealed settlement carved from natural caves and surrounded by crude wooden palisades. Only two people lazily guarded the campfire at the entrance. Seeing Village Head Shirakawa Kisuke appear on the mountain path with six others carrying loads, not only did they show no vigilance, they displayed familiar smiles and came forward.
"Village Head! How did you come up personally? And brought so many things!" One of them was Koichirō.
His face bore the vitality unique to youth, even somewhat intimately trying to take the carrying pole from the village head's shoulder, as if merely welcoming a long-absent elder.
Shirakawa Kisuke stopped with heavy steps, an extremely forced smile squeezed onto his deeply wrinkled face, appearing especially aged and exhausted in the leaping firelight: "Koichirō... below... people came investigating again below, causing quite a commotion. You all... really don't plan to leave and lie low for a while?"
"Ah, Village Head! Didn't we promise you already!" Koichirō waved his hand dismissively, his face unconcerned, even carrying a hint of youthful pride.
"We're always measured in our actions! We only rob those passing unscrupulous foreign merchants, never touch the regular customers who deal with our village! Those black-hearted merchants deserve to be robbed! Just put your mind completely at ease!"
Koichirō peered at the wine jars and meat chunks visible in the carrying baskets, his eyes lighting up, smile growing even brighter. "You even specially brought so many good things to see us! Wait here, I'll go call Shinmi-aniki² right away! He was just complaining the wine wasn't strong enough!"
The muscles on Shirakawa Kisuke's face twitched uncontrollably.
That outsider called "big brother"! It was this man named Shinmi who, with honeyed words and promises of the so-called "easy life," completely bewitched Koichirō—the boy he'd watched grow up, once the most sensible and diligent!
A torrent mixed with rage, grief, and despair instantly collapsed the last bit of support within his hunched body.
He knew that right now, in this moonlit mountain forest, some things were like arrows loosed from the bow—there was no turning back.
Chapters in advance there: patreon.com/Thaniel_a_goodchild