Destroying the Village
"Tick, tick..."
Blood dripped steadily from the tip of the knife, soaking into the dry soil and staining it a dark crimson.
"Crack—"
A branch snapped underfoot—sharp and jarring in the oppressive silence.
The boy hidden inside a haystack trembled at the sound, his breath catching.
The approaching footsteps grew louder, nearer. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he clamped his hands tightly over his mouth, fighting the primal urge to scream. Terror threatened to consume him.
When the sound was at its loudest, he could tell: the figure—that death god—was no more than a meter away.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He shut his eyes and begged any god listening to send the plague demon away.
And then... silence.
For the first time in years, it seemed a god had heard his prayer. The footsteps paused for only a second, then receded.
His chest heaved as tension drained from his body. The thundering panic faded, if only slightly, as the sound of those dreaded steps disappeared into the distance.
It was then he noticed a warm sensation spreading below. When he moved one hand away from his mouth and touched his pants, his fingers came back wet. He had pissed himself—but that didn't matter.
All that mattered was that he'd survived.
The boy's name was Haozhi—a small-time thug who had drifted through life with no purpose.
Just a week earlier, a friend had recommended him for a new gig. He passed the test and joined a group called Yamagakure, or "Hidden Mountain Village."
The name sounded impressive, but in truth, it was just a bandit outpost hidden in the Land of Fire. A glorified gang of thieves, low-key enough that Konoha hadn't bothered to eradicate them—yet.
At first, Haozhi had been thrilled. The group's leader was rumored to be a missing-nin, a rogue shinobi of legendary skill.
To him, ninja were divine—beings who could wield powers beyond comprehension.
But everything changed... thirty minutes ago.
---
"Excuse me. Is this the Hidden Mountain Village?"
A boy had appeared at the entrance of the hideout—no older than fourteen, wearing a black cloak embroidered with red clouds, a long sword hanging at his side.
The Akatsuki.
Though Haozhi didn't know it yet, that symbol meant death.
"Where'd you crawl out from, brat?" the gatekeeper sneered. "Wearing a blade to show off? Let me help you with that."
It was the same gatekeeper who'd brought Haozhi into the gang. On edge and irritated, he stepped forward, reaching for the boy's collar with one hand and the sword with the other.
"Oi, Wild—" Haozhi called out. Something about the kid's expression—too calm, too... amused—made his blood run cold. He tried to stop the gatekeeper. Too late.
Before the thug's hand could even reach the boy—
—his head flew into the air.
Blood erupted like a geyser, painting the ground in a fine red mist. The boy hadn't even drawn his sword, yet his opponent was dead. The body collapsed silently.
"AHHH!"
Haozhi screamed. He couldn't help it. He had never even seen a man die—let alone like that.
Others came running, alerted by the scream.
"Who the hell do you think you are?!" one man barked. "You've got no idea who you're messing with, kid! We've got 108 elite fighters!"
A crowd gathered. It looked like nearly everyone in the village had shown up. The leader pushed his way forward. Upon seeing the headless body, his heart dropped.
He immediately suspected the worst—that Konoha had discovered him and sent an elite ninja. But then, he saw the boy's age and relaxed. Just a child. Probably bluffing.
He struck a cocky pose and laughed, clearly underestimating the danger.
Haozhi, cowering at the back, felt no such confidence. His instincts screamed that the leader had just made a fatal mistake.
"In that case," the boy's voice echoed—from behind the leader's ear—"I'm relieved. I was worried I'd killed the wrong people."
The leader barely had time to turn his head.
A knife plunged upward through his chest. His mouth opened, blood pouring out. His body spasmed once... then fell limp.
The boy withdrew the blade cleanly, wiping it on the corpse's robe. Blood had splattered across his face, but his expression was serene—almost pleased.
To the onlookers, he looked like a child possessed. His smile sent a chill through every spine.
Haozhi was paralyzed. Others, however, responded with predictable bravado.
"Kill him!"
"Revenge for the boss!"
"Whoever finishes him off becomes the next leader!"
A frenzy followed.
Swords, spears, axes—over a hundred weapons clanged as they charged. The boy walked forward with measured steps, as though strolling through a field.
Then he moved.
His blade danced—graceful, economical. He wasn't fighting. He was performing.
Each swing parried multiple attacks. Each step claimed a life.
---
"He's a demon… AHH—HAHAHA!"
Someone dropped their weapon, screaming with laughter, his mind broken.
"Please! I give up! I won't steal again!"
Another dropped to his knees, weeping and begging for his life.
But none escaped.
Anyone who tried was cut down instantly. Swords, kunai, even broken clubs—anything the boy could reach, he turned into a projectile. No one got away.
Haozhi, still trembling in the haystack, listened to the screams. They faded slowly—until only silence remained.
He dared to hope he was the only one left alive.
But he was wrong.
There was an invisible cut across his neck—so clean he hadn't even felt it. A nudge, a cough, a breath… and his head would fall.
As the moonlight bathed the slaughtered camp in silver, one figure walked away calmly.
The boy.
His name was Bai Ye.
And silently, Orochimaru waited for him at the edge of the forest.
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