There had originally been thirty-four bandits—now only nine remained alive, and they hadn't even managed to lay a finger on Shiranui Riku.
This was the power of a ninja.
Ordinary people, no matter how strong, posed little threat to even a young ninja. Take Kakashi for example—he had graduated from the Ninja Academy at age five and began killing actual shinobi.
To Riku's eyes—his crimson Sharingan spinning—the fleeing bandits looked as slow as turtles.
He easily caught up with one of them. Without hesitation, he slashed his katana across the back of the man's neck. The bandit kept running a few more steps, confused as his vision sank lower and lower until he collapsed.
He saw his own headless body fall beside him.
Oh, he realized, that's me... I've been beheaded.
And just before his consciousness faded entirely, he finally saw Riku's face clearly.
A child? It was a child who did this?Just one child had nearly wiped out all of them.No one else is coming. I guess... in my next life, I'll become a ninja too. Then I'll rob from the strong!
With that final wish, the bandit's consciousness dissolved into darkness.
Riku continued advancing, his katana dripping with blood, counting down with each strike.
The sound of his young, clear voice ticking off numbers like a clock of death sent chills down the remaining bandits' spines.
This wasn't just a countdown. It was their death sentence.
Each shriek from the shadows marked the end of another companion. Fear twisted in their guts, leaving them nearly senseless.
When Riku reached "3," two of the bandits gave up entirely. They stopped running.
There was no escape. There was no point.Let it end, they thought. Better to die quickly than to die afraid.
They dropped their weapons and sank to their knees, waiting for death.
Riku did not hesitate. He beheaded them both.
"2... 1..." he whispered.
Only one bandit remained: the leader.
The bandit chief had watched helplessly as his men were slaughtered one after another, as if they were nothing but weeds being cut down. Terror gripping his chest, he fled from the village at full speed.
As he ran, he cursed under his breath:
"Bastard! Hiring a ninja to deal with us... If I find out who did it, I'll torture them slowly before killing them!"
"Damn it! All the loot we grabbed today—gone! I'll have to leave it behind. At least I've still got what we took from the last few villages."
"We can't stay in the Land of Fields anymore. Just like we planned, we'll go to the Moon Country. There, we'll rebuild and raid again. We'll gather more men—stronger men—and hit bigger targets. That's the future. That's the dream."
Just then, the bandit leader's foot snagged against something.
He looked down.
A steel wire.
He froze, heart pounding.
An uneasy premonition swept over him like cold water.
Still, nothing had happened yet. He exhaled in relief and took a step forward—
Fffzzzz.
The faint sound of paper burning reached his ears.
He looked again—and his blood ran cold.
A thin slip of paper was stuck to the wire, its edges already smoldering, the symbol for "爆" (explosion) glowing red-hot.
"Huh? Is that... paper?"
A beat.
"Paper? Wait... an Exploding Tag?!"
Panic surged through him—but it was too late.
BOOM.
The tag detonated in a burst of fire and concussive force. The blast hurled the bandit leader through the air and smashed him against a crumbling wall.
Dazed and covered in dust, he tried to stand—only to collapse again.
He glanced down... and screamed.
His right leg was gone—blown clean off at the thigh. Blood poured from the mangled stump.
"AAAAH! MY LEG!"
He clutched at the shredded limb, sobbing, his voice cracking with pain.
Riku stepped out from the shadows, his crimson Sharingan gleaming in the darkness. His gaze was cold, indifferent.
The bandit leader looked up at him—really looked at him—for the first time. And in those spinning red eyes, he saw death itself.
His voice died in his throat. Even the pain seemed to vanish beneath the suffocating chill that took hold of his heart.
Riku raised his katana, slowly, deliberately.
"Zero," he whispered.
The blade plunged into the bandit leader's throat, silencing him forever.
Blood sprayed from the wound as his eyes dimmed. All of his grand plans—pillaging Moon Country, building a new force—were extinguished in an instant.
Riku flicked his wrist, flinging blood from the blade in a graceful arc. Then he pressed the flat of the sword against his sleeve and cleaned the rest before sliding it neatly back into its sheath.
He exhaled.
"Whew..."
Killing thirty-four bandits had felt surprisingly easy. Not a single one had managed to strike him.
It would've been even easier if I'd used Thunder Breathing, Riku mused.If he had used that power, he could have slaughtered them all in seconds.But this mission had been a test—a field exam arranged by Orochimaru to evaluate the results of Riku's month-long training.
Using Thunder Breathing would've defeated the purpose.
Still... there was something intoxicating about using ninjutsu in actual combat.It felt more fluid. More natural. Like the techniques came alive under pressure.
Just as Riku turned to leave, Orochimaru emerged silently behind him.
He glanced at the slain bandit chief, then smiled faintly.
"Well done," he said, his voice low and slithery. "You concealed your presence well during the assassinations. Your use of ninjutsu was skillful. You adapted to the terrain—excellent use of Water Release to create puddles, then chaining it into Lightning Release. Very efficient."
He gestured toward the tripwire and exploded ruins behind them.
"And your preparation was meticulous. Setting up explosive traps to prevent any survivors from escaping—quite thorough."
Hearing Orochimaru's praise, Riku couldn't help but smile. It was the first time he'd heard such approval from him this whole month.
Orochimaru was usually harsh—asking endless questions during training, never satisfied. Riku had started to wonder if he was just untalented.
But now...
Now, Orochimaru was praising him.
Riku felt a warm pride fill his chest.
"There's something else," Orochimaru added, narrowing his golden eyes. "You've developed an excellent habit."
Riku blinked. "A... habit?"
He tilted his head, curious.
Orochimaru nodded.
"Yes. You always aim for the head. Beheading, or slashing the throat. Most people target the heart, but even if it's pierced, the enemy has a few seconds to retaliate. That moment can be deadly."
He pointed to one of the corpses.
"But a decapitated enemy has no chance to fight back. Instant, irreversible. It's a very good habit to have."
Riku touched the bridge of his nose sheepishly.
He's right... It has become a habit.
It all stemmed from his Thunder Breathing training. That style was designed for killing demons—creatures whose only weak point was the neck. Every strike, every kata, every motion—targeted the neck.
Now, even outside of that form, it had become second nature.
Hearing Orochimaru praise it... yeah, Riku thought, it really is a good habit.