The Warring States period—what a lovely time to die.Clan wars blaze without pause, and the ground itself drinks more blood than rain. Every season has its curse, but winter? Winter is when hunger and madness join the battlefield. When even peasants remember they still have knives.
The Land of Fire might be the most powerful nation alive, but even it can't tame this chaos. Smaller lands fare far worse—shattered, scavenged, forgotten.And every winter, when food runs out and mercy freezes, ordinary people become bandits. Survivors turn predators. Civilization eats itself just to stay warm.
Zuowan Village—somewhere near the Shrine Maiden's domain in the Land of Ghosts.A quiet place, once sheltered by the priestess's protection.Now? Just another pyre for someone else's tragedy.
Under the cutting wind, villagers huddled together, driven into a trembling mass by armed bandits. Children cried, women clutched their sleeves, and even the strongest men could only bite their lips and kneel in the snow.
"Move it! Where's the stash?!"The leader barked from atop his horse, armor scraped and stolen, long blade glinting red under the winter sun. His grin was all teeth and no warmth.
"Hinoki, you traitor!" an old man croaked, voice trembling. "You're slaughtering your own village! You'll face divine punishment!"
The bandit's expression twisted. "Old fool, I'm not that man anymore."He snatched a whip from one of his men and lashed it down.
Crack!
Blood bloomed across the elder's face, painting the patched cloth of his robe."Keep running your mouth," Hinoki hissed, "and I'll start killing them one by one. You want their deaths on your conscience?"
His men laughed—a harsh, empty sound. One grabbed a crying child from the crowd, pressing a blade to his throat.
The mother screamed. "No—please, that's my son!"
Her plea only earned her a kick that sent her sprawling into the dirt. The child's terrified sobs echoed through the cold.
"Ahh… seriously?"A small voice cut through the chaos.
The bandits froze. Every head turned toward the newcomer—A five-year-old boy, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes colder than the wind. His tone was bored, but the killing intent behind it wasn't.
"Great. Bandits again. Guess it's murder o'clock."
Hinoki sneered. "A brat? Kill him."
His men didn't hesitate—they saw an easy kill, a way to please the boss. Knives flashed as they rushed forward, grinning.
The boy sighed. "Reckless idiots."
In a blur of movement, kunai gleamed.Thud. Thud. Thud.
By the time the villagers realized what happened, a dozen bodies were falling to the snow, heads barely clinging to their necks.The boy stood amid the corpses, eyes half-lidded, breath misting softly.
Only Hinoki remained, frozen in disbelief atop his horse.
"Monster…" he stammered, then yanked his reins to flee.
"You think you can run?"Raizen's voice dropped into a quiet growl. He kicked off the ground like a released arrow——and one clean stroke of his kunai split the winter air.
Hinoki's head rolled into the snow before his body even hit the ground.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.Then the villagers began to cheer—shaky, desperate, grateful.
But that joy faded as quickly as it came. The cheers turned to murmurs. Eyes darted to the boy with blood on his hands.
He looked too calm. Too young. Too dangerous.
The villagers realized, almost at once, that they had no idea who—or what—had just saved them.
And Raizen? He just sighed.
"Yeah, that's about right. Save people, scare people. Peak ninja career progression."
He turned away, snow crunching underfoot, leaving behind the frozen, silent village.