In the current shinobi world, the boundaries between different spheres of influence were not clearly defined as "national borders." The so-called great nations of later generations were still in a fragmented state.
Geographically, according to the era of one village per nation, this was the northern region of the Land of Fire.
A ninja wearing a blank forehead protector, his face concealed by a black cloth that left only his eyes visible, approached this area at an unhurried pace.
"There sure are a lot of nosy people around…" he muttered.
Sensing the faint, probing gazes around him—some brazenly sizing him up—the masked ninja merely smiled, unbothered.
After walking a bit farther, the ruins of a village came into view.
The scars of a great fire were unmistakable. The masked ninja circled the village once, then stepped directly into its heart.
Strolling through the ruins as if taking a leisurely walk, he carefully assessed the extent of the destruction. He couldn't help but shake his head. The village was burned in a half-hearted way, leaving plenty of traces. Whoever destroyed this place clearly lacked finesse.
But the masked ninja saw more than just the surface.
"The attackers were aggressive, and the defenders barely put up any effective resistance. Was it… fear? What exactly happened in this village before the war broke out?"
"They resisted briefly, then at some point… scattered and fled? Was a key figure killed?"
"But the enemy… they didn't seem to deploy many forces at the start."
"It seems the attackers had a few highly skilled individuals."
Muttering to himself, the masked ninja gathered what he deemed sufficient information. Then, without looking back, he turned and left.
Two days later, he appeared in a town farther north.
After some searching, he confidently approached two figures crouched in the corner of an alley.
They were filthy, their clothes tattered, looking like beggars.
Even as the masked ninja drew close, the two remained listless, their gazes vacant, as if they didn't notice him—or didn't care if they did.
From his movements, it was clear: he was an intelligence gatherer.
He placed a few small gold coins in front of them, and only then did a flicker of life return to their dull faces.
"If I'm not mistaken, you two are shinobi from the Tsugawa Clan, right?" he asked.
The masked ninja smiled, trying to project some warmth, but with his face hidden, the gesture fell flat.
One of the two shinobi blankly reached for the coins. After hearing the question, he hesitated briefly before nodding silently.
Having lost their clan, they had lost everything. There was no point in denying it now.
"What exactly happened to you? Care to share?" the masked ninja asked.
The question pulled the two Tsugawa shinobi into painful memories, a shadow of anguish crossing their eyes.
One of them swallowed hard, then spoke in a hoarse, dry, and barely audible voice: "An enemy infiltrated our village…"
"We never found a trace of him. He blew up our supply reserves, then assassinated our elders and captains one by one…"
"Later… after it was all over, we called him the 'Hidden Wolf.'"
"When the main enemy force openly invaded, we were already in chaos, our chain of command broken, and panic had taken over the village…"
"When an enemy killed our clan leader head-on, most of our shinobi completely lost the will to fight…"
The masked ninja could hear it in the man's trembling voice: compared to the ninja who defeated their clan leader, they feared the one who infiltrated silently far more.
Of course, the Tsugawa shinobi had no way of knowing that the so-called "two" enemies might actually be one.
"So, this 'Hidden Wolf' is highly skilled in stealth and assassination?" the masked ninja asked.
The Tsugawa shinobi nodded silently, then, after a moment's thought, added, "He might also be adept at disguise and transformation."
He briefly described how their elders and captains had turned on each other, killing one another.
This was critical intelligence. The masked ninja nodded, committing it to memory.
Hane Genma hadn't been able to wipe out the Tsugawa Clan entirely, so some degree of information leakage was inevitable. It couldn't be helped.
But if he knew they'd given him a moniker like "Hidden Wolf," he'd neither admit nor accept it.
It wasn't about whether the name sounded good or bad. The moment people heard "Hidden Wolf," they'd assume it referred to someone sinister, cunning, ruthless, or even diabolically crafty.
That didn't align with Genma's self-image. He saw himself as upright and honorable, never allowing vile descriptors to taint his pure character.
After a bit more small talk, the masked ninja chose to leave. Though he had the strength, he wasn't the type to take back the money he'd given.
It wasn't just payment for information—it was practically a bribe for their lives.
Having gathered enough intelligence, he left the town and used a flying summoning beast to send the report on its way.
Meanwhile, Genma was up to something straight out of a folk horror tale.
Since the Ashes Organization had accepted a mission from the daimyo of Kikyo City, he needed to deliver "results."
But knowing the daimyo's ill intentions, Genma had no desire to complete the task… if only out of sheer defiance, he refused to act like a loyal dog.
So, he decided to fake the mission's completion and bring "evidence" back to Kikyo City.
Thus, he arrived alone in Reito City.
The city's layout and defenses were unremarkable, similar to Kikyo City's. Genma moved in and out freely, facing no resistance.
Finding the daimyo was easy.
As everyone knew, daimyo were creatures not unlike ladybugs: even if they lived on a stick, they'd climb to the highest, most prominent end.
Without wasting words, Genma headed straight for Reito City's castle keep.
After a quick tour of the keep, pulling off a few wall-phasing tricks, he located the daimyo.
It was deep into the night, and in a spacious, airy room, the daimyo was fast asleep.
The daimyo of Reito City was a young man in his twenties, lying alone on a large bed, his sleeping posture eerily serene.
Genma cautiously scanned the surroundings and detected at least four hidden shinobi—clearly the daimyo's bodyguards.
Yet none of them sensed his presence.
The night was utterly still. Genma silently hung upside down from a ceiling beam, his back pressed against the ceiling—a prime vantage point to observe the daimyo's face.
He quietly drew a scroll, formed hand seals to release its seal, and a pale human head appeared in his hands.
The head once belonged to a Tsugawa shinobi. Genma studied it briefly, finding no familiarity in its features.
Then, by the faint light, he closely examined the daimyo's face below. After a moment, he began channeling chakra from his hands into the head.
Under the influence of a special chakra, the head's bones, flesh, and features began to shift. Slowly, its face and shape started to resemble the daimyo's… a bizarre application of the White Zetsu transformation technique.
The daimyo wasn't a ninja and had no chakra, but that was fine. Genma didn't need an instant transformation; he just needed to gradually mold the material in his hands.
The night was long, and he had plenty of time.
As he made meticulous adjustments, a sudden thought struck him, nearly making him laugh… Was this what it meant to truly "sculpt a face"?
After about half an hour, Genma compared the head in his hands to the daimyo's face. They were nearly identical.
The Kikyo daimyo had ordered him to kill, but here he was, crafting a lifelike 3D sculpture by hand.
Satisfied, Genma nodded, tucked the head under his arm, and made his exit.
At the entrance, a maidservant was dozing off when she suddenly jolted awake, instinctively scanning her surroundings.
Outside, the sky was low and dim.
Inside the winding corridors of the palace, shadows loomed heavily.
A chill crept in from nowhere, making her shiver.
She shrank back, unsure if it was her imagination, but she couldn't shake the feeling that tonight, a cold wind was whispering through the air.
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