Deep within the village stronghold, Shin'ya sat on a polished stone slab. Unremarkable in appearance—average build, wearing coarse cloth—he would be instantly overlooked in a crowd. Only when he looked up at Shirakawa Kisuke did his eyes flicker with something undefinable.
"The daimyō's manor sent envoys again," Kisuke's dry voice fixed on Shin'ya. "You all… should move on and lie low."
Koichirō and the other youths grumbled in protest, shouting "What are we afraid of?" Yet to their surprise, Shin'ya nodded earnestly. "You're right. We should step back for now." He bowed slightly.
Kisuke's tense shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. "It's risky out there. Tonight… let's eat and drink before you go." He signaled to have their packs set down.
"Thank you…" Shin'ya's smile deepened, creases forming at his eyes. "Koichirō, gather everyone. Eat well, rest your feet, leave at dawn."
The stronghold quickly hummed with activity.
Though many were reluctant to depart again, Shin'ya had a knack for calming them. At the communal feast, Kisuke and his entourage were unusually warm—insisting on refilling cups and plates, urging caution along the road.
After several toasts, Koichirō and the others wore unnatural flushes and glazed stares. Shin'ya had drunk his share but his eyes remained clear, a faint smile playing at his lips.
Kisuke watched uneasily, sensing a hidden chill beneath that cheerful façade.
As night deepened and the pale moon hung among the treetops, snores rose in the stronghold. Kisuke rose quietly and waved toward the dark forest line.
Rustling sounds slipped through the undergrowth like serpents among dead leaves.
Led by Shirakawa Sōsuke, villagers armed with sharpened farming tools crept from the shadows.
Some hesitated at first, but when the first desperate scream sliced the night, their expressions hardened into numb resolve.
"They chose this path themselves," the elder's voice was low but as cutting as an ice pick.
"They robbed the caravans, dragging the whole village into ruin." He swept his gaze over them. "Think of your empty rice bins. Think of the unsold goods."
Screams mingled with dull thuds of weapons on flesh and the final whimpers of the dying. The acrid smell of blood spread through the cold air.
Amid the chaos, Sōsuke's voice rang out with brutal clarity: "Once they slaughter the small caravans, they'll come for merchants who do honest trade with us."
"People who taste unearned gain can never turn back."
"This is the retribution for trusting outsiders' lies!"
He spat out the last words through clenched teeth.
Under the moon, villagers' sickles and pitchforks dripped dark-red fluid onto the earth with heavy "thud"s.
The elder approached Shin'ya's "body" and stabbed it brutally a few times with a pitchfork before stepping back and commanding, "Gather their things."
He didn't glance at the pale-faced Kisuke.
The stronghold's spoils were meager; Sōsuke handed each participant a share, piling the rest together.
"These," he said, pointing to the scattered corpses, voice eerily calm, "deliver these when you report back, Kisuke. Tell those Konoha ninja—this is all that remains. The rest, the bandits likely wasted long ago."
"Y-yes…" Kisuke's voice trembled.
"And that's the end of it. No one is to mention this again." The elder's gaze cut each villager like a blade. "Say the bandits were eradicated by Konoha ninja. That's the story." Only when everyone nodded stiffly did he look away.
Before dawn's first light, the party—each carrying meager bundles—silently vanished into the deep darkness beyond the village. Only silence and the bitter scent of blood remained.
When gray light touched the sky, a figure stirred among the corpses. Shin'ya brushed blood from his stained clothing and gazed at the brightening horizon, a mocking smile curving his lips.
"I meant to keep him alive longer…" he murmured, laced with irony. "Now it's so much simpler."
He scanned the bodies of villagers who had once obeyed him without question. His smile deepened. "Time to live peacefully in the Tea Country."
"Ninja?" a cold voice broke the silence.
Shin'ya froze, snapping his head up.
A youth in dark-green ninja garb stood silently atop the broken palisade, his forehead protector glinting in the dim light. He descended as silently as a falling leaf.
Shin'ya's pupils contracted. He stumbled back several steps, muscles taut, eyes locked on the Konoha symbol on the youth's headband.
"A band of common thieves managing to slip from the River Country to the Fire Country, then to the Rain Country… clearly there's someone pulling the strings," Shuji's voice was calm but probing.
Shin'ya's Adam's apple bobbed, yet his voice was steady: "A few dozen bandits is at most a C-rank mission. Under twenty men—the River Country would pay no more than fifty thousand ryō." He watched Shuji's hands, wary of any seals. "This reward…" he caught his breath subtly, "isn't enough to make two ninja risk everything. I never struck first—I'm not on the River Country's wanted list. Report honestly and send me on my way; the mission is still complete." He spread his hands, indicating no threat. "Why risk it for so little? Ninja conflicts are too unpredictable."
"You know your market well." Shuji's fingers hovered over the ninja tool pouch at his waist. "Deliberately capping the bounty to avoid drawing ninja conflict?"
Shin'ya's faint smile reappeared. "The bodies on the ground will do the reporting for you."
"Theoretically, yes." Shuji nodded. "Missions from the River Country are accepted by Konoha, Sunagakure, and Amegakure alike. Pinning the reward so precisely… Sunagakure? Or Rain Country shinobi?"
"Let me guess—someone as cautious as you is…"
Before he could finish, a "corpse" behind Shuji sprang up in a shower of wood splinters, revealing a cold puppet.
Its joints clicked sharply; its mouth gaped open as dozens of blue-glinting senbon shot forth!
Shuji reacted in an instant, turning to counter.
As his attention locked on the puppet, Shin'ya's hands blurred into a deadly storm. His wide sleeves—like a venomous serpent's hood—spat over a hundred toxin-coated senbon into the night.
Simultaneously, his chest rose sharply, twisting the air around him.
"Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"
A fierce gust erupted from Shin'ya's mouth, whipping the poisoned senbon into a roaring net of death across Shuji's back!
"Pft pft pft pft—"
The dense punctures hit like rain on banana leaves.
Shuji's body jolted violently, then trembled uncontrollably. His eyes, cheeks, neck, chest, and limbs blossomed with countless spurts of blood.
Dark-blue poison seethed from each wound. He staggered, then collapsed face-first onto the cold earth, unmoving.
Shirakawa Village lay shrouded in pre-dawn mist. The air was cold and damp—earthy and vegetal, yet tinged with faint iron rust.
Itachi stood at the village entrance, watching villagers file past carrying simple bundles into the settlement.
Their faces showed no grief—only weary exhaustion and numbness.
Kisuke came last, feet faltering as if each step might topple him.
Itachi's appearance struck them like a stone, halting their procession. All eyes fixed on the small figure.
Sōsuke parted the group and stepped forward. His wrinkled face was like weathered bark, his gaze sharp and cold.
"Konoha ninja," his hoarse voice addressed Itachi. "The bandits have been eradicated. These meager spoils are all that remain." He gestured at the bundles. "The village chief will explain further."
Itachi's eyes swept over the villagers' bloodstained clothes and tools.
His gaze returned to Sōsuke's face. With jade-black composure, he spoke, his voice cutting through the mist:
"Senior Shuji asked me to relay this."
Silence fell, breaths held.
"First, we are fully aware of everything that occurred in the stronghold last night."
His words struck like ice. Several villagers visibly trembled.
Kisuke's eyes shot open with terror.
Sōsuke's face darkened, veins bulging on his cane hand.
Itachi continued evenly: "Second, you must present a united front: the bandits were tracked and eliminated by Senior Shuji and me, Uchiha Itachi of Konoha. Villagers of Shirakawa assisted as needed."
He paused, locking eyes with Sōsuke. "Third, your self-administered justice is a village matter—Konoha will not comment or intervene, provided this ends here with no further disruptions to the trade route or the mission sponsor."
Sōsuke stared unblinking, chest heaving. After a long moment, he rasped, "…Understood."
Itachi gave a slight nod and said nothing further. He turned and vanished into the dispersing mist toward the stronghold.
The villagers stood frozen until Itachi's silhouette disappeared, then erupted into stifled whispers of fear and remorse, like icy vines creeping over their hearts.
Sōsuke slammed his cane down, bellowing, "Silence! Do as the ninja said! Clean up, do what needs doing! If even one word leaks out—"
His bloodshot gaze swept the crowd. Unspoken consequences chilled them into silence.
Kisuke looked at his brother. His lips trembled, but he said nothing—his stooped figure seeming to collapse even further.
Chapters in advance there: patreon.com/Thaniel_a_goodchild