Steam still clung faintly to their hair and skin as Guldrin and Shiro finally stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in soft towels, their movements slow and unhurried after an hour straight of soaking in the copper tub. The air outside felt quite a bit cooler compared to the steamy chamber, and it prickled their skin pleasantly. Both of them looked far more alive than they had an hour before, their earlier exhaustion, grime, and stress washed away with the bathwater.
"Yup," Guldrin muttered with a satisfied grin, scrubbing his damp hair with a towel until it stuck up in every possible direction, "definitely making that happen again." His voice carried the tone of a man who had just discovered one of life's small but irreplaceable luxuries.
Shiro, equally refreshed but far more composed in appearance, let out a soft giggle at his disheveled look. "Oh, for sure," she agreed, her voice as light as the steam still drifting from her shoulders. "I will admit… that was one of the most exciting and refreshing experiences I've ever had the pleasure to partake in."
Her words made him glance at her, and for a heartbeat, his grin softened into something gentler. The way her pale cheeks still held a faint warmth from the bath, the way her silver hair clung in damp strands around her face, and the easy smile she wore, it was enough to make him want to say something embarrassingly sweet. He swallowed it down, saving it for later, and instead quipped, "Exciting and refreshing? Cheesy… You make it sound like an exotic drink."
She wrinkled her nose at him but laughed anyway, the sound light enough to erase the lingering shadows of what they had endured earlier.
"Alright," he said at last, tossing his towel aside and pulling his clothes back on with brisk movements, "time to go check on Risa and her sister. Can't forget the damsels we rescued."
Shiro nodded, though she couldn't resist rolling her eyes at his phrasing. Together, they left the bathroom, their bare feet padding softly against the polished floorboards as they made their way into the connected suite. The inn was quiet compared to how bustling it had been when they entered, eerily so, considering how loud the outside streets had been earlier.
When they reached the room where the rescued girls had been left to rest, Guldrin pushed the door open quietly. Inside, the warm glow of an oil lamp illuminated the scene. Both Risa and her sister were curled up together under clean sheets, their breathing slow and even, faces utterly relaxed. It was likely the first true sleep they'd had in weeks, maybe months. The grime, fear, and exhaustion that had weighed so heavily on them before seemed to have lifted, if only for this much-needed sleep.
Something tightened in Guldrin's chest at the sight. He wasn't the type to get sentimental easily, but seeing their expressions so peaceful after everything made even his hardened heart ease. A small smile flickered onto his lips before he turned toward the corner of the room where another presence sat in silence.
"Ino," he said softly, his tone more serious now, "anything I need to know?"
It wasn't that he didn't trust others, well, maybe he didn't, but Ino was different. While he had a bit of respect for Shizune and even Tsunade, the bond between him and Ino was something that transcended the realm of Trust. Trust was a rare currency, one he never gave lightly. But with her, it wasn't even a choice. He knew instinctively, unshakably, that she would never betray him. It wasn't trust; it was the certainty of the impossibility of such an action. After they had bonded when she attempted to mind-dive him, they were connected on a level that left no room for doubts anymore.
Startled by his sudden question, Ino blinked out of her meditation state. She had been sitting cross-legged near the window, her eyes closed, hands resting loosely in her lap. She straightened quickly, brushing back a strand of blonde hair as she answered. "Nothing as of yet," she said in a hushed voice, careful not to disturb the sleeping girls. "While you two were… bathing," She blushed a faint shade of pink and continued, "a few guards were rushing around the streets. I could see them from the window. But nothing else significant."
Guldrin nodded slowly, his mind already moving to the next step. "Good," he murmured. His tone was calm, but his eyes carried a sharper glint. "By now, the boss, or bosses, should've received the message. All his men were dead in that alley, and their big enforcer was frozen in fear before getting his throat slit. An image like that… Yeah… That should shake things up." He didn't elaborate further; he didn't need to.
Instead, he pulled out the receiver version of the emblem he had left behind earlier. The small, metallic crest of an all-seeing eye gleamed faintly in the lamplight, runes carved into its surface. With a steady breath, he pushed a trickle of mana into it, the air around the device humming softly as it activated. He leaned closer, listening as his mind drifted into a semi-conscious state.
—
–
-
Far from the quiet safety of the inn, back in the alleyway where blood still pooled dark against the cobblestones, a different scene was unfolding. A group of burly, grim-faced men stood over the corpses Guldrin's group had left behind, their expressions as varied as their builds.
Some looked indifferent, as though death was just another day for them.
Others looked frightened, their eyes darting nervously around the shadows, as though expecting the unseen killer to leap out and finish the job.
But the one who drew the most attention was the man standing at the center of it all, clearly the leader of this little investigation party, who looked pale. His eyes scanned the carnage with a soldier's experience, taking in not only the bodies but the precision behind their deaths.
He crouched near one of the corpses, his thick fingers brushing the edge of a deep wound. His expression twisted slightly. He understood what had happened here far better than the others. He knew the strengths of the men who had died, their speed, their toughness, their ruthlessness. And yet, they had been dismantled like cattle at a slaughterhouse.
His gaze lingered on the body of their "Chuunin enforcer," the so-called spine of this particular crew. The man was supposed to be untouchable, the kind of fighter who could walk through a dozen mercenaries and come out the other side without a scratch. Yet here he was, his body sprawled like a broken puppet, one arm nearly severed, the wound so clean it looked more like a butcher's cut than the chaos of battle. The blade had carved straight through flesh and bone, sliding into the chest with unerring precision and piercing the heart in a single motion.
Quick. Merciless. Efficient.
This wasn't luck. This wasn't desperation. Whoever had done this had known exactly what they were doing.
The leader felt a bead of sweat crawl down the back of his neck, despite the evening air being cool. He tugged at his collar, but it didn't help. His instincts screamed at him. Whoever this killer was, they weren't some random thug with a sharp weapon. No, this was someone who had fought killers before and walked away.
And his boss… oh, his boss would want their head on a spike. That much was certain. The thought alone made his stomach churn, because even as he stared at the carnage, he silently admitted to himself that he didn't have the faintest idea how to even begin fulfilling such a request.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to let the dread creep onto his face. His men were watching. Fear was contagious, and the last thing he needed was to incite panic.
"Move," he barked, his voice harsher than he intended. "Search the area. Anything out of place. Clues, tracks, weapons, hell, even a scrap of cloth. Don't just stand around gawking."
The others snapped into motion at his command. Boots crunched against gravel and broken glass. A lantern was lifted higher, throwing pale light over the scene as they turned over bodies, rifled through what little remained intact, and pressed close to walls to look for any sign of the killers.
Minutes dragged on.
One man crouched to collect several strange casings. He frowned, holding them up between bloodied fingers. "Boss, these look like… little tubes? Metal. Hollow. Some kind of capsule, maybe?"
The leader grunted and motioned for him to bring them over. He took one, turning it in his hand. It was unlike any weapon component he recognized. He sniffed it. The smell was sharp, acrid, unnatural. His nose wrinkled. "Odd smell," he muttered. "Not powder. Not oil. Something I haven't smelled before."
Nearby, another thug flipped over a body and recoiled at what he saw. "Ugh… bones. Everywhere. These don't even look fresh."
Indeed, scattered among the corpses were bone fragments, shattered ribs, and even decomposed body parts that clearly didn't belong to any of the freshly slain. It was as if someone had mixed a slaughterhouse with a graveyard and left the mess in one spot.
Little did they know that those bones and decomposed parts certainly did come from these dead men, but due to Shiro's use of poison, they no longer resembled what would have been expected from freshly slain corpses.
The sight of it made the younger men pale, their hands trembling as they tried not to gag.
The leader's patience wore thin. "Ignore the damn bones," he snapped. "Focus on what doesn't belong here."
And then he saw it.
A faint glint in the largest pool of blood caught his eye, just barely visible beneath the limp arm of one of the fallen. He strode over and shoved the corpse aside with his boot, crouching down to pluck the object from the gore.
His fingers closed around something metallic, small, and deceptively simple. He pulled it up into the lantern light. Blood ran down the grooves, but even through the filth, the design was clear.
It was an emblem.
Not just any emblem. Carved into its surface was the symbol of an eye, wide and unblinking, every line etched with intent. The all-seeing eye.
The leader's chest tightened. This wasn't dropped by accident. It had been left here like a calling card, like the killer wanted them to know exactly who had been here.
"Strange," he muttered, his brows furrowing. "I've never seen an emblem like this before…" His voice trailed off as he turned it over in his hand again, noting the way the lines almost seemed to shimmer in the lantern light.
He glanced toward the scattered casings again, the odd metal tubes that still reeked of something alien. He thought about the corpses, how some looked freshly killed while others were in stages of decay that didn't even make sense. And then his eyes fell back on the emblem, gleaming coldly in his palm.
"This wasn't some random fight," he said quietly to himself.
The other men froze, watching him uneasily. His tone wasn't that of their usual blustering commander. No, he sounded unsettled, almost frightened, as if he were acknowledging the work of something far above them.
Finally, he stood, pocketing the emblem with a scowl to mask his unease. "Enough," he barked, louder this time. "You've seen what's here. Get the bodies cleaned up. Get the alley scrubbed. If anyone asks, we don't know what happened." His eyes cut toward the corpse of their Chuunin enforcer, and his mouth twisted bitterly. "Useless thugs. Died a dog's death. And Lightning…" He spat on the ground. "He's not even worth burying. Can't believe they took his head."
One of the younger men flinched. "Boss Wolf, you mean-"
"Yes," he growled. "No head. Cut clean off. Don't make me repeat myself." He wondered why he put up with these fools, they could see just as well as he could that Lightning didn't have his head anymore.
The thought of it gnawed at him. Lightning, cocky bastard though he was, had been a fighter. For someone to take his head like it was nothing…
The leader exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. "Big Shin looked like he saw hell itself before he died. That stare… like he was frozen in his last moment of fear." He shook his head, his lips pressed into a grim line. "Whatever he saw, I don't want to know."
His eyes drifted once more to the emblem seemingly burning in his pocket, and for the first time in a long while, he felt truly out of his depth.
"I just hope the boss doesn't kill me for this failure," he muttered under his breath. The men around him pretended not to hear, but the dread in their eyes told him they were thinking the same thing.
-
–
—
The muttered words hung in the air long after they left Wolf's lips. 'I just hope the boss doesn't kill me for this failure.' He hadn't meant for his men to hear it, but their silence told him they had. None of them acknowledged it, though. Their eyes darted away from his, hollow and anxious, as if admitting their thoughts aloud would invite death itself into the alley.
Wolf cursed under his breath and signaled for the crew to continue cleaning up the bloodied mess. He didn't have the luxury of dwelling on fear. He had a task to do, and if he failed to carry it out with even a shred of competence, the boss wouldn't hesitate to make an example of him. And unlike the corpses littering the ground, his death wouldn't be quick. Maybe these poor souls were the lucky ones.
He wiped the grime from his hands against his trousers and began the long walk toward the boss's headquarters. His stride was brisk, but there was no mistaking the tension in his posture. Every step felt heavier than the last. His men might have been afraid of whoever left the bodies in that alley, but Wolf knew better; his greatest fear wasn't out there in the streets. It was waiting for him behind polished doors and velvet curtains.
The building loomed into view before long. In a town crumbling into disrepair, this structure stood out like a festering wound dressed in silk. A lavish facade masked the rot inside, but Wolf could still see the cracks in the foundation, the guards outside shifting uneasily at their posts. The boss liked to play the noble, living in wealth, while the streets outside were drowned in poverty. But everyone knew this wasn't a place of elegance; it was a cage dressed up as a palace.
Wolf approached the entrance, his boots crunching against gravel. He rapped his knuckles against the heavy wooden door, and within seconds it slid open just enough for a guard to peer through. The guard's eyes narrowed as he checked Wolf's face, then glanced down at the blood still smeared on his clothes.
"Ah. Wolf." The guard's tone was clipped, neutral, but Wolf could tell the man was glad it wasn't him delivering bad news. "Enter. The boss is waiting for your report."
Wolf muttered a low curse and stepped inside. The air was different here, thick with incense meant to mask the stench. He passed through a narrow hallway lined with dim lanterns until the space opened up into a wide chamber.
At the center sat the boss surrounded by his bevy of female companions.
The man was rotund, his body draped in expensive robes that strained at the seams. A jagged scar ran down his right eye, puckered and red even after years of healing. It was the kind of scar that didn't come from battle, but from betrayal, a permanent reminder of the moment he'd turned on the one who once led him. He wore it not with shame but with pride, a badge of conquest and treachery.
Wolf dropped to one knee immediately, bowing low. His forehead nearly touched the polished wooden floor as he forced the tremor from his voice. "Boss."
The boss didn't speak right away. He sat back in his chair, one hand resting lazily on the armrest while the other lifted a delicate porcelain teacup. The quiet sound of sipping echoed in the room, dragging out the silence until it pressed down on Wolf's shoulders like a weight. Only when the boss set the cup down did he speak.
"Report."
The single word was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. Wolf swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.
"Boss… squad Shin is dead."
The words felt like gravel leaving his throat. He braced himself for the blow, but the boss only stared, his expression unreadable. Wolf forced himself to continue.
"Slaughtered. Every last one of them."
He began to explain, halting at first but gaining momentum as he described the alleyway. He told him of the bodies cut apart with impossible precision, of Lightning's missing head, of Big Shin's final expression frozen in terror. He mentioned the strange casings found scattered among the corpses and the unnatural smell that clung to them. He described the emblem left behind, the all-seeing eye etched into its surface, gleaming through the blood as though daring them to investigate further.
With each detail, the boss's face darkened. At first, it was subtle, a twitch of his eye, a tightening of his jaw. But the longer Wolf spoke, the more the cracks in his composure widened. His hand, resting calmly on the armrest moments ago, curled into a fist. The other, holding the teacup, trembled slightly.
Wolf swallowed again, his voice lowering. "Whoever did this… they weren't ordinary. They cut down Shin like he was nothing. Even Lightning… his head was taken clean off. They didn't just kill, they left a message."
That was the breaking point.
The boss's hand clenched so tightly around the porcelain teacup that it shattered in his grip, shards falling to the floor as steaming tea splattered across his robes. The sharp crack of breaking ceramic made Wolf flinch, but he didn't dare move.
The boss's voice thundered through the chamber. "Out!"
The women at his side, draped in silks, their painted faces hiding fear, scrambled to obey. They fled the room, the sound of their footsteps fading quickly down the hallway. The heavy silence that followed was suffocating.
Wolf remained kneeling, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, waiting for the storm to fall.
The boss leaned forward, his scarred face illuminated by the lantern light. His gaze was like a predator's, sharp and unrelenting, pinning Wolf in place.
"You come to me," the boss growled, his voice low but brimming with barely contained fury, "with news that my men are dead. My enforcer, gone. My street strength, butchered. And you dare stand there and tell me you don't know who did it?"
Wolf opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. He forced them out anyway. "Boss, they left a sign. An emblem. Something I've never seen before. A carved eye... They wanted us to know they were here."
The boss's nostrils flared. "An emblem." He spat the word like venom. "So this wasn't some rival gang looking for scraps. This was a declaration of resistance."
"Yes, Boss," Wolf said quickly, lowering his head further. "Whoever it was, they wanted us to see. They wanted us to fear them."
The boss slammed his hand against the table, the wood groaning under the impact. "And they think I will cower? They think I will bow to some nameless assassin, leaving trinkets in blood puddles?"
Wolf didn't dare answer.
The boss leaned back, his breathing heavy, his scar pulling taut as he sneered. "Find them. I don't care if you have to tear apart every alley in this cesspit. I want names. I want faces. And when you find them…" His eyes narrowed to slits. "I want them brought to me alive. I'll make an example so severe that no one will ever dare leave me a message again."
Wolf's chest tightened, but he nodded quickly. "Yes, Boss. I'll find them."
"See that you do," the boss said, his tone sharp enough to cut. He leaned forward again, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "Because if you come back to me empty-handed, Wolf, you won't be standing on two legs long enough to regret it."
Wolf's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He pressed his forehead to the floor. "Understood."
The boss waved him off with a flick of his hand, dismissing him like an insect. Wolf rose slowly, careful not to turn his back too quickly, and retreated from the room.
The heavy door closed behind Wolf with a dull thud that reverberated through the hall. He stood there for a second, still half-bent from his bow, letting the sound fade away. Only when he was sure he was alone did he finally let out the breath he had been holding, and it left him in a shudder that betrayed more than he wanted to admit. The killer in the alley had been terrifying, yes, but the real danger sat inside that chamber, scarred, furious, and very much alive.
He clenched his fists to steady himself. The task ahead wasn't one he wanted, but refusing was worse than impossible; it was straight suicidal. He had to find an enemy who left behind nothing but mutilated corpses, scattered casings, and a single emblem that mocked them all.
For Wolf, failure wasn't an option. Not when the price would be his own skin.
—
–
-
Back at the inn, the mood was entirely different from the suffocating tension that had filled Wolf's report to his boss. Guldrin lounged in his chair, a wide grin plastered across his face, almost boyish in its mischief, though the words leaving his mouth were anything but innocent. The receiver in his hand, feeding information directly into his mind, bits of coded chatter from Wolf's actions being funneled directly into their safehouse. He leaned back, clearly enjoying himself far more than he probably should have.
"Perfect," Guldrin muttered, unable to keep the satisfaction from his tone. "They're running around like rats in a burning barn. Panicking, confused, and too angry to think straight. Exactly what we needed. This gives us the chance to write the story before they even know the truth."
Shiro, perched on the edge of the bed with her knees pulled up against her chest, eyed him with that sharp, calculating gaze of hers. She was used to his schemes, but that didn't mean she wouldn't poke holes in them if she spotted weaknesses. Her voice was calm, cool, as always. "Not to ruin your good mood," she said, "but didn't a lot of people in the slums see us walking away from that alley? That's not exactly subtle."
Guldrin waved a hand dismissively, though his grin faded into a more thoughtful expression. "Yes and no. They might have seen shapes, cloaks, maybe even a flash of movement, but think about who we're talking about here. Half the people in those streets are so doped up they wouldn't know if the sky turned green and fell on them. The other half are too scared to admit they saw anything. Their bosses pump them full of garbage just to keep them quiet and compliant. Tell me, if someone asked them about what they saw, would they even remember it? And if they did, would they risk admitting it? Better to stick your head in the sand than to rock the boat, as it were."
Shiro tilted her head, conceding the point but not letting him off completely. "So long as we don't use those cloaks or masks again anytime soon. If they see the same outfit twice, even a half-dead addict might start connecting dots and saying something. Better to stash and replace them. We've got enough gear stashed away. And if someone does remember…" her eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering through them, "then we erase the memory. Or the person. Whichever fits best."
"Exactly." Guldrin nodded in agreement. "We're not short on hoodies or civilian clothing, and the less recognizable we look, the better. No reason to draw attention. We stay quiet, we listen, and let the chaos unfold around us. This, Wolf, will do half the work for us without even realizing it. He's practically carrying our emblem like a loyal courier. Let him keep doing that. He's the mouthpiece, we're the hands pulling the strings. Every time he reports something useful, we swoop in, clean house, and vanish before anyone can piece it together. There's no way they'll ever trace it back to us."
Ino, who had been quietly leaning against the wall until now, chose that moment to step forward. She wasn't smiling, but her eyes had a sharp light of anticipation in them. Her hand tightened slightly around the bag she'd been carrying ever since they left the alley. "I still have Lightning's head," she said evenly, her tone carrying no hesitation. "Do you want me to dive into his mind? I might be able to drag out something useful before his memories fade too much."
Everyone turned toward her. Even Shiro raised an eyebrow, though she didn't look surprised. Ino's talents made her invaluable for exactly this kind of follow-up work, hence the reason they took his head to begin with.
Guldrin leaned forward, interest flickering in his expression. "Yes. We'll need everything we can get. Start with information about a ship. Anything tied to transport, routes, or smuggling lines. If he doesn't have that, move on to leadership details. Names, faces, where the bosses move, what they rely on, who backs them. If we can pin down their networks, we'll cut the legs out from under them." He paused, his grin fading into something colder, sharper. "Most importantly, we need to know how deep Danzo's fingers go in this place. If his Root are operating here, we need to know their bases, their rotations, their handlers. Before we leave this village, I want someone loyal to us at the top of the food chain. But to get there, we need every dirty little secret buried in these people's heads."
Ino gave a short nod. "As you command. I am not going to use the deep dive; this way, you can guide me as I relay information that I gain. It will be like a trance state, but I will be able to speak and relay what I see."
She set the bag on the table and drew out the severed head with the kind of casual precision that only someone used to dealing with corpses could manage. Lightning's blank eyes stared upward, his mouth slack and frozen mid-snarl. There was no revulsion in Ino's expression as she worked, only focus. She pressed her palms together, forming a series of quick hand seals, and then set her right hand firmly against the cold flesh of his forehead. Her eyes slid shut as she drew in a controlled breath.
The room grew quiet, the kind of silence that pressed on everyone's ears. Shiro shifted slightly, moving closer to Guldrin, while the others kept their distance, watching Ino's work with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Within moments, Ino's breathing slowed, her face tightening as if she were wrestling with something unseen. She was in.
Guldrin leaned forward, watching her with sharp interest. "Take it slow. Strip the surface first, memories from the last day or two. Then dig deeper. Look for anything he might have overheard from the higher-ups. Passwords, meeting points, informants. Don't waste time on his daily trash."
Ino's lips moved faintly, almost whispering. "Already there. His last memory before death… fear. He saw… Saw us. Nothing useful there. Skipping ahead… he had orders earlier. A meeting place. Dockside warehouses. He was supposed to deliver shipments, but…" her brow furrowed, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. "No ship. They told him one was coming. Smuggling routes. He didn't know details, only that his squad was meant to guard the exchange. Late night…"
Guldrin's eyes narrowed. "Good. What about leadership?"
Ino's breath hitched as she dug deeper into the fragments of Lightning's fading memories, her words coming out sharper, more focused, as though she had to force them past the weight of what she was seeing. "He remembers a man… scarred, fat, dresses himself in silk like he thinks it makes him a king. That's their current boss. Took power by stabbing his old leader in the back, then used the chaos to build his little empire. He's ruthless. Keeps women around to look important, but behind closed doors, it's violence that holds his throne in place. Everyone fears him, but not as much as…" Her face tightened, her tone low. "Danzo. He's heard the name whispered. He doesn't know the full scope, but he knows Root operatives are here. Embedded. Watching. Reporting back. To whom, he doesn't know."
The words hung heavy in the room. No one spoke immediately. Even Shiro, who usually had a quip ready, pressed her lips together, the faintest narrowing of her eyes betraying her thoughts. Root involvement wasn't simple criminal politics. It meant this entire cesspool of gangs and dealers wasn't just surviving on its own chaos; someone higher up was feeding it, using it, and pulling strings for reasons that went deeper than street turf. They knew a bit of this, but that was going based on outdated information; at least now they know it hasn't changed.
Ino's shoulders stiffened, her voice fading but steady as she continued. "He remembers places. Meeting points. Three of them. The fancy building up in the north sector. A gambling hall beneath the market, hidden behind the walls. And a safehouse near the old walls. He doesn't know times, or schedules, but… he's seen men carrying sealed letters back and forth. Wax sigils, specific markings. I can draw them out once I'm done here."
Guldrin leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he pieced the information together. His eyes weren't lazy or mocking now; they were sharp and calculating. "Perfect. That's exactly the kind of intel we needed. When you're done, rest. Then we reorganize and start planning. With this, we're already ten steps ahead of these idiots."
A few more seconds passed before Ino finally let out a strained gasp and pulled her hand back. The head slipped from her grip with a dull thud against the table. Her eyes fluttered open, sweat beading across her brow and sliding down her temple. Her chest rose and fell quickly, each breath measured, but there was a grim edge of victory in her gaze. "That's all I can get without risking my own corruption. The brain's too damaged. Push further, and I'd just end up with broken fragments and echoes. But this much, it should be enough."
Guldrin nodded firmly, not exaggerating praise, but his voice carried weight. "More than enough. You did well." She preened at his praise, but quickly schooled her expression.
His gaze shifted across the room, his usual smirk tugging at his lips again, though this time it carried more steel than playfulness. "Now, we wait. Let them panic. Let them chase shadows and blame ghosts. We'll sit tight, keep listening, keep pulling their threads until the whole mess unravels. And when the timing's right…" His grin widened slightly, but his eyes were cold. "We don't just cut them down. We tear out the roots and make sure they never grow back. When the moon is high, we will scout the docks and see if we can intercept that shipment."
Shiro tilted her head, brushing her hair back with casual precision, her mouth curving in a faint, knowing smirk. "You almost sound excited."
"I am," Guldrin admitted without hesitation. His tone wasn't boastful; it was edged with something darker, a satisfaction in finally being on the offensive. "Because for once, we're not reacting to their bullshit. We're the ones pulling the strings."
The weight of that statement lingered, and it wasn't lost on anyone in the room. Schnee, arms folded neatly, poised gracefully in a chair, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Shizune had been quiet the entire time, her usually calm demeanor replaced by a faint look of respect she rarely gave outsiders. Even Tsunade, who had seen more than her share of blood and politics, raised a brow in mild surprise at how organized this group was in turning chaos into an opportunity.
For a few moments, no one spoke. The only sound was the scratch of Ino's brush as she began jotting down the sigils and symbols she'd dragged from Lightning's head, her hand steady despite her exhaustion. Guldrin sat comfortably with Shiro pressed against his side, her sharp gaze softening slightly in private contrast to the cold logic she'd voiced earlier. The rest of the group traded brief glances, the tension in their shoulders easing as determination replaced uncertainty.
This wasn't the usual scramble to survive in enemy territory. This wasn't blind retaliation or desperate defense. For the first time since stepping into this festering world, they weren't prey dodging predators. They were hunters setting the board.
And everyone in that room knew it.
The atmosphere shifted into something quieter, more focused. Shiro, with her usual casual confidence, leaned her head against Guldrin's shoulder, eyes half-lidded but attentive. Ino worked in silence, jotting down precise lines and sigils, muttering to herself as fragments of memory surfaced. Schnee and Shizune kept their distance but stayed alert, their expressions unreadable but their attention unwavering. Tsunade poured herself a drink, the clink of glass against wood breaking the silence briefly, though even she seemed less inclined to relax than usual.
Every person there understood the weight of what Ino had pulled from that corpse. Root infiltration. Danzo's shadow. A network of leaders who thought themselves untouchable. The kind of information that could topple more than just a gang or a corrupted organization if it were used right.
For now, they wait, let the fire spread, and dismantle this group one brick by brick.
(I have decided to lower the average words per chapter, and hopefully, post more frequently since life is beginning to stabilize. Thank you to all who have stuck around and are enjoying my work. I haven't given up, and will continue to post when I can.)