The convoy trudged deeper into the denser part of the forest. The tall, twisted trees closed in around the path, casting long, eerie shadows on the damp ground. The air grew heavier, almost silent, as if nature itself held its breath.
Takeshi furrowed his brow slightly. Something was off. Even the birds had fallen silent.
Then, a reddish light pulsed briefly before his eyes.
[System - Alert]
Murderous intent detected.
Origin: unknown. Immediate danger probability: 89%.
His gaze hardened. He opened his mouth to warn the others, but—
*Fshh—!*
Two shuriken whistled through the air, precise, silent… deadly.
A muffled cry, followed by two dull thuds.
The two guards at the rear of the convoy collapsed, expressions of frozen incomprehension on their faces, the blades embedded in their throats. Blood spread slowly on the ground, darkened by the shadows.
"We're under attack!" Natsumi shouted, her sharp senses catching movement in the trees.
In an instant, the heavy calm shattered. All the shinobi drew their weapons, forming a defensive circle around the convoy.
Seven figures emerged from the underbrush, their cracked masks reflecting the pale moonlight.
Not a word,
not a cry.
Just cold stares, drawn weapons, and the scent of blood.
"Perfect timing…!" Takeshi thought, his eyes locking onto three of the seven who seemed like easy prey. Right now, they were all in scouting mode, sizing up the enemy. It was the perfect moment to destabilize them.
"If you won't come to me, then I'll come to you…"
Takeshi struck first.
He didn't give them a second. One of the guys, a scrawny one with a rusty kunai, was preparing to charge foolishly, but the next moment everything blurred.
Takeshi pivoted, his katana whistling, and the guy's head flew off, cleanly severed at the neck. The body collapsed, convulsing, blood spraying in scarlet arcs, splattering the ferns.
"Shit…!" he thought as his vision slowly faded, coldness enveloping him.
The head rolled into the mud, eyes still open, frozen in surprise.
The familiar system sound echoed, but no time to waste. Takeshi didn't stop, his gaze already on the other two.
The survivors—a burly man with an axe and a woman with greasy hair armed with senbon—weren't expecting to meet a madman who'd charge them without hesitation. They hesitated for a fraction of a second.
A fatal mistake.
Takeshi charged, his steps light but precise, a chunin in full mastery. The burly man roared, swinging his axe in a wide arc.
Takeshi dodged, sliding under the blow, and countered with brutal kenjutsu. His blade plunged into the man's abdomen, slicing diagonally upward.
Guts spilled out, a steaming mass of intestines sliding across the ground like sticky snakes.
"Ahhhhh! Fuc—!"
he screamed, trying to hold in his entrails, but his executioner wasn't done yet. He yanked his sword free with a sharp tug, and with a backhand strike, split the man's chest open. Ribs cracked, blood gushed in a fountain, splattering Takeshi's face. The burly man collapsed, gurgling, his fingers clawing at the earth.
"And two down…" Takeshi muttered, resembling the angel of death, as the system sound echoed. His kenjutsu still had flaws, but he'd improved.
The woman, panicked, backed away, launching a volley of poisoned senbon. Takeshi, quick, blocked them with his katana, the needles clinking against steel.
She trembled, her clumsy hands betraying her fear.
"Get away!" she screamed.
"You're already dead," he growled, leaping toward her. She tried one last senbon, but her enemy was too fast.
He grabbed her wrist, snapped it with a twist—the bone cracking like a dry branch. She screamed, but the sound was cut off as Takeshi drove his sword through her jaw, the blade piercing her palate and bursting out the top of her skull.
Blood cascaded, mingling with saliva and bone fragments. He yanked the blade free with a sharp tug, and the body slumped, a disjointed puppet, mouth frozen in a silent scream.
Takeshi wiped his katana on the woman's tunic, the fabric soaked with sticky blood. Around him, it was a massacre: a decapitated body, another gutted, its organs spread like a macabre offering, and the last impaled, lying in a crimson pool. He spat on the ground, his breath calm, almost bored. "Too easy," he muttered, before turning to the four others, visibly shocked by the sheer brutality he'd displayed.
They weren't the only ones stunned. Natsumi, a jonin, had a crease on her forehead. This wasn't her first time seeing death, but… the scene before her was just… carnage.
"So, you gonna stand there all day…?" Takeshi broke the silence, advancing calmly, as if nothing had happened. "You can only blame yourselves for trying to attack us."
"Kid, stop acting high and mighty after taking out some trash…" a raspy voice growled.
It was hard to tell who spoke; it was dark, and most of these guys wore masks.
"Trash, you say?" A smirk formed on Takeshi's lips. "I really don't see the difference between you and them… oh wait, actually, you all stink like shit."
*PFFT…*
Mei couldn't help but giggle at Takeshi's spicy remark.
The scene, which had seemed frozen until now, resumed its course.
The four survivors scattered, each choosing their target. Determined to make these shinobi pay for their affront.
The forest became a battlefield, explosions and chakra flashes illuminating the shadows.