Chapter 7: First Blood
The next morning, I met up with Hiruzen to start our duties. With the world in a tense, cold-war peace, missions were scarce and low-ranked. For days, it was nothing but D-ranks. We hauled trash, pulled weeds, and found more lost pets than I knew existed in Konoha. (Note: He got minor amount of points from these missions.)
During the downtime, Hiruzen taught me tree-walking and water-walking. I mastered both in an afternoon, the chakra control demanded by the exercises feeling natural after a lifetime of honing just three basic jutsu. Hiruzen could only shake his head and mutter about "prodigies."
In the evenings, I studied the system shop. The prices were staggering. S-rank jutsu cost more points than I could ever imagine earning. But I had a new resource now—the Great Elder's library. I didn't need to waste points on clan techniques I could learn myself, even if it was slower.
There was one technique, however, that wasn't in any Uchiha scroll. A creation of a future clansman. I spent 500 of my hard-earned points on it: the Crow Clone Technique. A fusion of genjutsu and clone, perfect for misdirection and escape.
With the remaining 500 points, I invested in my foundation. The shop offered something called "Water of Life," which claimed to repair cells, strengthen the body, and, with repeated use, increase chakra reserves. A small vial, best for a Genin, cost 100 points. I bought five.
The effect was immediate and potent. A warm, vibrant energy spread through my limbs with each vial. My chakra pools, once a modest stream, swelled into a rushing river. By the fourth vial, I felt a qualitative shift. My reserves had firmly entered the realm of a Chunin.
So the days bled into one another, a monotonous cycle of chores and quiet growth, until one morning, Hiruzen's announcement broke the routine.
"Let's go. We have a mission today."
"More cats?" I asked, unable to keep the boredom from my voice. "Or are we gardening again?"
Hiruzen smirked. "No cats. This one's a B-rank."
That got my attention. "A B-rank? What is it?"
"Bandit extermination." He handed me a scroll. "Here's the intel. This operation is yours to lead. It's a small group of thugs. For someone with your current abilities, it shouldn't be a problem. As your captain, I'll be shadowing you, but I won't intervene unless your life is in immediate danger. Understood?"
"Understood. Just a bunch of bandits. Simple." The words were confident, but a knot of tension tightened in my stomach. This was real.
The moment I accepted the scroll, the system's cold voice echoed in my skull.
[Mission Issued: Exterminate the Bandit Camp.]
[Reward: 5,000 Points.]
[Failure: Obliteration.]
Again with the obliteration! I cursed internally. Fine. Let's get this over with. I didn't wait another second, rushing out of the village gates without a backward glance.
That night, in a cheap inn just a day's travel from the target, I unrolled the mission scroll. Three low-level missing-nin were listed as the leaders, with a force of roughly two dozen ordinary thugs. A B-rank? This felt more like a high C-rank. The final line, "Total Suppression," explained it. They wanted everyone gone. No witnesses, no loose ends.
Just a few bandits, I told myself, the confidence returning. This will be easy.
I set out for the bandit camp at first light, using the trees for cover. When I reached the ridge overlooking their valley, I froze. The intel was wrong. Dead wrong.
This wasn't a small camp. It was a fortified village. I counted over two hundred people moving between the log huts. No wonder it was a B-rank. Wiping out a force this size alone was the real challenge.
Damn it! I thought, my mind racing. If I'm discovered too early, they'll scatter. If they scatter, the mission fails. If the mission fails...
I needed a plan. A way to create chaos, to herd them, to prevent escape.
As night fell, I had it. Fire.
I found a storage hut on the edge of the camp, piled high with dry hay and supplies. A single, well-placed Fireball Jutsu was all it took.
WHOOSH!
The blaze erupted, orange and hungry, licking at the night sky. Panic was instant. Shouts and screams filled the air as bandits scrambled, forming bucket brigades, running in every direction. They were a chaotic, disorganized mess.
It was time.
I became a ghost in the smoke, my Two-Tomoe Sharingan cutting through the gloom. I saw everything—the blind spots, the turned backs, the frantic, unguarded movements. My kunai became an extension of my will. I moved from shadow to shadow, a silent, efficient reaper. A throat slit here. A kunai in the back there. I felt no disgust, no nausea. Only a cold, detached focus that surprised me. It was as if a part of me had been built for this.
I lost count after twenty. The bodies lay where they fell, swallowed by the chaos and darkness.
"Don't panic! Don't panic! Rally on me! We're under attack!" a voice boomed over the din. It was one of the missing-nin, the one the scroll called "Third Boss."
The remaining bandits, maybe a hundred of them now, began to coalesce around their leaders. The head count was halved, and they were only just realizing it.
"Show yourself!" shouted the leader, "First Boss," his face a mask of fury. "State your business! Why this slaughter?"
I ignored him. They were gathered. That was the important part. No more hunting. Now for harvesting.
My hands flew through the seals. "Fire Release: Great Fireball Jutsu!"
The sphere of flame roared towards the three leaders. They reacted fast, their hands meeting in unison.
"Earth Release: Earth-Style Wall!"
Three slabs of rock erupted from the ground, intercepting my fireball in a shower of sparks and dirt. In the moment of their distraction, I blurred forward, my kunai claiming another dozen lives from the edges of their huddled group.
When the earth walls crumbled, the three leaders stared, their anger turning to a cold, sick fear. They saw me now—a boy, my face and clothes spattered with blood, standing calmly over the carnage I'd wrought.
"Just a kid?" Third Boss snarled, his fear manifesting as rage. He charged me, kunai held high.
He was slow. So slow. My Sharingan tracked his every clumsy step. As he thrust his blade, I sidestepped, my hand snapping out to grip his wrist. I squeezed. Bone creaked.
"With your strength," I said, my voice eerily calm, "you dare rush forward?"
He struggled, his eyes wide with terror and pain, but my grip was iron. With a contemptuous flick, I wrenched his arm and sent him flying back towards his brothers with a powerful kick to his ribs.
"Third Brother!" the First Boss yelled, catching him.
"He's... he's a monster," Third Boss wheezed. "We have to take him together."
"Second Brother, rally the men! We fight as one!" First Boss commanded.
The Second Boss, his voice trembling, shouted to the terrified remnants of their force. "Brothers! Stand and fight! Running means death!"
It worked. The panicked mob, now down to barely two dozen souls, tightened around their leaders, their weapons shaking in their hands.
I looked at them, at the sea of gore that separated us, the blood drying on my skin. The three leaders met my gaze, their bravado gone, replaced by the primal understanding of prey that has been cornered.
The Second Boss swallowed hard. "Big Brother... can we really win? This brat... he's a demon."
The First Boss ignored him, his eyes locked on me. "Boy," he said, his voice hoarse. "You're a Konoha ninja, aren't you? This is an extermination mission."
I gave them my first and only explanation. "I am. And you are the target."
I leveled my kunai, its edge gleaming in the firelight. "If you're sensible, don't resist. It will be quicker. If you persist in your delusions..." I let the sentence hang in the smoky air, the promise of violence absolute. "Then don't blame me for being impolite."
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GIMME STONES