In a village left in ruin—burned, pillaged, and soaked in innocent blood—Chihiro stood in the shadows.
With his Sharingan whirring to life, he scanned the area. Thirty-four bandits in total. That was the number.
His gaze locked onto a group of four swaggering toward the storage hut, laughing over stolen wine.
> "Man, those two I gutted were begging like dogs. It was beautiful."
"Right? That kind of pleading is music to the ears."
"Tch. This village is poor as dirt, though. Once we divvy things up, we'll barely scrape a coin each."
"Beats the last one. Half of us walked away empty-handed."
"Don't sweat it. The boss said the Land of Rice Fields is tapped. Next stop? The Land of the Moon. That place is loaded."
Like a specter, Chihiro appeared behind them. Not a footstep. Not a whisper.
One swift motion.
The kunai flashed—a clean, practiced slash—and the first bandit collapsed, his throat a red smile.
The others barely had time to register the metallic tang of blood in the air. They turned—
Too late.
Two more fell with matching wounds, clutching their necks, blood bubbling from their mouths.
The last one was still rambling, too lost in dreams of riches to notice.
> "I'm telling you, robbing just one Moon village could earn more than a year in this dump! We're finally—huh? Guys?"
He turned. His eyes widened in the firelight.
Three friends, dying. Blood everywhere.
Then—pain. A line of warmth ran down his neck. He reached up.
Wet.
Hot.
His knees buckled as his breath caught, the world spinning as he fell next to the corpses of his comrades.
Chihiro wiped the blood from his kunai with a flick, eyes cold and calculating.
> "Thirty."
He vanished into the night.
This was the plan: isolate and annihilate.
> "Twenty-nine… twenty-six… twenty-three…"
Bandit lives were reaped like grain in harvest.
At the campfire, the others laughed over sake and roasted meat.
> "Where's Shinichi? Wasn't he taking a piss?"
"Bet he passed out drunk somewhere. His alcohol tolerance is trash."
"No way. Sohta, Tsukasa, Ryusuke, and Uya went for wine. Where are they?"
"Wait... Futo's gone too."
Paranoia started to bloom.
The bandit leader, sensing the unease, snapped to action. He ordered everyone to regroup and count heads.
Thirty-four became twenty-one.
Thirteen gone.
His face hardened.
> "Weapons out! Move! This bastard's playing us!"
They moved as a unit, torches raised. Then they found them—the bodies. Slashed open. Slaughtered without a sound.
Terror. The unknown always cuts the deepest.
> "Earth Release: Earth Spear Jutsu!"
Chihiro emerged from the darkness, weaving hand seals. He slammed his palms to the ground.
Spikes of sharpened earth erupted beneath the bandits. Several were impaled before they could scream.
The rest stumbled back, horrified.
From the shadows, his silhouette flickered—hunting, ghost-like.
> "Shit... he's a ninja!"
Even a Genin held immense value in the world of shinobi. And Chihiro? This wasn't a Genin.
This was death incarnate.
The leader clenched his jaw.
> "He's not that strong! If he were, he wouldn't need sneak attacks! Everyone—focus! Group charge! If we scatter, we're dead!"
The bandits roared, charging.
Chihiro's hands blurred.
> "Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu!"
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled a roaring sphere of flame. The front line erupted in screams as they were engulfed, bodies flung like kindling.
> "Push through! Get close and we can kill him! Retreat and we die for sure!"
The leader barked like a mad dog from the rear, urging them on.
Chihiro formed seals again.
> "Water Style: Water Bullet Jutsu!"
A high-pressure jet shot from his mouth, hammering the bandits and soaking the terrain. It didn't kill, but it was never meant to.
Puddles formed. Bodies dripped.
His next move came fast.
> "Lightning Style: Thunder!"
Electricity burst from his hands, crackling violently. The lightning surged across the wet ground—bandits twitched violently, smoke rising from charred skin.
Frozen. Paralyzed.
Perfect.
He drew his katana with a soft whisper of steel and dashed forward, beheading the immobilized one by one.
Those untouched by the water stood in frozen horror.
They hadn't even scratched him. And he had killed over half their number.
Panic took hold.
They turned to run.
And only then did they realize—their leader was gone. Fled. Abandoned them.
> "Nine."
Chihiro whispered the count as the last of the electrocuted fell. He crouched low, muscles tense.
Then—boom.
He launched forward like a cannon blast.
After three years at the Academy—and a brutal month under Orochimaru's personal training—his body had become a deadly instrument. No chakra enhancements. No Breathing Techniques.
Just raw, honed strength.
A blade in the dark.
A storm in human form.
Chihiro, the unseen death, surged forth to finish what he started.