I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

Uchiha Sakugo folded the letter and tucked it into his robes.

He stood up and walked back to the tent. Someone greeted him on the way, but he didn't hear them.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he dodged away.

Back in the tent, he sat in a corner, the knife beside him, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He neither cried nor laughed, he just sat there. He didn't know how long he sat there. Night fell, and someone came to call him for dinner, but he said he wasn't hungry. The person left, and the tent fell dark again.

He took the letter out of his pocket and felt for the words in the darkness.

The paper was soft and slightly damp from his sweaty hands.

Shizuku. Five years old. Sixty targets, all hits. Can't sleep. It's too dark in the yard. Is the shuriken still there? Don't lose it. Come back soon. Wrote it, then crossed it out. Afraid of distracting him. Afraid of him dying.

Shuoge took the shuriken from his waist. The one engraved with the character "mirror" had crooked characters, exactly the same as the one on the letter.

He held the sword in his hand for a long time.

Then he stood up and walked to the tent entrance.

The moonlight outside was pale and stark, shining on the tents, sandbags, and the patrolling sentries in the camp.

He stood at the doorway for a while. Then he turned and went back, rummaging through his ninja tool bag for a pencil. Paper—there was no paper. He opened the envelope, turned it over, and found the back side blank.

He squatted down, laid the envelope on his knees, and picked up his pen.

"Still water—"

I wrote two words, then stopped writing.

He stared at those two words for a long time.

What should I write?

Write "The shuriken is still there"?

It's there, tucked behind my waist, so I can touch it every day.

Write "Don't practice in the yard"?

It's too dark, don't go.

Write "I will come back"?

He didn't know how many people he had killed, how many more he would kill, or when he would finish. He held the pen, the tip pressing against the paper, the ink slowly spreading and forming a black dot.

A muffled explosion came from afar, rolling in from the west.

Someone was shouting, someone was running, and the area outside the tent was bright for a moment before going dark again.

Shuoge raised his head and glanced in that direction. Then he looked down at the two characters on the paper: Zhi Shui (止水). The character "Zhi" (止) in Zhi Shui is vertical.

He didn't write it crookedly.

He put down his pen, folded the envelope, and tucked it into his robes, placing it together with the letter. He tucked his shuriken back into his waistband, stood up, picked up his knife, and stepped out of the tent.

Zhong Lin stood outside, his sword already drawn. He saw Shuo Ge and nodded. "A small force from Iwagakure is sneaking in from the west. Let's go."

Shuoge followed.

He carried the letter and the envelope with only two words written on it in his arms, and the shuriken was tucked behind his waist. He ran behind Zhonglin, his steps steady and his breathing even.

It was as if nothing had happened.

-

Fighting, fighting day and night.

Shuoge has lost count of how many people he has killed.

The Chunin, Jonin, scouts, and demolition squads of Iwagakure—blades slice through throats, pierce chests, and sever arms.

Every time, it was clean and efficient; every time, it was without hesitation.

His swordsmanship grew faster and faster, so fast that his teammates couldn't see him clearly, and they only realized they'd been stabbed after the enemy had fallen. Xia Zi said his sword seemed to breathe. Tie Ma said his sword seemed to drink water.

Zhonglin didn't say anything, but he always took Shuoge with him on the most dangerous missions.

People in the camp started calling him "Blade".

It wasn't an official nickname; it was what those who had gone on missions with him called him in private. Their explanation was—that kid's knife was too fast; so fast that you only saw a flash of light before the person was gone.

Like a blade. Only a blade.

"Have you heard? Blade has gone out again."

"How many were killed this time?"

"I don't know. Anyway, the knife was covered in blood when I came back."

"How old is that child?"

"I don't know. Nobody dares to ask."

Shuoge had overheard these conversations.

He walked past him expressionlessly, as if he hadn't heard a thing.

The knife hung behind his back, his hands hung at his sides, and his steps were neither fast nor slow.

It was exactly the same as when we arrived at the camp on the first day.

But he had more and more letters in his arms.

Shisui would write a letter every few days, his handwriting still crooked and messy, and the content was always the same—how many targets he threw today, what new ninjutsu Uncle Feng taught him, the leaves falling from the trees in the yard, and when you would be back.

Shuoge didn't reply to a single letter. But he kept each one in his bosom, along with the sword in Shisui's hand.

"Blade".

Zhonglin first used this nickname on his way home after a mission.

Shuoge walked behind him, the blood on his knife still wet.

Zhonglin didn't turn around; his voice was flat.

"Everyone at the front knows about you. It's also being spread in Iwagakure—there's a brat in Konoha with a very fast sword; don't let him get close."

Shuoge did not speak.

"Next, they will specifically send someone to kill you."

Shuoge's steps did not stop.

"Kill as many as they come."

Zhonglin didn't speak again. His lips twitched, not in a smile, but in something more complex, something he himself couldn't quite explain.

That night, Shuoge sat in the tent, spreading out Zhishui's letters one by one and arranging them by date.

The first letter had the largest characters, and they were the most crooked.

The most recent letter had smaller handwriting and straighter strokes, but it was still crooked.

"Brother Shuoge, I hit all eighty targets today. Uncle Feng said I can learn shuriken maneuvering now. I'll teach you when you come back."

Shuoge carefully put the letter away and tucked it into his pocket.

He pulled the shuriken from behind his waist. The one engraved with the character "Mirror". He held it in his hand and closed his eyes.

Someone outside was calling his name—"Blade! Assemble!"

He stood up, picked up the knife, and walked out.

The moonlight shone on the campsite and onto him, casting a long shadow.

……

……

……

Konoha was under pressure from multiple fronts, but it held on.

The effect was remarkable. It wasn't because Konoha suddenly became stronger, but because the pack of vicious dogs that besieged Konoha were never of one mind.

Sunagakure wanted resources, Iwagakure wanted territory, Kumogakure wanted to test Konoha's bottom line, and Kirigakure wanted to take advantage of the situation—they came together not because of trust, but because of greed.

The first wave surges the fastest because everyone thinks others will surge ahead, and they can't fall behind.

But the leaves did not fall.

Konoha stood in the mud, covered in blood, but the sword was still in his hand and his eyes were still open.

So the vicious dogs started thinking about other things.

The first to give way was the Cloud Village.

The news reached the front-line camp in the early hours of the morning.

Shuoge had just returned from a mission, and the blood on his knife was still fresh.

Suddenly, chaos erupted in the camp. Some people were shouting, some were running, and some were peeking out of their tents to ask what was going on.

Zhonglin stood at the entrance of the combat tent, holding a piece of intelligence in his hand. His expression was complex—not happy, not shocked, but something deeper and more indescribable.

"The Third Raikage is dead."

There was a moment of silence in the tent.

The Third Raikage, the strongest fighter in Kumogakure, a man known as the "Strongest Spear" and the "Strongest Shield".

A man who can take on an army of ten thousand men single-handedly.

died.

Surrounded by Iwagakure, he fought fiercely for three days and three nights until his chakra was exhausted, and he died from exhaustion.

Xiazi stood at the tent entrance, the kunai in her hand falling to the ground, but she didn't pick it up.

"A force of ten thousand men... besieged the city for three days and three nights..."

Tie Ma squatted in the corner, his lips trembling.

"Do those monsters... also die?"

Zhonglin did not answer. He placed the intelligence on the table, his fingers pressing against the paper until his knuckles turned white.

The Third Raikage is dead.

It's not because we're not strong enough, it's because there are too many of us.

Ten thousand people stood there for him to kill, until his hands were sore, until his chakra was depleted, until his blades dulled, until the last person could deliver the final blow.

Then he collapsed.

Like a tree that has been cut down, it has fallen.

Shuoge stood outside the tent, the blood on his knife still wet.

He heard it. The Third Raikage. Surrounded by ten thousand men. Died from exhaustion. He looked down at his hands; there was still blood on his fingers, dried and forming dark red scabs.

How many people did he kill? Dozens? A hundred? Far from ten thousand. Far from the Third Raikage.

But he remembered one thing—even the strongest person can be worn down.

Do not!

—It's because we weren't strong enough that we were worn down and killed!

-

The next day, more detailed intelligence arrived.

To cover his comrades' retreat, the Third Raikage single-handedly held off thousands.

He killed thousands and held out for three days and three nights. Finally, his chakra was exhausted, and he was surrounded and killed by the elite forces of Iwagakure. Before he died, he took one last enemy with him.

Then Kumogakure declared war on Iwagakure. Not the kind of diplomatic declaration of war, but a real declaration of war to crush the other side into dust.

The battlefield situation changed instantly.

At first, the four great nations besieged Konoha. Konoha was like a tiger surrounded by wolves, attacked from all sides and covered in wounds.

Now, Kumogakure has turned its attention to Iwagakure.

When Sunagakure saw that Kumogakure and Iwagakure were fighting, they also started to move closer to Iwagakure's border—not to help Konoha, but to take advantage of the situation.

The Hidden Mist Village had already been dragging its feet on the eastern front, and now it's even more inactive, waiting to see who can't hold out first.

Small villages like Amegakure, Kusagakure, and Takigakure were also drawn into the conflict.

When large countries fight, small countries suffer.

Their territory became a battlefield, their villages became supply lines, and their ninjas became cannon fodder.

The battle situation changed from "the four major nations attacking Konoha" to "everyone fighting everyone," like a pot of boiling water, bubbling and churning everywhere.

-

Three months passed in the blink of an eye.

The battle situation is changing, the camps are changing, and the people are changing.

The Hidden Cloud Village and the Hidden Stone Village were locked in fierce fighting in the northwest, the Hidden Sand Village was eyeing them covetously in the southwest, and the Hidden Mist Village remained inactive on the eastern front. The Land of Rain had become a meat grinder where all the various forces were intertwined.

The pressure on Konoha has lessened, but it hasn't disappeared—it's just changed from "being besieged" to "surviving in the chaos."

Live, and then wait for others to die first.

Shuoge's knife became faster and faster.

As he approached the camp, the veteran ninjas would stop what they were doing and look at him for an extra second.

I wasn't looking at his face, but at the knife behind him. The scabbard had seven more scratches than it had three months ago, and the cloth strips wrapped around the hilt had been replaced twice—one soaked in blood, the other rotten from sweat, replaced again and again.

The name "Blade" was first uttered by someone, I don't know.

It wasn't an official nickname; it was what people who had gone on missions with him called him in private. More and more people started using it, and it became so familiar that even people who had never seen him fight started calling him that.

Later, the conversation in the camp went like this—

Who's going tonight?

"Go to the Blade."

"Alright then."

It's not "that brat from the Uchiha clan," not "that pretentious brat carrying a sword," it's "Blade."

A name that doesn't need a surname, age, or any prefix.

A blade is a blade.

Someone asked, "Why is it called Blade's Edge?"

The person being asked thought for a moment. "Because his knife was too fast. So fast that you only saw a flash of light, and then the person was gone."

"Like a blade. Only a blade."

The word got out.

When the news reached Zhonglin's ears, he said nothing.

When the news reached Xia Zi's ears, she smiled.

When the message reached Tie Ma's ears, he nodded. When it reached Shuo Ge's own ears, he acted as if he hadn't heard it, walked over, knife behind his back, hand at his side.

But the way the people in the camp looked at him changed.

It's not about looking at a child, it's about looking at a knife.

A knife that grows ever sharper with each passing day.

-

The biggest changes occurred in the three months.

He went from a novice whose hands would tremble when he turned a kunai to a taciturn veteran.

He stopped laughing, stopped trembling, and stopped turning the kunai.

Holding the kunai in his hand, he only did two things—kill, or prepare to kill. Xiazi said he had changed, but he shook his head, saying he hadn't, he had just woken up. He had woken up and now knew what the world was like.

Xia Zi is still the same as before.

He is efficient and doesn't talk much. He checks his ninja tools three times before each mission.

But she started glancing at him a little longer before he left, without saying a word, just looking at him. As if to confirm that he was still alive, as if to confirm that he was still "Blade".

Zhonglin is still the same Zhonglin.

The old scar on his face gleamed coldly in the moonlight. He always got straight to the point when he spoke and never made decisions with emotion.

But on one occasion, during a mission, he risked his life to shield Sakugo from an attack by an enemy Jonin.

Afterwards, he only said one sentence: "With your death, my squad is disbanded."

No more.

-

The letters in Shuoge's arms were getting thicker and thicker.

Zhi Shui writes a letter every few days. His handwriting is neater than it was three months ago, but it's still crooked.

Uncle Feng taught him to write. He practiced three pages every day before he could practice shuriken.

So his handwriting improved, and his swordsmanship became more accurate.

One hundred targets, all hits. One hundred and fifty targets, all hits.

Two hundred targets, all hits.

When he wrote these words in the letter, his tone was very calm, as if he were saying something that should be taken for granted.

But Shuoge could tell that the child was trying.

It wasn't to get praise from anyone, but to keep himself busy. When he's busy, he's not afraid of the dark; when he's busy, he doesn't think about his deceased loved ones; when he's busy, he stops counting down the days until Shuoge returns.

The most recent letter contained only three lines.

"Brother Shuoge, I threw two hundred targets today and hit them all. Uncle Feng said I can learn the Shadow Clone Technique now. I'll teach you when you come back."

Shuoge folded the letter, stuffed it into his pocket, and placed it with the others.

He did not reply to the letter.

It's not that I don't want to write, it's that I don't know what to write.

-

That evening, Shuoge sat outside the tent, wiping his knife.

The moonlight was bright, shining on the blade and giving it a cold gleam.

The camp was quieter than it had been three months ago, not because there were fewer people, but because the survivors had learned to be silent. Those who used to make so much noise were either dead or had become like Tie Ma, silent and withdrawn.

Xia Zi came out of the tent, squatted down next to him, and handed him a piece of dry rations. "You have a mission tomorrow, go to sleep early."

Shuoge took the dry rations and took a bite. They were hard, and it took him a while to swallow them.

"Blade," Xia Zi called to him.

Shuoge glanced at her.

Do you know why you're called that?

"have no idea."

"Because the blade is the thinnest part of the knife. So thin you can't see it, but it's the sharpest. So thin it shatters at the slightest touch, but nobody dares to touch it." She stood up and patted the dirt off her pants.

"That's the kind of person you are. Everyone thinks you'll break up with them, but everyone's also afraid of you."

She left. Shuoge sat there, stuffing the last bite of dry rations into his mouth and chewing for a long time. Then he stood up, slung his knife over his back, and walked back to his tent.

He carried Shisui's letter in his arms and Shisui's shuriken was tucked behind his waist.

The knife is behind his back, and his hand is at his side.

He was exactly the same as when he first arrived at the camp three months ago. But he was no longer the same person he was three months ago. He had killed more people, his knife was faster, and his heart was colder.