The mission to the Hagoromo border was not a raid; it was a calibration.
The Hagoromo were a minor clan of "Earth-Callers," mercenaries who specialized in the fortification of trade routes for the minor lords of the Land of Fire. They were heavy, slow, and relied on the structural density of their earthen armor to survive. To the Uchiha, they were an annoyance. To me, they were a set of mechanical variables that required a different kind of leverage.
I moved through the rainy forest, the scent of wet pine and ozone thick in my nostrils. The rain was a constant, cold drumbeat against my leather shoulder plates. I was seven years old, my body a malnourished cage of bone and muscle, but my perception was that of an apex predator. Behind me, a squad of four Uchiha scouts moved with the quiet efficiency I had programmed into them during the last week of training.
"Target identified," I whispered into the phonic-link—a series of high-tension wires we had strung between our gloves to transmit vibrations. It was a method that bypassed Senju sensory-tracking. "Adult male. Armor density: 2.8 g/cm³. Composition: Calcified clay. Weapon: Heavy iron club. Center of gravity: Low."
The Hagoromo sentry was standing at the edge of a ravine. He was covered in plates of hardened clay, his spirit-pressure radiating a dull, brown energy that felt like the weight of a mountain. He was looking for shadows; he wasn't looking for a mathematical proof.
"Fire Release?" one of the scouts signaled via the wire.
"Negative," I signaled back. "Fire would only bake the clay, increasing its Mohs hardness rating by 30%. We are using gravity. It is a free resource."
I moved forward, my gait a calculation of weight distribution. I didn't run; I glided across the mud, using a pulse of chakra to reduce the friction between my sandals and the ground to near-zero. I reached the sentry's "Dead Zone"—the space within six inches of his chest plate where his club had zero kinetic potential.
He swung. To a normal eye, it was a crushing blow. To me, it was a 2.4-second window.
I didn't dodge backward. I stepped under the swing, my body rotating to maximize the torque of my next movement. I drove a small, high-tension wire loop around the joint of his right knee. Then, I didn't pull. I simply stood up.
Technical Logic: The Fulcrum Effect. The sentry weighed 220 pounds. His armor added another 80. By placing my shoulder under his center of gravity and using the wire as a pivot-point, I was leveraging 300 pounds of mass against a single, unsupported hinge joint.
Crr-ack.
The sound was a sharp, technical "click" in the rainy air. The sentry's knee didn't just break; it detonated under the pressure. The internal pressure of his own weight, combined with the leverage I had applied, caused the femur to punch through the patella.
He didn't scream. The shock was too great for his nervous system to process. He simply toppled over the edge of the ravine, his armored weight turning him into a falling stone.
Total time: 1.8 seconds. Chakra expenditure: 0.2%. Efficiency: 98%.
"One," I whispered, checking the tension on my wire.
I turned to my squad. They were staring at the empty ledge, their Sharingan spinning with a confusion that was almost human. They had expected a battle; they had received a physics experiment.
"The tactical error," I said, my voice as flat as the rain hitting the leaves, "was assuming I would fight him with my spirit. Why fight a man when you can fight his mass? We are not here to 'clash'. We are here to 'correct'. Clear the next node."
I led them deeper into the forest. The mission was only beginning, and the math of the Hagoromo's demise was already reaching a beautiful equilibrium.
System Log: Level 3 Optimization Initialized. Combat Efficiency: 94%. Current Objective: Neutralize the Hagoromo Node. Secondary Objective: Map the Earth-Style nature-energy interaction for 'Cold-Iron' refinement.
The Warring States Era was entering a new phase. A technical one. And I was the one holding the needle.