Yugami Genma was forced out of his concealment, stumbling as he reemerged into enemy sight.
Truth be told, the enemy's choice to self-detonate wasn't a bad one—it was actually the right call. The only problem was his timing. Against a technique like Ephemeral Mayfly, the most effective counter was always wide-area jutsu. No matter how well you hid, no matter how fast you moved, a sweeping strike that flattened everything in its path would always be the most practical solution.
A kunai pierced the mist and embedded itself in Genma's shoulder with a sharp thunk, blood spraying from the wound. The pain jolted his senses back to clarity, snapping him out of the post-blast daze clouding his mind.
A figure emerged from the thinning fog, the glint of steel flashing from Genma's blind spot.
"Earth Style!"
The attacker shouted as he struck, also alerting his allies—convinced, it seemed, that Genma had been hiding, moving, and killing through some special Earth Release technique.
Clearly, he was wrong. But that snap judgment had already planted false information in his comrades' minds.
Genma lunged forward with his left foot, steadying his swaying frame just before losing his balance. Muscles along his spine coiled and twisted, helping him torque his torso into a narrow twist and lean away just in time to narrowly avoid the enemy's decapitating slash. Even so, the edge of the blade grazed his upper arm, drawing a line of fresh blood.
The enemy flipped his wrist, reversing his grip on the blade. His arm pulled back sharply, and Genma was forced to pivot with the strike, narrowly dodging again by following the enemy's momentum.
The cold gleam of the blade pressed on Genma's nerves, the chill of it close enough to brush his skin, heightening his focus. His breathing slowed, deepened, and evened out.
But the opponent's relentless pressure was unyielding. Genma's balance finally gave way—his upper body tilted backward, and he barely managed to catch himself with one hand against the ground to avoid a fall.
Then came a savage kick to his gut.
The force of it folded him in half, and he was hurled backward like a rag doll.
His spine slammed into a jagged boulder. The shock stole his breath, but he had no time to nurse his wounds—he instinctively rolled to the side.
Clang!
The enemy's blade struck the ground where Genma had just been, the follow-up attack barely missing. The swift pursuit left Genma with no room to counterattack.
He tumbled forward, rolling repeatedly to avoid the next strikes while readjusting his stance, finally managing to regain a fighting posture.
His opponent was fast. That short blade came with vicious precision, every strike targeting Genma's torso and centerline.
A taijutsu specialist—no doubt about it. And judging by his aggressive tempo, his aim was clear: split Genma's hands and keep him from forming seals.
A smart tactic. But he was underestimating Genma.
Sure, Genma wasn't known for his ninjutsu. But if he couldn't use jutsu, then how had he survived on the battlefield for so long?
This enemy—just a chunin—had no hope of fully sealing away another shinobi's jutsu.
Relentless aggression could only be maintained for so long. When the enemy's breathing finally began to hitch, Genma dodged another swing, then reached down with his right hand—still dangling low—and fished a kunai from his pouch.
As the enemy switched from a slash to a lunge, blade stabbing forward, Genma swung his kunai upward.
Clang!
The ringed hilt of the kunai caught the enemy's blade mid-thrust. With a sharp twist of his wrist, Genma locked the blade in place, then yanked hard, channeling the enemy's momentum.
The short sword wrenched free from its owner's hand.
Genma immediately released his own kunai, using the sudden pull to drag the enemy close—right into range.
His right knee shot upward with brutal force.
Crack!
It struck home.
A sickening crunch echoed as the enemy's abdomen collapsed inward. Blood burst from his lips. His knees buckled, and he staggered back several steps.
Agony contorted his face. He instinctively looked up—only to see Genma's hands already clasped together, forming the final seal.
Fire Style: Phosphorus Ember Jutsu!
Heat rippled through the air, distorting everything in its wake. Orange-red fireballs, each a different size, surged forward, trailing tails like comets. It was less like a conventional fire attack and more like hurling a bucket of flame in one sweeping motion.
The taijutsu specialist had no room to run. In truth, he never even got the chance to react.
The ember wave engulfed him in an instant.
Screams tore through the night.
The moment the jutsu made contact with human flesh, its intensity surged. Within twenty seconds, the screams stopped. His limbs gave one last twitch before stilling completely.
In seconds, he had become charcoal—blackened and still—folded into the fire like a piece of wood.
Genma spared him no further glance.
His eyes shifted to the last remaining enemy nearby.
That one had clearly been trying to rush in to help his comrade. But the burning screams froze him in place.
In his eyes, Genma's gaze held no hatred, no anger. No joy, no sorrow. Only a still, cold indifference that felt like a knife to the soul.
It wasn't the look one gave to enemies… or friends.
It was the look reserved for objects. For corpses.
Watching his teammates fall one by one, and now realizing he was the final target, the lone genin cracked. The pressure crushed him.
He turned and ran.
But—
Shhk!
A kunai whistled through the air and struck true—straight through his heart.
He was younger than Genma. But in this world, if you don't kill, you'll be killed.
"…Was it… some kind of… secret art? That… killed our captain?" he choked out with his last breath.
Clearly, the captain's death had marked the beginning of their downfall. If his sacrifice had meant anything—had shifted the battle even slightly—maybe they wouldn't have ended up like this.
"Secret art? No," Genma paused for a heartbeat. Then, reconsidering, he offered a different answer. "No secret art. Just ordinary jutsu."
The lingering steam from Fire and Water Releases gradually dispersed. Genma's soaked hair clung to his forehead. His clothes were nearly drenched through.
The fight hadn't lasted long. Nor had it been particularly intense.
And yet, it had pushed his mind and spirit to the edge.
Still, the mission was mostly complete.
He exhaled slowly, letting the chill of the damp air cool the heat burning in his lungs.
It wasn't over yet.
He still had comrades waiting for reinforcements.