Chapter 14: The Hunter and the Hunted
Even though I'd surpassed the mission's quota, the system remained silent. The task wasn't complete. The war wasn't over.
I sat in a small cave I'd hollowed out of a snowdrift, grimacing as I tightened a bandage around a gash on my arm. Killing over thirty enemy shinobi without taking a few hits was impossible. This was a minor one, a parting gift from a Kumo chunin with surprisingly fast reflexes. The bleeding had finally stopped.
The battlefield is the best and worst kind of training, I mused, the cold air stinging my lungs. It was brutally different from standard missions. The danger was constant, a razor's edge between life and death, but it forced growth at an accelerated rate. In just three days, my instincts had sharpened, my reactions honed to a finer edge.
But I couldn't rest. The system's unfinished business was a constant pull. Get up. Move.
My stomach growled, a sharp reminder of another pressing need. My rations were almost gone. I needed to find food, which meant finding a place where it could be found—and where the enemy would also be looking.
After two hours of trudging through the endless white, a dark line of pine trees appeared on the horizon. A forest. Shelter, potential game, and an ideal spot for an ambush.
I approached with extreme caution, my senses stretched to their limit, scanning the tree line for any sign of movement, any flicker of foreign chakra. I couldn't afford to get careless now.
Nothing? Could I be wrong? Just as the thought crossed my mind, I felt them. Two chakra signatures, both at the chunin level, emanating from within the forest.
I knew it. An ambush. But only two chunin? That's either arrogance or a trap. I crept closer, using the snow and undergrowth for cover until I could see them.
They were hunkered down in a thicket of snow-covered brush, their muscular frames poorly concealed. Around their position, I could make out the faint, tell-tale lines of wire and the subtle paper tags of explosive traps. They were fishing.
A classic setup. But two brutes like you pretending to be easy chunin bait? You're not that good at hiding your strength. This was an old trick. The "weak" bait to lure in overconfident prey.
You want to play ambush? Let's play.
My hands formed the familiar seal. "Shadow Clone Jutsu!"
POOF! A perfect replica of me appeared, connected to my consciousness. With a mental command, it understood. It turned and sprinted directly into the kill zone.
BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!
The forest erupted in a chain of concussive blasts. Snow, dirt, and splintered wood filled the air.
"Someone triggered the traps!" one of the Kumo ninja hissed, starting to rise.
"Wait!" the other, older one, grabbed his arm. "It could be a jonin. That little fireworks show wouldn't finish one. Observe."
The explosions died down, leaving an ringing silence. My clone, now disguised with Transformation Jutsu to look like a mangled corpse, lay in one of the fresh craters. Meanwhile, I, the real me, had buried myself deep in a snowdrift a safe distance away, my chakra suppressed to nothing.
A stalemate. Neither side moved.
Damn, these two are veterans. They're not taking the bait. If they were jonin, or even just experienced chunin, they'd be patient.
Fine. We'll see who has more patience.
Two hours crawled by. The cold seeped into my bones, but I didn't move a muscle. Finally, the younger Kumo ninja broke.
"See, big brother? I told you it was fine. Look at him—just a kid. Probably a genin who couldn't dodge. You worry too much."
"The battlefield rewards the cautious," the older one grumbled, but he followed his partner out of hiding.
They approached the crater. The younger one, overconfident, stepped forward to check the "body" and deliver a coup de grâce.
The moment he leaned in, my clone's eyes snapped open. In a flash of steel, my Tang Hengdao speared up and through his chest.
"SECOND BROTHER! YOU BASTARD!" The older ninja's composure shattered. His hands flew into seals. "Lightning Release: Lightning Strike!"
A bolt of pure electricity lanced toward my clone. It leaped back, and the lightning struck the ground where it had been lying, exploding and scattering the fake corpse.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" The enraged Kumo ninja drew his own long sword and charged, abandoning all technique for a berserk, trade-injuries assault.
My clone met his charge, Tang Hengdao aimed squarely for the heart.
Seeing this, the Kumo ninja grinned, a bloody, desperate sight. "Trying to trade your life for mine, boy? My heart's on the right side! You die, I live!"
Thump.
Both blades found their mark simultaneously. The Kumo ninja grunted, blood spraying from his lips, but his grin widened. "See? I told—"
His triumph turned to confusion as the "Tenchi" he had stabbed dissolved into a puff of white smoke.
"A shadow clone?! NO—" His realization came too late.
"Wind Release: Wind Cutter Jutsu!"
From my hiding place, I unleashed the technique. A blade of compressed air shrieked across the clearing, and the experienced Kumo jonin's head, still wearing a mask of shock, tumbled from his shoulders.
I emerged from the snow, my breath misting in the sudden quiet. I quickly looted their supplies—food, mostly—and confirmed what he'd said. His heart was indeed on the right side. The things you learn.
With a full pack and the immediate area cleared, I oriented myself and began moving fast. The five days Hiruzen had given us were almost up. I had taken a long, bloody detour to maximize my kills, but now I needed to reach the rendezvous point.
As I ran, chewing on a strip of dried meat, I replayed the last fight. A cold shiver, unrelated to the weather, ran down my spine. That had been too close. If I hadn't been paranoid, if I'd sent my real self in… his mutated anatomy would have been the end of me. The battlefield didn't care about talent or bloodlines. It only cared about who was more cunning, more ruthless, and, sometimes, just luckier.
Outside the Konoha forward camp, Sarutobi Hiruzen stood on a rocky outcrop, the setting sun painting the snow in hues of blood and gold. His face was a mask of grim sorrow. Of the ten teams he'd sent out, only five had returned. Some came back whole, others carried their dead, and many were confirmed KIA. There was still one unaccounted for.
Tenchi.
A knot of anxiety had been tightening in his gut all morning. Seeing the returning teams, their numbers halved, had sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the Iron Country's climate. These were Konoha's shinobi. So many lives, extinguished in just a few days. The war was a cruel, insatiable beast.
"Lord Sarutobi! Lord Sarutobi!" A chunin guard ran up, slightly out of breath. "He's back! Tenchi is back!"
Hiruzen spun around. "Is he alright?"
"He's injured, sir. They're patching him up in the medical tent now. I came to inform you immediately."
Before the chunin could finish his sentence, Hiruzen was already a blur, vanishing from the rock and speeding towards the center of the camp. The guard shook his head in mild awe. He really does care about that kid.