---
Haku's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
The visceral horror of the scene he had witnessed, the raw killing intent that had surged through him, and the subsequent, dizzying revelation that it had all been a masterfully crafted genjutsu… it left him feeling unbalanced and exposed. He followed Alaric, a silent shadow moving through the neglected backstreets of Yugakure.
They moved with an easy, silent grace, their feet barely seeming to touch the ground as they leaped from one weathered rooftop to the next. Below them, the two bandits, utterly oblivious to the hunters on their trail, walked with a swaggering confidence, their crude laughter occasionally drifting up into the air.
The silence between sensei and student stretched for several minutes, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the distant sounds of the village. Haku's thoughts were a tangled mess of awe and a deep, unsettling curiosity. He glanced at the man beside him, at the calm, almost bored expression on his impossibly handsome face.
"Sensei," Haku finally asked, his voice a low murmur that wouldn't carry to the street below. "How many years have you been a shinobi?"
Alaric, who had been watching the two thugs amble down an alleyway, turned his head slightly, a flicker of amusement in his blue eyes. He took a slow drag from the cigar he'd lit moments before, the smoke curling into the air.
"Honestly?" he replied, his tone casual. "About a week."
Haku stopped, his feet planted firmly on the roof tiles. He stared at Alaric, his expression a perfect mask of disbelief. A week? It was an absurd, impossible answer.
The man had teleported, used Wood Release, cast a genjutsu so powerful it had completely fooled him, and bonked Zabuza Momochi. The idea that he had only been a "shinobi" for seven days was a blatant and almost insulting lie.
Alaric saw the look on his student's face, the flicker of doubt, the conviction that he was being toyed with. "I'm telling you the truth," he said, his smile turning a little wry.
Haku just sighed, a long, weary sound. He started walking again, catching up to Alaric. "If you do not wish to tell me, Sensei," he said, his voice polite but with an undercurrent of frustration, "then you shouldn't lie."
Alaric just shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. 'Well, I tried.'
They continued their silent pursuit, leaving the outskirts of Yugakure behind and melting into the dense, steaming forests of the Land of Hot Water. The two bandits were clearly not skilled trackers… they left a trail so obvious a child could have followed it.
As night began to fall, casting long, deep shadows through the ancient trees, they finally arrived. Alaric and Haku stopped, crouching on a thick branch of a massive cedar tree that overlooked a large, natural clearing. Below them, situated in a hollow between two hills, was the bandit camp.
It was a rough, chaotic place. Dozens of crudely made tents were scattered around a massive, roaring bonfire that sent sparks spiraling up into the sky. Men, with their faces hard and their clothes that were a patchwork of stolen silks and worn leather, moved about with a loud, boisterous energy.
The air was thick with the smell of roasting meat, cheap sake, and unwashed bodies. Alaric's senses swept over the camp, the passive ability of his Mind's Eye of the Kagura taking effect. He could feel the chaotic, undisciplined chakra of the common bandits, and then, a single, sharper signature from within the largest tent.
'Fifty-four people,' he noted.
He glanced at Haku, who was staring intently at the camp, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his earlier emotional turmoil completely gone, replaced by the cold, analytical focus of a trained shinobi.
"How many do you think are in the camp?" Alaric asked, his voice a low whisper. This was his first test to Haku as he never got to see how Haku would do on a mission like this. Not in real life, nor in the Anime.
Haku continued to stare, his gaze sweeping from one end of the clearing to the other. He took in the number of tents, the shadows cast by the fire, the patterns of movement.
"I see about thirty men outside," he finally replied, his voice equally quiet. "But by the lighting and shadows from within the tents... there should be more than fifty of them."
Alaric nodded, satisfied with the assessment. "How are you planning to deal with them?"
"..." Haku thought for a moment, his gaze shifting from the camp to the darkening sky. "The night is nearing, so I can use the darkness to shroud myself. Dealing with the bandits is a simple matter. However," he frowned, his gaze returning to the largest tent, "I cannot see the rogue shinobi who leads them anywhere."
"He's in this camp," Alaric chuckled softly, his own gaze fixed on the leader's tent. "Well, it's up to you to deal with this and locate him. Full autonomy, remember?"
Haku turned, meeting Alaric's stare and nodded. "Yes."
---
The moon climbed higher, and everything was dark. Down in the bandit camp, the earlier boisterous energy had mellowed into the low, drunken murmur of a late night.
Some men were passed out in their tents, others sat slumped around the now-dying bonfire, sharing stories and another bottle of sake. A handful of sentries walked lazy, predictable patrols around the perimeter.
Up on the branch, Haku slowly stood, his movements silent and deliberate. He reached into a pouch and withdrew the familiar white Hunter-Nin mask. He carefully tied it on, the cool porcelain settling over his features.
"Why put on a mask?" Alaric asked from beside him, his voice a quiet murmur. "Afraid that your face would be known?"
"No," Haku shook his head, his gaze never leaving the camp below. His voice, muffled slightly by the mask, seemed colder, more distant. "It gives me a sense of calmness."
Alaric just nodded in understanding. He watched as Haku took a deep, centering breath, then, without another word, the boy leaped from the branch. He descended into the shadows of the camp like a falling leaf, silent and unseen.
.
Haku landed in the deep shadow behind a large tent, his feet making no sound on the soft earth. The first targets were the sleepers. He moved from tent to tent, a ghost in the night. He would lift the flap just enough to peer inside, and with a flick of his wrist, a single, ice-coated senbon would fly, finding the precise pressure point at the base of a sleeping man's skull. Instant, silent death.
One. Two. Three.
He was a phantom of death, methodical and efficient. He cleared ten tents in less than five minutes, his movements were precise, and his breaths were steady.
Eleven. Twelve.
He saw a lone bandit stumble away from the bonfire, heading towards the edge of the clearing to relieve himself. Haku melted into the shadows of the trees, circling around. The bandit had just unfastened his trousers when a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision made him turn. The last thing he saw was a flash of white porcelain before a needle of ice pierced his throat. Haku lowered the body gently to the ground.
Thirteen.
He returned to the camp's edge. Another bandit, bored with the fire, was heading towards a large barrel, likely for more sake. Haku moved along the back of the tents, a blur of motion. He emerged just as the man reached the barrel, and with a swift, silent motion, snapped his neck.
Fourteen.
Now, only the group around the bonfire remained. About sixteen of them, their senses dulled by alcohol, their attention on a crude story one of them was telling.
Haku took a position in the shadows, his hands a blur as he wove a single-handed sign. He drew moisture from the damp night air, forming dozens of razor-sharp water needles that hovered silently around him. With a final, mental command, he unleashed them.
The needles shot through the air, a silent, deadly rain. Men slumped over, their sake cups slipping from their fingers, their stories cut short mid-sentence. Sixteen bodies, each with a single, precise wound, collapsed around the fire.
Thirty.
He had cleared the entire outer camp in under fifteen minutes. Up on the branch, Alaric watched with a detached, professional approval.
'Efficient. Precise. He's good,' he thought. 'Reminds me of how I dealt with those bandits who stole the crops, back when I was five. Though my methods were a bit… messier.' A faint, nostalgic smirk touched his lips.
Down below, the flap of the largest, most ornate tent was pushed aside. A man stepped out, yawning widely and stretching his arms. He was tall, powerfully built, with a wild mane of red hair and a jagged scar running down his face. When he opened his eyes and took in the scene… the silent, lifeless bodies scattered around the dying bonfire… his jaw dropped. His gaze swept across the carnage, landing finally on the lone, masked figure standing in the center of it all.
"W-Who the hell are you!?" the rogue ninja roared, his hand instantly flying to the massive sword strapped to his back.
Haku just stared, his head tilted slightly, his silence an answer in itself.
"I am Hozuki Kenji, the 'Crimson Blade of the Bloody Mist'!" the man boasted, drawing his sword, a wickedly curved nodachi. "A-Rank missing-nin, formerly of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen! You dare to attack my camp!? You will die here, boy!"
'I've never heard of this guy before...' Haku remained silent, his own hands coming together to form a seal. The air around him grew colder, a visible mist forming at his feet. 'There might be a Hozuki in Kiri, but there's no such thing as a Crimson Blade of the Bloody Mist...'
Seeing that his intimidation had failed, Kenji's face twisted into a snarl. "Fine! Have it your way!" He charged, his nodachi a blur of motion.
The fight was a clash of styles. Kenji was all brute force and aggressive, powerful slashes, his Earth Release jutsus sending shockwaves through the ground. Haku was a dancer of death, his movements fluid and evasive. He countered Kenji's raw power with his own precise, deadly techniques.
"Earth Style: Earth and Stone Dragon!" Kenji roared, slamming his palms on the ground. The earth erupted, a massive dragon of rock and mud roaring as it lunged towards Haku.
Haku simply formed a one-handed seal. A wall of thick, crystalline ice shot up from the ground, intercepting the dragon. The two forces collided with a deafening crash, rock shattering against ice.
"Ice Release!? Damn you!" Kenji cursed, surprised by the strength of the ice wall.
Haku used the momentary distraction, his hands a blur. "Secret Jutsu: A Thousand Flying Water Needles of Death!"
Countless needles of hardened water formed in the air, shooting towards Kenji from all directions. The rogue ninja was forced to defend, his nodachi a spinning shield of steel as he deflected the relentless assault.
"Is that all you've got!?" he taunted, though a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. This kid was more skilled than he looked.
Haku didn't reply. He appeared behind Kenji in a flicker of movement, a single senbon aimed at the back of his neck. But Kenji was a veteran. He spun, his sword deflecting the needle with a sharp clang, and countered with a powerful backhand slash. Haku was forced to leap back.
This was not an easy fight. Kenji was strong, experienced, and his aggressive style left little room for Haku's usual, precise takedowns.
Haku landed lightly, his breath misting in the cold air. He knew he had to end this. He brought his hands together in a new, more complex seal.
"Secret Jutsu: Demonic Mirroring Ice Crystals!"
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