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29.txt
Thirty-four bandits.
Only nine remained alive, and not a single one had so much as touched Qianyu's sleeve.
Such was a ninja.
Ordinary people, even burly adults, posed no real threat to an underage shinobi. Look at Kakashi—graduated from the Academy at five and started cutting people down, fellow ninja at that.
To Qianyu's Sharingan, the fleeing speed of those nine survivors was painfully, torturously slow.
He caught up to one effortlessly. His katana swept forward without pause, aimed at the bandit's nape.
The bandit felt himself still running, but his vision dropped away, falling toward the ground.
Seeing the headless body collapse beside him, realization dawned.
Oh… That's my body. I've been beheaded.
In his final moment, the decapitated bandit finally saw Qianyu's face clearly.
…A kid?
Just a single child… had nearly wiped them all out. Judging by the screams still echoing behind him, the others wouldn't be spared either.
Next life… In my next life, I'll become a ninja first. Then I'll go robbing!
Holding onto that hope for the afterlife, the bandit's consciousness faded away.
Qianyu continued. A kill, then a number. His voice, still carrying a boy's timbre, counted down.
For the remaining bandits, each number was a death knell. Every scream meant another companion gone. Despair, thick and suffocating, crushed their will to flee.
When Qianyu reached "Three," the two bandits in front of him stopped running.
What was the point? They couldn't escape. They were tired. Let it end. Death meant no more of this soul-crushing fear.
They dropped their weapons and waited.
Qianyu showed no mercy. His blade flashed. Two more heads rolled.
"Two."
"One."
Only the bandit chief remained.
The chief had seen enough. He'd watched this red-eyed demon child butcher his men like vegetables and had fled long before, terror overriding all else.
Now, he was almost out of the village, muttering curses under his breath.
"Bastards… Hiring a ninja to deal with us. If I find out who it was, I'll make them suffer before I kill them!"
"Damn it… All the loot from today is still back there. Have to leave it. At least we still have some savings left."
"Can't stay in the Land of Rice anymore. Stick to the plan—head to the Land of the Moon. Recruit new men. Raid their villages instead."
His foot snagged on something.
He paused, looking down. A wire.
The chief let out a shaky breath. For a second, his heart had lurched.
Just a tripwire. He moved to step over it.
A soft fizzling sound reached his ears.
He looked down again. A paper tag, half-consumed by flame, lay at his feet. The character for 'Explosion' was clearly visible.
"Huh? Just a piece of paper…"
"Paper? Wait—an explosive tag?!"
Every hair on his body stood on end. He tried to leap back.
Too late.
BOOM.
The blast threw him bodily against a stone wall. Dazed, ears ringing, he tried to push himself up, only to collapse back onto the dirt.
He looked at his leg. His pupils shrank to pinpricks.
His right leg was gone below the knee. Blood pumped out in ragged spurts from the mangled stump.
"AAAAGH! MY LEG!!"
He clutched the ruined limb, howling.
Slow, measured footsteps approached. Qianyu stopped before him, those crimson, spinning eyes staring down.
The chief's scream died in his throat. He stared, transfixed. That gaze… it felt like falling into an ice-cold abyss. A primal, bone-deep chill seized him.
Qianyu raised his katana, the bloodied tip pointed at the man's throat.
His voice was quiet. "Zero."
The blade punched through flesh and cartilage. Blood sprayed.
The bandit chief's eyes glazed over. His grand plans for the future dissolved as he descended into darkness.
Qianyu gave his katana a sharp flick, splattering the ground with gore. He wiped the remaining blood clean against his sleeve, then smoothly sheathed the weapon.
He let out a long breath.
Wiping out thirty-four bandits was… effortless. They were lambs to the slaughter. If he'd used Thunder Breathing, he could have finished them all in a heartbeat, leaving no trace.
But this mission was Orochimaru's test—a measure of his progress over the past month. Using his signature style would have defeated the purpose.
Still… Using ninjutsu in real combat felt different from training. Smoother. More instinctive.
As he turned to leave and report, a voice spoke from behind him.
"You did well."
Orochimaru stood there, having appeared without a sound. His golden eyes swept over the chief's corpse, a slight, approving curve on his lips.
"You concealed your presence effectively during the initial ambush. Your application of the water and lightning techniques was proficient. More importantly, your thinking was good—you utilized their elemental properties in tandem."
He gestured toward the charred ground where the explosive tag had been. "Your approach was methodical. Setting a trap to catch any who tried to flee shows foresight."
Orochimaru's praise brought a small, genuine smile to Qianyu's lips. In the entire month of brutal training, this was the first time Orochimaru had offered such direct approval. Every session usually ended with a litany of flaws and mistakes, enough to make Qianyu doubt his own talent at times.
This felt… good.
"There is one habit of yours, however, that is particularly excellent," Orochimaru continued.
Qianyu blinked. A habit? What habit?
He listened intently.
"You consistently target the head or throat. Decapitation or a severed carotid. The human body has few true instant-kill points. Even a pierced heart leaves time for a final, desperate counterattack." Orochimaru's tone was analytical, clinical. "Your method ensures the target is neutralized immediately. It is an efficient and… commendable practice."
Qianyu rubbed the back of his neck, a flicker of awkwardness passing through him. Now that he thought about it… yeah. Going for the neck had become his default.
The reason, of course, was Thunder Breathing. It was a style forged to kill demons, and a demon's sole weakness was its neck. Every form was designed to strike there.
Hearing Orochimaru frame it as a tactical strength… well, it was a pretty good habit to have.
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