A massive caravan of more than a dozen wagons crossed the border of the Land of Fire and entered the Land of Fields.
Their plan was to travel through several small countries, including the Land of Fields, and ultimately reach one of the Five Great Nations the Land of Lightning to sell their goods and earn a hefty profit margin.
This caravan was operated by Taihe Chamber of Commerce, the largest merchant guild in the Land of Fire, known to have close ties with the Uchiha Clan.
To ensure safety on this journey, the chamber hired numerous guards—and even went as far as contracting two Uchiha-led squads, each commanded by a jōnin.
Creak, creak—
The wheels of the caravan wagons groaned rhythmically as they rolled along the muddy road.
At the front of the caravan walked three individuals—two men and one woman—all wearing garments marked with the Uchiha clan crest. They were one of the two hired Uchiha squads, tasked with scouting ahead and protecting the caravan.
Among them, the oldest was a man missing a finger on his right hand: Uchiha Mori, the jōnin in charge.
He moved with the caravan while maintaining vigilant awareness, his expression serious and focused.
Whenever they passed dense forest on either side of the road, he would activate his Sharingan to scan for danger with its heightened perception.
"Captain, isn't this a bit too cautious? We've got two full squads led by jōnin—who'd dare mess with us?"
This came from a young man among the trio, short black hair and striking features—no doubt a heartthrob back at the Academy.
His name was Uchiha Haruto, a chūnin.
However, as a member of the Uchiha clan with even a single-tomoe Sharingan, his strength far exceeded the average chūnin. He was already close to the level of a tokubetsu jōnin.
"Never let your guard down."
Uchiha Mori scolded Haruto, then held up his right hand, revealing the missing pinky finger.
"You've probably always wondered how I lost this finger, haven't you?"
"How did you lose it?"
Haruto asked instinctively, and the third member of the group, a female Uchiha named Uchiha Murasaki, perked up her ears curiously.
"Five years ago, I accepted a mission just like this—an escort job. Back then, I was like you, thinking that with a jōnin around, nothing could go wrong."
Uchiha Mori sighed deeply before continuing.
"But we were ambushed by a rogue ninja. One of them who could use Earth Release emerged from underground and launched a surprise attack on me."
"Because I let my guard down, I managed to dodge the fatal blow, but he still chopped off this finger with one strike."
He looked at the two younger clanmates with a solemn gaze and warned them:
"I don't want the two of you to make the same mistake. Regret only comes after suffering a loss."
"And remember—if you're unlucky, you might not even live to regret it."
Hearing this, Haruto and Murasaki both sobered up, their carefree attitudes giving way to seriousness.
Neither wanted to end up like their captain—or worse, without the chance to reflect at all.
Seeing their change in demeanor, Uchiha Mori nodded slightly, glad his words had not gone to waste.
Several hours later, the caravan had already entered deep into the Land of Fields.
"Watch out! It's an ambush!"
Suddenly, Uchiha Mori—his Sharingan activated with two tomoe in each eye—shouted a loud warning from the front.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
Almost at the exact moment he spoke, a barrage of kunai flew out from the forest on both sides, descending like a rainstorm toward the caravan.
"Fire Style: Fire Dragon Flame Bullet!"
Uchiha Mori quickly formed hand seals, and three jets of fire burst from his mouth, colliding with the incoming kunai.
Most of the projectiles were deflected mid-air, but a few slipped through and struck the caravan.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Several caravan guards failed to dodge in time. The worst-hit had multiple holes pierced through their bodies and collapsed in pools of blood.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
From the forest emerged more than a dozen masked figures in black, all agile and charging toward the caravan.
Clang! Clang!
Uchiha Mori, wielding a kunai in each hand, parried the attacks of two black-clad enemies—but his expression darkened.
These two attackers were both of jōnin caliber.
If not for the precision and insight of his Sharingan, he'd likely already be injured.
These weren't ordinary bandits—ordinary bandits could never possess such skill.
He roared in anger, "Who are you people?!"
"Wind Style: Great Air Bullet!"
The two masked assailants said nothing. Cold and silent like ice, one of them engaged Uchiha Mori in close combat while the other performed hand seals for a Wind Release technique.
Four compressed spheres of air formed and shot toward Mori, bypassing his engaged opponent.
Swish!
Mori quickly dodged to the side, barely evading the air bullets thanks to his Sharingan-enhanced reflexes.
But at that moment, the attacker who had been fighting him closed in from behind.
Slash!
A deep cut opened on Mori's back, blood spurting as he staggered backward.
The two enemies closed in with murderous intent.
A grim sense of dread welled up inside Mori—this could be his end.
Elsewhere, Uchiha Haruto, Uchiha Murasaki, and the other jōnin-led squad at the rear were also under heavy assault—facing twice, even three times their number. Injuries mounted quickly.
The hired guards fared even worse—slaughtered en masse.
Each of the black-clad attackers was at least chūnin level, far beyond what the guards could handle. The guards were massacred without resistance.
Half an hour later, the battlefield was soaked in blood. Corpses lay strewn across the ground.
The caravan had no fight left.
All guards were dead, and even the two elite Uchiha squads—each led by a jōnin—had been annihilated. Their Sharingan eyes were dug out.
Only a few non-combatants from the caravan still lived—some hiding inside the wagons, some underneath—trembling in fear.
The black-clad attackers began cleaning up the battlefield, dragging out the remaining survivors.
"You're Taihe Hiroshi, president of Taihe Chamber of Commerce?"
A rotund, richly dressed man was yanked from a wagon by one of the black-clad attackers.
"Yes, yes, I'm… I'm President Taihe Hiroshi. Sirs, the goods—you can take them all! Please, just spare our lives…"
Taihe Hiroshi trembled uncontrollably, sweat pouring down his forehead as he stammered.
"You think it's that simple?"
The masked man sneered, eyes sharp as blades.
"These goods were always meant to be ours."
"As for you—you're coming with us. Let the others return with a message: your family has five days to gather 300 million in ransom and deliver it to Shōden Town in the Land of Fields."
"If they fail or take too long… then they can come collect your corpse."
Soon after, Taihe Hiroshi and all the caravan's cargo were taken away by the black-clad assailants.
Only a few harmless survivors were deliberately left behind.