Ken returned to his room and began packing.
Kunai. Shuriken. Smoke bombs. A length of wire folded carefully and tucked away. He checked each item once, then again. There was no storage scroll to rely on. Everything had to fit where it could.
By the time he finished, his pockets felt heavy.
It would have to do.
After a final check, he headed for the village gates. The guards barely glanced at his papers before waving him through. C-rank missions didn't draw much attention.
Not yet.
The moment he stepped outside, the air felt different.
"…First time," he murmured.
He had lived in the village for a year and never once left its walls. Ken slowed briefly, letting his eyes adjust as he took in his surroundings. Trees stretched endlessly in every direction, thick and untouched. No roads. No signs of people.
"Well," he said quietly, "this is it."
With that thought, he moved on.
The bandit camp lay a few hours away. Ken kept a steady pace, conserving stamina rather than rushing. The forest grew denser as he went, the terrain uneven and unforgiving.
By the time he reached the area, the sun sat high in the sky.
Ken stopped and crouched atop a thick branch, eyes narrowing as he took in the camp below.
It sat in a shallow depression, surrounded by sloping terrain that provided natural cover. A crude wooden fence blocked direct entry, reinforced just enough to stop animals or careless intruders.
Too open for an ambush.Too bright.
He didn't move closer.
For the next hour, Ken observed from different angles, shifting positions carefully to avoid leaving signs of movement. He counted guards. Two stationed near the gate. Their movements were lazy, but practiced.
Tents filled the interior. At least four more. Possibly more he couldn't see.
No hostages.
That made sense. This wasn't a rescue mission. Just a clearing operation. The village tolerated bandits when they were few. After the war, there were simply too many.
Ken steadied his breathing.
Charging in would be stupid.
Eventually, opportunity came to him.
One of the guards near the gate stretched, muttered something to his companion, and wandered off toward the trees. Probably to relieve himself.
Ken moved.
He dropped from the branch without a sound and followed at a distance, keeping low and downwind. The bandit stopped near a cluster of bushes, his back turned.
Ken closed the gap.
One hand clamped over the man's mouth.
The other flashed.
A clean cut. Precise.
The bandit's eyes widened in shock. His body tensed, hands clawing weakly at Ken's arm. It lasted only seconds before the struggle faded.
Ken eased the body down.
He stayed still, listening.
Nothing.
Only the wind through the leaves.
Ken wiped the blade on the man's clothes and exhaled slowly.
It didn't feel triumphant.Or horrifying.
Just… final.
He dragged the body deeper into the brush and concealed it as best he could. Not perfect, but enough.
When he stood again, his hands were steady.
One down.
Ken looked back toward the camp.
There were still others waiting.