The Ueshi camp was unnervingly quiet.
After the chaos of last night, not a single ninja dared to speak above a whisper.
The clan had received word of an attack on the Tiannan Mine. Ueshi Toku—one of their most capable warriors—had personally led a squad to intercept the enemy, while another group was sent to strike the Amamiya at the Songshan Mine. The results? Still unclear. But the silence around the Tiannan front spoke louder than any report.
Because Ueshi Toku was dead.
And rumor said… he'd been killed by a seven-year-old.
It sounded absurd—insulting even—but every survivor swore it was true. The fact hit the clan like a kunai to the gut. Their pride, their fear, and their rage twisted together into one unbearable silence. Losing Toku meant losing a pillar of strength. Without him, the Ueshi clan's morale had plummeted into the dirt.
Just as the surviving ninjas were cleaning up the battlefield, a commotion came from the edge of camp.
"Someone's coming!"
The guards tensed instantly, hands reaching for their weapons—until they saw the approaching figures.
A group of Ueshi ninjas stumbled out from the trees—tattered, dirty, but alive. They were the strike team that had attacked the Songshan Mine.
"Ha! The Amamiya are finished!" shouted a burly, bearded ninja, grinning ear to ear. "The Songshan Mine is ours! Send word to Lord Desho—we can take it over immediately!"
The surrounding Ueshi ninjas froze mid-motion. Hope flickered in their eyes for the first time since dawn.
The bearded man, oblivious to the tension, kept talking.
"The remaining Amamiya are cornered deep in the mine. Our men have them surrounded but can't finish the job. We need reinforcements to seal the—"
"Lord Tokusei is dead."
The words dropped like a blade.
The bearded man blinked, then frowned. "...What did you just say?"
"Dead," repeated one of the senior Jōnin grimly. "Master Tokusei fell in battle last night. The Amamiya killed him."
The air thickened with disbelief.
"N-No way," the returning squad stammered. "You're saying… Lord Tokusei—lost? To who?"
A moment passed. Then the Jōnin said flatly, "A child. Seven years old."
It was so absurd, it made them laugh—at first.
But the laughter died when no one else joined in.
"Pull your remaining men from Songshan," the Jōnin barked. "If the Amamiya could kill Tokusei, they'll slaughter the rest of you. We can't hold the mine anymore."
The bearded man's mouth opened in protest—then froze.
Because a voice echoed behind them, quiet and razor-sharp.
"That's right. He's dead… and I'm the one who killed him."
Everyone spun around.
Amamiya Raizen stepped out from the treeline, calm as death itself. His clothes were singed, his left arm bandaged, but his eyes—those sharp, gold-tinged eyes—cut through the fog like lightning.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then the camp exploded in panic.
"It's him!"
"The Amamiya brat!"
"Stay back!"
Only the newly returned ninjas hesitated, confused by the fear in their comrades' eyes. They hadn't seen him before.
They didn't know what he was capable of.
They were about to find out.
...
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