In a village that had been mercilessly massacred by bandits.
Shiranui Riku activated his Sharingan and scanned the area—thirty-four bandits in total.
His gaze locked onto four bandits hauling barrels of wine.
"That was so damn satisfying," one of them cackled. "The way those two begged me for their lives before I killed them—priceless!"
"Right?" another laughed. "It never gets old."
"This village was dirt poor, though," a third grumbled, shaking a pouch of coins. "This is all that's left after the loot's been split. By the time it gets to us, there'll be nothing left."
"Eh, it's still better than the last place," the fourth chimed in. "Remember? That dump didn't even have enough to go around."
"No worries. The boss said there's nothing left to squeeze from the Land of Fields. He's taking us to the neighboring Moon Country next—supposed to be loaded."
...
Without a sound, Riku materialized behind them like a wraith. A flicker of silver, and the cold glint of his kunai swept across the first bandit's throat.
The other two caught the scent of blood just as they turned—and it was the last thing they ever sensed. Riku's blade cut clean through their necks, leaving them gasping silently for air, gurgling blood that spilled down their chins.
The last bandit kept talking, oblivious.
"I heard the Moon Country's rich. Even though it's small like the Land of Fields, the people there are rolling in it. One village might make us more than everything we've looted so far. I mean, just thinking about it gets me pumped! This bandit life? Totally worth it. I told you, didn't I? The future's—hey... why are you guys so quiet?"
He turned, puzzled—and froze.
His companions stood motionless, hands pressed to their necks, blood pouring between their fingers. They tried to speak, but only thick spurts of blood emerged.
Then, a sting at his own throat.
He reached up instinctively—his hand came away slick and warm.
Breath caught in his lungs. His face flushed red. And then—he fell, collapsing beside the others, eyes wide with confusion and terror.
Riku flicked the blood from his kunai and stared coldly at the corpses.
"Thirty," he muttered.
Then he vanished into the shadows once more.
Riku's strategy was simple: take out the isolated ones first, then sweep up the rest in a single stroke.
"Twenty-nine... twenty-six... twenty-three..."
One after another, he claimed their lives.
The remaining bandits were still lost in their drunken celebration.
"Hey, where's Shinichi? Didn't he say he had to pee? Why hasn't he come back yet?"
"Probably passed out drunk somewhere. Lightweight."
"Wait... Sota, Tsukasa, Ryusuke, and Uya went to get wine, and they're not back either."
"Fudou's missing too!"
...
At last, the bandits began to notice something was wrong.
The leader quickly rallied the group and called for a headcount.
Thirty-four originally. Only twenty-one remained.
Thirteen gone—without a sound.
The leader drew his weapon and barked, "Everyone, arms up! We're under attack!"
He led the charge to search for the killer. When they stumbled upon the corpses, their blood ran cold.
So many dead—and not a single noise had been heard.
Nothing is more terrifying than an enemy you can't see.
"Earth Style: Piercing Stone Spear!"
Riku struck.
He emerged behind the group, formed hand seals, and slammed his palms to the ground.
A jagged row of stone spears burst up beneath them. Several bandits were impaled instantly, their screams echoing into the night.
The quicker ones leapt back, narrowly dodging death.
From the shadows, Riku remained concealed—only his eyes glinting faintly.
"A ninja...!"
The bandit leader stared at the scene in horror.
Even a Genin ranked ninja held higher status than any bandit—and for good reason.
Before chakra existed, samurai ruled the battlefield. Now only the Land of Iron preserved their way. Even their warriors were beginning to adopt chakra over pure swordsmanship.
These bandits? Just ordinary men. Facing a trained ninja was suicide.
Panic rippled through the group.
But retreating now would mean being hunted and picked off. The leader knew it. He clenched his fists and roared:
"Don't panic! We outnumber him! It's just one guy! Stick together and charge on my mark!"
He raised his sword. "CHARGE!"
The mob rushed toward Riku.
Riku's fingers danced in rapid seals.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"
A massive ball of flame roared from his mouth, lighting up the night sky.
The front line was engulfed—men thrown back, shrieking as fire swallowed their flesh.
"Don't stop! Keep charging!" the leader bellowed from the rear. "If we can get close, we can kill him! Retreat now and we're finished!"
Riku formed seals again.
"Water Style: Raging Torrent!"
A powerful stream of water burst from his mouth, slamming into the advancing bandits. It didn't kill, but knocked many off their feet and drenched them.
Water pooled on the ground. Riku's hands moved once more.
"Lightning Style: Thunder Pulse!"
Lightning surged from his palms, spreading like wildfire through the puddles.
The bandits screamed as electricity tore through them. Their bodies smoked, convulsing as they collapsed.
Riku drew his katana and dashed forward, cutting down the ones paralyzed by the shock one by one.
Those who hadn't been hit by the water stared in horror. They hadn't even reached him—and most of them were already dead or dying.
Panic took hold.
The survivors turned and bolted—only to discover their leader was already gone.
Riku watched them flee. Then, with a calm breath, whispered, "Nine."
He bent low, gathered strength in his legs—and launched forward like a bullet.
Three years of ninja academy, followed by a month of intense personal training under Orochimaru—his body had adapted well. Even without activating his Lightning Chakra armor, Riku could now move at speeds close to what Thunder Breathing had once granted him.
He moved like a reaper among the trees—one final sweep to erase what was left.
The last of the bandits didn't stand a chance.