Deep within the settlement, Shinmi sat on a stone worn smooth by use. He appeared utterly unremarkable—average height, dressed in common rough cloth, the sort who would immediately be overlooked in a crowd. Only when he lifted his eyes toward Shirakawa Kisuke did something elusive flicker in his gaze.
"The Daimyō's office sent people again." Shirakawa Kisuke's voice was parched as he stared directly at Shinmi. "You all... should still leave and lie low."
Koichirō and several other young men immediately voiced disgruntled murmurs, clamoring about "what's there to fear." Shinmi, however, unexpectedly nodded, his attitude even approaching sincere: "You're right, we should lie low." He bowed slightly.
Shirakawa Kisuke's tense shoulders imperceptibly relaxed a fraction: "It's not easy out there. Tonight... eat and drink something before you go." He signaled for those behind him to set down their loads.
"Much obliged..." The curve of Shinmi's lips deepened, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. "Koichirō, call everyone over. Once we're full, we'll rest our feet and leave at dawn."
The settlement soon grew lively.
Regarding leaving again, many wore reluctance on their faces, but Shinmi clearly had methods to quiet them down.
During the meal, Shirakawa Kisuke and those he brought were exceptionally enthusiastic, constantly urging drinks and offering food, rambling on with cautions to be careful on the road.
After several rounds of drinking, unnatural flushes rose on the faces of Koichirō and the others, their eyes beginning to glaze over.
Shinmi had also drunk considerably, but those eyes remained perpetually clear, lips bearing a barely perceptible curve.
Shirakawa Kisuke watched, his heart sinking bit by bit—beneath that smile, something cold seemed hidden.
The night deepened further, a ghastly pale moon hanging at the treetops. Only when snores rose and fell throughout the settlement did Shirakawa Kisuke slowly stand, waving his hand toward the pitch-black forest shadows.
Faint rustling sounds emerged from the undergrowth, like a snake sliding across fallen leaves.
Under Shirakawa Sōsuke's lead, villagers gripping sharpened farm tools silently emerged from the shadows.
Initially, some faces still bore hesitation, but when the first short scream tore through the night's tranquility, their expressions rapidly solidified, leaving only a numb resolution.
"They chose their own path." The old man Sōsuke's voice wasn't loud, yet pierced like an ice pick.
"Plundering merchant caravans, dragging the entire village into a pit of fire." He swept his gaze across everyone. "Think of your empty rice jars, think of the goods you can't sell."
Screams, the dull thuds of blunt instruments striking flesh, dying whimpers—all mixed together as thick bloody stench permeated the cold, clear air.
Sōsuke's voice remained exceptionally clear amid the chaos: "Once the small merchant caravans are all killed off, they'll eventually target the merchants who do business with us."
"Once people taste something for nothing, they can never turn back."
"This is their retribution for listening to outsiders' deception!"
This last sentence was practically ground out through clenched teeth.
Beneath the moonlight, sickles and pitchforks in the villagers' hands dripped dark red liquid, drops striking the earth with dull "tap, tap" sounds.
The old man walked to Shinmi's "corpse," viciously stabbing several times with a pitchfork before straightening and declaring loudly: "Collect everything."
He didn't even glance at Shirakawa Kisuke's ashen face beside him.
There wasn't much property in the settlement. Shirakawa Sōsuke distributed a share to everyone who acted tonight, gathering the remainder together.
"These, along with these..." The old man pointed at the scattered corpses on the ground, voice terrifyingly calm. "Take them to submit, Kisuke. Tell those two shinobi that this is all that's left. The rest was probably squandered by the bandits long ago."
"Yes... yes." Shirakawa Kisuke's voice trembled severely.
"This matter ends here. No one is to mention it again." The old man's gaze scraped across each villager's face like a blade. "The bandits were eliminated by Konoha shinobi—that's what we say to outsiders." Only after everyone had stiffly nodded did he shift his gaze away.
Shirakawa Village's group, carrying the pitifully meager "spoils of war," silently vanished into the deepest darkness before dawn. Only death and pungent blood remained in the settlement.
When a sliver of grayish-white appeared at the horizon's edge, a figure slowly sat up from the pile of corpses. Shinmi patted his blood-soaked clothing, gazing at the faintly brightening eastern sky, lips curling into a meaningful smile.
"I'd originally planned to cultivate them a while longer..." he murmured to himself, voice carrying a hint of mockery. "Now it's actually more convenient."
He surveyed the surroundings, gaze sweeping past the corpses of villagers who had once obeyed his every word, smile deepening: "I can go live peacefully in the Land of Tea¹ now."
"Shinobi?" A cold, clear voice abruptly rang out.
Shinmi's entire body stiffened as he jerked his head up.
A young man in dark green shinobi attire stood soundlessly atop the settlement's broken wooden palisade, his forehead protector reflecting cold light in the dim dawn.
He descended light as a leaf.
Shinmi's pupils contracted sharply, body instantly retreating several steps, every muscle tensing as he locked onto the Konoha symbol on the other's forehead.
"A group of ordinary people managing to slip from the Land of Rivers to the Land of Fire, then scurrying to the Land of Rain—as expected, there was a hidden hand pushing from behind." Shūji's voice was very calm, though his gaze probed like needles.
Shinmi's throat rolled once, yet his voice emerged surprisingly steady: "A bunch of petty thieves causing trouble amounts to a C-rank mission at most. Fewer than twenty people—the Land of Rivers' payment wouldn't exceed fifty thousand ryō." His eyes fixed tightly on Shūji's hands, guarding against any sign of hand seals.
"That money..." He spoke while imperceptibly adjusting his breathing. "Isn't enough to make two shinobi risk their lives. I didn't act directly, and my name isn't on the Land of Rivers' wanted list. You report honestly, let me go, the mission still counts as complete." He slightly spread his hands, indicating he posed no immediate threat. "Why take risks for this bit of money? Combat between shinobi has too many variables."
"Seems you know the rates well." Shūji's fingers lightly rested on the shinobi tool pouch at his waist. "Deliberately controlling the scale to ensure the bounty isn't sufficient to trigger shinobi conflict?"
Shinmi's lips curved ever so slightly: "The corpses on the ground are sufficient for you to submit."
"In theory, that's correct." Shūji nodded. "Land of Rivers commissions—Konoha, Sunagakure, Amegakure all accept them. Being able to calculate the payment this precisely... Sunagakure? Or someone from Amegakure?"
"Let me guess, being this cautious, you're—"
Before his words finished, a "corpse" behind Shūji suddenly sprang up, wood shavings flying to reveal the cold puppet² beneath.
The puppet's joints emitted harsh "clack clack" sounds as its mouth opened, dozens of senbon³ gleaming with ghostly blue luster shooting forth!
Shūji reacted extremely fast, instantly turning to respond.
Just as his attention was drawn by the puppet, Shinmi's hands had already become a blur of afterimages!
His wide sleeves unfurled like a viper's neck frill as over a hundred poisoned senbon exploded outward in the dim light.
Simultaneously, his chest swelled enormously, the surrounding air seemingly sucked away in an instant.
"Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"⁴
Violent airflow erupted from Shinmi's mouth, sweeping up the sky full of poisoned senbon.
The wind's power granted the hidden weapons terrifying speed and penetrating force, forming a shrieking net of death that covered Shūji's entire back!
"Thup thup thup thup—"
Dense sounds of penetration like rain battering banana leaves.
Shūji's body jerked violently, then began trembling intensely. His eyes, cheeks, neck, chest, limbs... instantly bloomed with countless tiny blood flowers.
Dark blue poison rapidly spread around the wounds. He staggered a step, falling straight forward, crashing heavily into the cold mud, motionless.
Shirakawa Village was shrouded in the thin morning mist before dawn. The air was cold and damp, carrying the scent of earth and vegetation, yet unable to mask a faint trace of rust.
Itachi stood at the village entrance, watching villagers carrying several crude bundles silently walk into the village.
Their faces bore no sorrow, only a heavy exhaustion and numbness.
Shirakawa Kisuke walked at the rear, steps unsteady, as if he might collapse at any moment.
Itachi's appearance was like a stone cast into stagnant water. The procession stopped, all gazes concentrating on this small figure.
Shirakawa Sōsuke parted the crowd, stepping forward. His wrinkled face resembled wind-dried tree bark, eyes sharp and cold.
"Konoha shinobi-sama," the old man's voice was hoarse, "the bandits have been eliminated. Not much remains—it's all here." He indicated the bundles. "The village head will explain the situation to you."
Itachi's gaze swept across the villagers' trousers and farm tools stained with dark red marks.
His sight ultimately returned to Sōsuke's face. Those obsidian-like pupils remained calm and waveless, voice clearly penetrating the morning mist:
"Shūji-senpai asked me to convey this to everyone."
The village entrance fell deathly silent, even breathing sounds suppressed.
"First, regarding what transpired at the mountain settlement last night—Konoha is aware of the complete sequence of events."
This statement struck like ice into the crowd. Several villagers' bodies visibly swayed.
Shirakawa Kisuke's head jerked up, eyes full of terror.
The old man Sōsuke's face instantly darkened, veins bulging on the hand gripping his walking stick.
Itachi's voice carried no fluctuation as he continued: "Second, the external account must be unified: the bandits were tracked and eliminated by Konoha shinobi Shūji and myself, Uchiha Itachi. Shirakawa Village residents provided necessary assistance in the process."
He paused, looking into Sōsuke's eyes: "Third, your action of cleaning house internally falls under village affairs. Konoha neither comments nor intervenes. The prerequisite is that this matter is completely concluded, with no subsequent troubles affecting the trade route or the client."
Sōsuke stared fixedly at Itachi, chest heaving violently. After a long while, he finally ground out through clenched teeth: "...Understood." The voice was like sandpaper scraping.
Itachi inclined his head slightly, saying nothing more. He turned, his small figure soundlessly melting into the gradually dispersing thin mist, moving rapidly toward the settlement's direction.
The villagers froze in place. Only after Itachi's figure completely disappeared did suppressed commotion and whispers erupt, fear and lingering dread coiling around them like cold vines.
Sōsuke fiercely struck his walking stick against the ground, barking sharply: "Everyone shut up! Do as the shinobi-sama said! Clean up properly, then get on with your business! If anyone dares leak half a word about today—"
His bloodshot eyes swept across everyone. The rest remained unspoken, but that chill silenced them all.
Shirakawa Kisuke looked at Sōsuke, lips trembling, ultimately saying nothing. Only his hunched back seemed to have collapsed several more degrees.
Chapters in advance there: patreon.com/Thaniel_a_goodchild