I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

The unusual things in the forest began after the wind stopped.

The leaves no longer rustled, the birdsong disappeared at some point, and even the chirping of insects ceased.

The whole world seemed to have been muted, with only the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my chest remaining.

Shuoge sensed it. That intuition he'd developed after countless practice sessions under the waterfall and countless swings of his sword in the darkness—something was wrong.

He didn't move, but his fingers quietly touched the hilt of the knife.

Kazuo Morita was the first to react.

He didn't look up, didn't look around, but slowly stuffed the half-eaten soldier's ration pill back into his pocket. The movement was so slow that it was almost imperceptible.

But his eyes changed—a subtle change, like something suddenly stirring beneath a stagnant pool.

The others noticed it at the same instant.

Some people put down their water bottles, some pulled half of their kunai out of their ninja tool bags, and some adjusted their posture, moving their backs away from the tree trunk.

No one spoke, no one made any unnecessary noise.

These movements happened almost simultaneously, as if they had been rehearsed countless times.

Apart from Shuoge, everyone present was a seasoned veteran who had seen battle and bloodshed. No orders or signals were needed; the moment the atmosphere shifted, their bodies automatically went into battle alert.

Be careful.

Kakashi's voice came from the side, so low it was almost inaudible.

Before he finished speaking, he had already moved—pressing one hand on the tree trunk, he silently darted up into the canopy like a cat, hiding among the dense foliage.

The movements were clean and swift, without making a sound.

Shuoge gripped the hilt of the knife tightly.

He didn't climb the tree; he simply adjusted his posture slightly, lowering his center of gravity and bending his knees slightly.

This is what Jing taught him—when you don't know which direction the enemy is coming from, the ground is safer than the trees.

At least, the ground beneath my feet is solid.

Morita stood up and winked at a genin next to him.

The man nodded, formed hand seals, and silently disappeared into the bushes behind him—a sensory ninja. A few seconds later, a very faint bird call came from the bushes. It wasn't a real bird, but a coded signal.

Morita's expression changed.

He extended three fingers, then clenched them into a fist, and then opened them—palm down—making a "pressing" gesture.

Everyone simultaneously crouched down, hiding themselves among the bushes and rocks.

Shuoge crouched behind a large tree, his knife already drawn three inches from its sheath.

Then he heard it.

It wasn't footsteps, it was breathing.

It was very light and even, almost inaudible in the wind. But his ears had been trained for too long under the waterfall—something that even the roar of the water couldn't block out, this little sound couldn't be hidden.

Four people. To the northeast, less than fifty meters away.

Shuoge's fingers tightened on the hilt of the knife.

-

Four figures moved silently through the woods.

They didn't step on any dead branches, didn't touch any leaves, and even their shadows were swallowed up by the shade of the trees. The person walking in front suddenly stopped and raised his fist.

The three people behind them stopped at the same time, like four wooden stakes driven into the ground.

The leader squatted down and lightly stroked the ground with his finger.

There were a few shallow marks on the soil—shoe prints.

new.

"A supply team from Konoha." His voice was low, with the rough accent characteristic of Iwagakure. "Eight people. Two Chunin, six Genin. One just left not long ago."

The people behind remained silent, simply waiting.

The leader stood up, his gaze sweeping across the woods ahead. His eyes were earthy brown, like a dried-up riverbed, devoid of any superfluous emotion.

"Take care of the three genin, I'll handle the chunin." He paused, "That silver-haired one—leave him barely alive. White Fang's son, he's valuable."

The four people dispersed.

Like a drop of water merging into the ocean, it disappears silently into the forest.

-

Thirty meters.

The sound that Shuoge heard was getting closer and closer.

It wasn't footsteps—those people didn't make any footsteps at all. It was a change in the air, the barely perceptible movement of leaves as they were gently pushed aside by a body.

His sword was drawn another inch from its sheath.

Then he saw it—not a person, but a shadow.

He darted through the gap between two trees, as fast as a bird in flight. If he hadn't been looking in that direction, he wouldn't have noticed him at all.

Chunin. At least a Chunin. And an experienced one at that.

Shuoge's breathing slowed down, so slow that you could hardly feel his chest rising and falling.

Jing had taught him that in the face of the enemy, breathing is more important than footsteps.

Footsteps can be hidden, but breath cannot.

He minimized his presence, like a stone, a tree, or a shadow on the ground.

ten meters.

A Chunin from Iwagakure passed by his side.

The man was so close that Shuoge could see the beads of sweat on his neck, the scratches on his forehead protector, and the cold glint of light reflecting from the kunai in his hand. His eyes swept over the tree trunk where Shuoge was hiding, but didn't linger. He walked past.

Shuoge didn't move. His fingers were on the hilt of the knife, veins bulging, but he didn't move.

—Not now.

The person took five steps. Seven steps. Ten steps.

Then--

"There's an ambush!"

Shouts erupted from another direction. It was the sensory-type genin who had infiltrated the bushes—his hiding place had been discovered.

The sound of kunai piercing the air rang out simultaneously from three directions in the next instant.

……

The battle erupted the moment the two sides met.

Kazuo Morita and another Chunin encountered Iwagakure's elite Chunin almost simultaneously.

Elite Chunin pose the greatest threat; for others, encountering such a situation would almost certainly result in certain death.

Even for the two of them, the pressure was immense.

The three-way exchange was so fast it was dazzling—sparks from clashing kunai flashed in the shade of the trees, and the sounds of blades slicing through the air rose and fell. Morita was knocked back two steps, his hand split open, and blood dripped down his kunai.

The difference in strength between elite Chunin cannot be easily bridged by sheer numbers.

"Hold him back!" Morita roared. "The distress signal has already been sent out."

After all, they are still within the Land of Fire. The enemy has ventured deep into enemy territory alone. If they are bogged down here, they will surely be surrounded and killed.

Another Chunin gritted his teeth and stepped in. The two of them, one on offense and one on defense, did not seek victory, but only to prevent this sharp blade of Iwagakure from having a free hand to deal with the Genin.

The genin's battlefield was in a clearing in the woods ten meters away.

Six Konoha genin against three Iwagakure chunin—the numerical advantage proved futile in the face of such a disparity in strength.

The Iwa ninjas were well-coordinated and ruthless, each move aimed straight for vital points.

Soon, someone from Konoha fell—a genin responsible for reconnaissance was pinned to a tree trunk with kunai, dark red blood gushing from his chest, and he made no more sound.

Kakashi's battlefield is on the edge of the battlefield.

A Chunin from Iwagakure had his eye on him.

The attack came from the side, at a tricky angle, as fast as a venomous snake flicking its tongue.

Kakashi sidestepped, the kunai grazing his headband, slicing through the metal with a piercing sound. Instead of retreating, he took a step forward, thrusting the kunai in his hand back toward his opponent's throat.

The Iwa ninja retreated, but Kakashi's foot had already kicked him in the knee.

boom!

Iwa ninja knelt on one knee, an expression of disbelief on his face—this six-year-old child's speed and strength were beyond what one should expect at his age.

Kakashi gave him no chance to catch his breath, switching the kunai to his left hand and forming a hand seal with his right—Shadow Clone.

Two Kakashis attacked simultaneously, one from the left and one from the right.

Iwa gritted his teeth and took the blow head-on, shaking off the left clone, but the kunai on the right had already slashed his arm.

Blood splattered.

The Iwa ninja roared and kicked Kakashi in the chest.

Kakashi was kicked away, his back slamming into a tree trunk, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

But he didn't fall; he sprang up the instant he landed, still clutching the kunai in his hand. His eyes shone even brighter than before, like two polished blades.

"Kid..." Iwa ninja clutched his bleeding arm, his expression shifting from shock to murderous intent.

"You've angered me!"

He no longer held back.

Chakra burst forth, and the speed was twice as fast as before.

Kakashi barely dodged the first attack, but the second one grazed his shoulder—his clothes were ripped open, flesh torn open, and blood soaked through his sleeves.

He didn't shout, but gritted his teeth and took a step back, then another.

The ninja from Iwa caught up and thrust his kunai straight into the heart.

Kakashi's body suddenly disappeared.

"What—" Iwa ninja was stunned for a moment.

Substitute technique.

A piece of pierced wood lay on the ground, while Kakashi's true form fell from the treetop, his kunai plunging into the skull of the Iwa ninja.

The ninja suddenly looked up, but there was no time to dodge—he could only raise his hand to block.

The kunai pierced through his forearm and nailed into his shoulder.

"ah--!"

The Iwa ninja screamed and swung his other fist at Kakashi.

Kakashi was sent flying, rolled twice on the ground, and lay motionless.

But the Iwa ninja also knelt on the ground, his entire arm stained red with blood, and the kunai was still stuck in his shoulder, the exposed half gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

In the center of the battlefield, Konoha's genin are suffering a crushing defeat.

Another person has fallen.

Not dead, but severely injured—his thigh was pierced by a kunai, blood was gushing out, and he lay on the ground unable to move.

The remaining men could barely defend themselves, forced to retreat step by step by the two Iwagakure Chunin. Their faces were filled with fear, a fear born of having seen blood but still being afraid of death.

No one noticed that one person had not appeared since the start of the battle.

Shuoge hid behind a large tree ten meters away.

The sword was not yet drawn.

His breathing was so slow that you could barely feel his chest rising and falling.

His eyes were half-closed, leaving only a slit—he wasn't looking, he was sensing.

Through sound, through the flow of air, through those unseen things that can only be captured by intuition.

People are dying outside.

He heard it.

When the scout ninja fell, the sound was muffled, like a sack of rice being thrown to the ground. Another person screamed, followed by the smell of blood, carried on the wind.

His fingers tightened on the hilt of the knife, then loosened.

Not now.

The mirror's voice echoed in his mind—"Every cut you make is about speed, but you haven't considered what speed is for. Speed ​​is about delivering the knife to the right position at the right time."

If the timing is wrong, speed is useless.

He waited quietly.

Waiting for the chance to strike a fatal blow!

The Konoha genin had retreated together, back to back, like prey being hunted.

The two Iwa ninjas exchanged a glance and attacked simultaneously in perfect unison—one targeting the top lane, the other the bottom lane.

The Konoha genin barely managed to hold off the first wave, but the second wave was already here.

One of the Iwa ninja's kunai ripped open the abdomen of a Konoha genin. The man clutched his stomach and knelt down, his intestines spilling out from between his fingers. His scream pierced the entire forest.

"Retreat! Retreat quickly!" someone shouted.

But we can't withdraw.

The Iwa ninja were faster, more experienced, and more skilled at killing than them.

This is not a battle, it is a massacre.

Shuoge watched all of this. His eyes remained half-closed, and his breathing remained steady. Only the knuckles of his fingers gripping the hilt of the knife were white.

opportunity.

One of the two Iwa ninja is an attacker, and the other is a support.

The attackers are in front, and the support players are behind.

The attacker is faster and strikes more fiercely, but there is an extremely brief pause after each attack—less than a second, but it does happen.

That was his weakness.

The support players are more cautious, always positioned within three steps of the attacker, ready to cover at any time. If the attacker moves first, the support player will react within a second. If the support player moves first—

Shuoge opened his eyes.

A Konoha genin was kicked away and landed next to the tree trunk where Sakugo was hiding. His face was covered in blood. He paused for a moment when he saw Sakugo, and opened his mouth as if to say something.

Shuoge raised a finger and pressed it to his lips.

The man shut his mouth.

The attacker has struck again.

This time, he aimed at the last remaining genin who could still stand—his kunai was thrust straight at his throat. The genin desperately tried to turn to the side, and the kunai grazed his collarbone, drawing a trail of blood.

The attacker's movements paused.

Less than a second.

Shuoge moved.

It wasn't a charge. It was a single step. Just one step. The sound of the sword sliding from its sheath was drowned out by screams and the clanging of kunai.

The blade flashed briefly in the sunlight, so briefly that almost no one noticed.

There was a new line around the attacker's neck.

It's very thin and straight, going from left to right, just past the Adam's apple.

He looked down at his hands, still clutching a kunai, stained with someone else's blood. He tried to turn around to look behind him, but his neck wouldn't obey him.

Blood gushed from that line, like a red belt.

He knelt down. Then he fell face down, slamming into the dirt, raising a small cloud of dust.

The entire room fell silent.

The supporting Iwa ninja suddenly turned his head and saw the figure standing behind the attacker—black hair, black eyes, holding a long sword in his hand, the tip pointing downwards, without a drop of blood.

The drop of blood couldn't stay on the blade; it had already slid to the tip, hanging there like a red dewdrop.

"One," said Shuoge.

The voice was very soft, as if talking to oneself.

The eyes of the Iwa ninja in charge of providing support widened in surprise.

He saw the child—the child standing behind the corpse. His face was expressionless, his eyes calm, he simply stood there, knife in hand.

Like a tree, like a stone, like a killing tool.

"you--!"

He charged forward. The kunai, whistling through the air, pierced towards Shuoge's face.

He was fast, faster than the attackers. But he was afraid—his movements were filled with fear, anger, and other emotions that shouldn't be on the battlefield.

Shuoge did not retreat.

The sword slashed upwards, deflecting the kunai.

The sound of metal clashing was harsh and short, like the echo of bones breaking.

The supporting Iwa ninja was knocked back half a step, and before he could even regain his footing, Sakugo's sword had already changed direction—a horizontal slash. The blade sliced ​​through the air, accompanied by a low hum.

The supporting Iwa ninja suddenly leaned back, the blade grazing above his chin and severing several strands of his beard. He stumbled back two steps, fear finally showing on his face.

"What exactly are you—"

He didn't finish speaking. Because Shuoge's knife had already arrived.

It's not a slash, it's a stab.

The knife tip pierced his chest and emerged from his back.

It only takes three inches to pierce the heart.

Sakugo took a step forward, pushing the sword, the blade scraping against his body with a teeth-grinding sound. The supporting Iwa ninja's eyes widened, his mouth agape, but no sound came out.

Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth and dripped down his chin.

Shuoge drew his sword. The corpse fell to the ground, raising a cloud of dust. He stared at the body, his expression unchanged.

"two."

His voice was as soft as before.

The woods fell silent.

Only one Iwa ninja remained alive—the third Chunin who had been severely injured by Kakashi, kneeling on the edge of the battlefield with a kunai stuck in his shoulder.

He looked at the corpses of his two companions, and at the child holding the knife, and his lips trembled.

Then he turned and ran.

There was no way to catch up from behind.

It wasn't Sakugo's, it was Kakashi's—the silver-haired boy who had been lying on the ground had somehow managed to prop himself up and, with his last bit of strength, threw the kunai in his hand.

The kunai pierced the back of the Iwa ninja.

The man staggered but didn't fall; he continued running and disappeared into the depths of the woods.

Kakashi lay back down on the ground, panting heavily.

Shuoge stood still, not giving chase. The blood on the knife had already slid down to the tip, dripping and seeping into the soil.

Kazuo Morita walked over covered in blood—not his blood, but that of the elite Chunin.

His gaze was complex; he looked at the two corpses on the ground, then at Shuoge.

His lips moved, but in the end he only said two words: "...Fall back."

The woods reeked of blood.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the leaves, falling on the corpse, on the bloodstains, and on the face of the six-year-old child.

His eyes were calm, as calm as if nothing had happened.

Only the hand holding the knife had white knuckles.

It's been a long time since I've relaxed.