Throwing myself forward, we reached the spot in a minute, and the scene that unfolded before me simply stunned me. Corpses in Iwa uniforms, scorched earth, upturned roots, and enormous craters—as if this place had been hit not by weapons, but by technological bombs.
I froze. My heart thudded dully in my chest, my breath faltered. My hand jerked on its own, then began to tremble. My mind refused to process what I was seeing: this was not a battlefield—it was a meat grinder, a slaughterhouse where people were ground to splinters.
"Move, or you'll become the same!" I yelled inside myself, as if trying to outshout the silence hanging in my head. My legs, as if filled with lead, pushed off the ground, and I forced myself to run again.
Around me were others like me. A few genin, older than me, stood in place, staring with empty eyes at the corpses—two of them couldn't handle it and doubled over, vomiting right onto the ground. Others shook, unable to move. Only the older, more experienced shinobi were already acting, forcing squads to keep moving, not letting paralysis take over. "An adult mind helps you hold on, but it doesn't fully save you…" I noted bitterly to myself as I ran past another body.
The smell was nauseating—burn, blood, iron, and earth mixed into a single choking mass. My throat constricted, but I forced myself to breathe deeper.
And then, pushing forward, I saw a crowd of people gathered further down the front line. They were clearly cleaning up—finishing off survivors, collecting their wounded. I was about to speed up when something caught my eye.
From the pouch of a dead Iwa shinobi, lying five meters from me, something was sticking out. A small bundle, wrapped in damp cloth. I froze.
My head jerked, my eyes darted around.
Ahead—my squad. Genma and Gai were already there, behind—some of our people, also busy moving. No one looked at me. All eyes were forward.
And my thoughts began to race like wild animals.
"What if it's a tool? Or a scroll? What if it's secret weaponry? Information? Recon data? This could be useful to me personally. But by the rules, I can't claim anything. I'll get nothing after the cleanup. If I leave now… no one will even notice. This is my chance!"
I gritted my teeth, my fingers trembling involuntarily. Five meters. Just five meters. No one nearby.
But the internal tremor grew stronger. Another voice rang in my head:
"What if it's a trap? What if he left it on purpose? Or his body is booby-trapped? And what if someone notices I'm rummaging through enemy corpses? They'll consider it looting. Punishment. But… what if it really is something important?"
I looked again. Everything around me moved, people ran, shouted, finished off enemies, but no one was looking at me. This is my moment.
I stepped to the side. Then another step, my heart racing like mad. I felt my back slick with sweat. My mind roared as if I were standing at the edge of an abyss.
Two more steps—and I was almost there. I crouched, reaching for the pouch…
At that moment, a voice sounded behind me, short, sharp, like a strike:
"Hey! Kotetsu! Where are you going?!"
"I… feel… unwell…" I forced out, bending and clutching my stomach, pretending I was about to be sick.
I stepped aside, hunched over, breathing heavily to make it believable. A raspy cough burst from my chest, and I spat to the ground, as if my stomach really was turning.
"Let's go! The commander is calling!" someone shouted at me. I recognized the voice—one of ours—but didn't have time to identify exactly who.
"I'm coming!" I shouted back, deliberately weak, as if regaining strength slowly. I rose, staggering, continuing to pretend I felt unwell.
I bit my lip and gritted my teeth, forcing myself to speed up again.
"Damn… had to turn around right now!" raced through my head as I merged into the formation. But my hand slipped something into my sleeve.
"Hey, where have you been?" Genma's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He waved his hand, beckoning me over to him and Gai.
"Just… feeling unwell," I exhaled, pretending I hadn't fully recovered yet.
"Understood," he replied shortly, asking no unnecessary questions. I even felt a bit grateful: good thing Genma wasn't the type to pry.
"By the way!" Gai began, but his words were cut off by a powerful voice, amplified by chakra, rolling across the clearing.
"WE HAVE WON!" Fougaku declared loudly, almost ceremoniously.
The forest froze for a second, and even the air felt denser. A strange feeling stirred in my chest: relief, mixed with a cold understanding of how many people were lying on the ground for this victory.
"Now we need to clean up the battlefield! Basic protocol!" Fougaku's voice rang again, leaving no room for doubt. "The cleanup squad stays here. The rest—leave the area as quickly as possible!"
I mechanically repeated to myself: "Basic protocol"… and immediately began listing in my head:
• Gather survivors.
• Medics immediately search for the wounded.
• Count losses.
• Mark the dead to later return bodies to the village.
• Clean the battlefield: check for enemies, finish off those pretending.
"Wait… isn't that us?" the thought jabbed sharply, like a needle.
"Squad Eleven!" Fougaku's voice called again.
"Was there even one?" Genma frowned, scratching the back of his head.
"I think only the tenth was mentioned…" I muttered. But within a moment, it became clear: people from various teams were being called, and in front of my eyes, a new squad formed—about thirty people.
"First time in this kind of battle?" a man of about thirty suddenly addressed me. His face was dirty with soot, but his eyes were calm, even slightly tired, as if this was just a normal job for him.
"Uh… yes," I nodded.
"The cleanup squad is always voluntary," he said calmly. "Mostly those who aren't afraid to work with corpses."
His words pierced my head like a kunai.
"Work with corpses"… I shuddered inside.
"That means…" I started, but he interrupted, as if he already knew what I was thinking.
"If you started thinking you could loot from them—forget it. Everything is under control there." The man snorted, not even looking at me. "Volunteers are either medics or those who don't care."
I swallowed, shivering slightly. Inside felt disgusted—either from the conversation itself or from him voicing my hidden thoughts.
"Man, damn," Gai muttered quietly, frowning. "Really, only those who like poking around in the dead belong there."
"Thanks," I said to the man. It was helpful to hear this right now. Because the thought of "taking from a corpse" had lodged too deeply in me, and I was reminded—someone was watching.
I exhaled and looked around: the formation thinned, the victors dispersed, leaving only those who agreed to do the dirty work on the battlefield.
"Let's go," Gai said shortly, and I nodded.
We merged with the crowd, moving with the other shinobi, heading back toward the camp.