The moment my feet hit the ground, I was already moving—silent, fast, and precise. It has already become an ingrained habit, shaped by years of effort and experience.
The bandits were ahead, clustered behind the tree line, waiting like scavengers. Eyeing the carriage dragging through the forest route and clearly carrying a disabled old man and a dozen kids with hollow eyes.
The bandits knew the answer behind the scenes. It was almost a daily occurrence for them. Refugees hiding and fleeing through the forest. Considering the direction, they came from the Land of Grass.
Pathetic.
I adjusted my speed, keeping my approach subtle. These weren't trained shinobi. Even the two that matched my chakra level were rough around the edges. Sloppy. Greedy. That told me enough.
Due to the actions of a purple-eyed sage, every person had a chakra. The only difference between active chakra users and civilians was the moulded chakra, which clearly followed the chakra pathway.
Of course, activating a chakra doesn't make one a shinobi. There was a reason the shinobi held the most power, despite numerous competing professions, such as the samurai and the monks. It was because shinobi, who delved in the darkness, on the edge of life and death, showed the most promise in chakra- a fusion of physical and spiritual energy.
Poor Bandits. They saw a carriage and assumed an easy score. They didn't realise they'd already lost.
The first one I saw was a wiry man crouched behind a tree, a rusted kunai in his grip. His chakra was weak—barely stronger than a civilian. I didn't bother slowing down.
Schlk.
A flick of my wrist, and my chakra scalpel severed his throat vessels in a clean, quiet motion. He collapsed with nothing but a gurgle. His neck's skin and shape were intact, but the rapidly pooling blood underneath that changed the colour into reddish purple, which showed me that I had killed him.
One down.
The others were still waiting for a signal, unaware that their numbers had already dropped. I crept forward, weaving between trees, my senses flaring.
The stronger ones were near the centre, whispering.
"Wait for the signal."
"The carriage is loaded. We hit fast, grab everything, and bury the corpses in the usual spot. Be delicate with the girls; they will sell well."
A deep chuckle. "If they resist?"
"…You know what to do."
I moved. My actions, even as they began, were clearly crueller, especially when their talk reminded me of scenes that were still fresh in my mind.
My Chakra augmentation was not on Tsunade's level. But it was enough to propel me and my punch with the power to snap a human in half.
A second bandit fell with a snapped neck before he even knew I was there. A third barely turned before my chakra scalpel carved through his chest's vessels.
Then one of the stronger ones felt it.
"Shit!"
Too late.
I was already in front of him, my hand pressing against his stomach.
"Mystic Palm: Shock."
Chakra flooded into him in a precise pulse that turned his guts into mush. His body convulsed violently, nerves overloaded. He hit the ground twitching, unable to move.
The last strong one drew a blade and backed up. His eyes darted to the corpses, and his eyes widened at the green glow on my hand.
"You—You're a healer?"
I smiled. "Something like that."
Perhaps the green glow that was supposed to heal turned out to be a big shock.
And it showed.
He swung. Fast. But not fast enough.
I shifted, grabbed his wrist, and twisted. Bone snapped. He howled—until my knee slammed into his temple. His body crumpled, unconscious.
The rest? Cowards. The moment they realised their leaders were down, they broke and ran.
I let them go.
They weren't a threat anymore. Just desperate people in a world that didn't care if they lived or died.
I wiped my hands clean on a torn scrap of cloth, letting the dead bandit's body slump to the ground. The carriages rolled on, their wooden wheels creaking against the dirt path, blissfully unaware that I had already dealt with the threat lurking ahead.
Not good.
They couldn't afford to be this oblivious. Not anymore.
So, I grabbed the unconscious leader of the bandits, hoisting his limp form onto my shoulder, and sprinted back to the convoy. The moment I landed in front of the leading carriage, I tossed the man to the ground. Dust rose as his body thudded against the road.
Jizen looked out from the front, his sharp gaze flicking between the bandit and me before giving a tired sigh.
"He is a bandit," I said.
I didn't hesitate and body-flickered away. Momosuke and Karui looked like they had an idea of what was about to happen.
If the clan had survived, if things had been everyday, the kids wouldn't have to go through this for at least a few more years. But that wasn't the world we lived in anymore.
They had to be bloodied. Now!
Jizen would handle the kids. I would handle everything else.
-
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I darted through the trees, silent and swift, tracking the lingering presence of the remaining bandits. It was laughably easy to follow them—the trail of broken branches and trampled grass might as well have been an invitation.
A few minutes later, I found their hideout.
It was larger than I expected—a small clearing in the forest, dotted with makeshift wooden shacks and campfires. There were at least a hundred of them, scattered in groups, drinking, gambling, and counting whatever stolen goods they had.
I used my sensing by putting my little finger into the ground. This jutsu of mine sent waves of chakra, and each echo usually sent various signals that may be difficult to interpret for normal men. Even for me. But I was not the one who would interpret them.
[Receiving information.]
The burning chakra answered me as the sensations I felt were fed into the AI.
[Processing the information and building the mind map.]
[Time remaining: 1 minute 59 seconds]
The more detailed the mind map, the more time it takes. Now, I only need the number of bandits and their level, pointed on a map.
[5
4
3
2
1]
[Mind map injected to host]
My mind throbbed as a phantom image of the terrain invaded my mind, along with the chakra signatures of the bandits.
A smile came to my face at the AI's masterpiece.
Sensing the chakra was easy, something any sensor could do. Sensing the difference between civilian and shinobi was easy. But the true talent in the sensing art came from gleaming much more.
Only Sensors that had spent decades could process the vague impressions they gathered from the terrain. But with the AI, I could do the same and much more.
I felt like a god, looking through the rocks and seeing clear visions of various rooms in the camp and the Bandits in them.
Thankfully, the bandit group's strength was as light as my headache. Only a dozen or so had an active chakra.
More importantly, their leader had chakra—Jonin-level chakra.
A pity. If he had been born into a shinobi clan, he would have been truly powerful. A leader of men if he was born as a samurai. Instead, he was just a bigger piece of prey for a shinobi.
I crouched on a high tree branch, observing. I needed an opening.
A lone sentry walked beneath me, humming to himself. I dropped down soundlessly behind him, a swift strike to the neck knocking him unconscious before he could react.
A simple Transformation Jutsu, and I slipped into the camp unnoticed. The layer of chakra that covered me held despite the small bumps. The sheer concentration and skill required to maintain it made me understand why it, along with the clone and substitution jutsu, would make up the basic three jutsu of the hidden village era. It built the basics needed to explore the ninjutsu path.
I moved through the crowd, listening, watching. Most of these bandits were weak—barely more than civilians. A few had chakra, but none were remarkable. Only their leader mattered.
I circled the hideout until I found a good position. A high vantage point, partially hidden behind a stack of stolen crates.
With a slow inhale, I filled my mouth with water, my chakra stretching and refining it, compressing it into something more. My torso swelled unnaturally as the volume increased, my control ensuring that I didn't choke or let any escape.
I waited until just the right moment—when they were clustered together, when no one was watching me.
Then I let loose.
"Water Release: Severing Wave!"
A high-pressure torrent of water blasted from my mouth, slicing through the camp like a blade.
The first row of bandits never stood a chance. The water cut through their flesh like paper, severing limbs, heads, and torsos. Blood sprayed into the air, mixing with the mud beneath their feet.
The sensing jutsu was not the only thing that Tobirama inspired. Even this jutsu was made by me, inspired by him. While the AI cut down on trial-and-error time, the Kyudo clan itself possessed a solid archive of water-style jutsu, making jutsu creation easier.
"WHAT THE HELL!"
Screams erupted. Especially when they saw me standing in a swampy pool of blood and flesh. And, Chaos followed.
Some scrambled for weapons, others ran for cover, but it was too late. I was already moving, slipping between the panicked survivors, my chakra scalpels flashing in the moonlight.
One slash—an artery severed.
Another—a spine cut clean through.
A third lung collapsed as I opened it with a precise slash. This one was gruesome, even for me. The intact skin swelled like a balloon and then deflated as the air in his torso exploded through his mouth.
Using this short second, I looked at the camp. The place at which my severed wave hit became a pool of blood with floating lumps of cut body pieces. It told something about me when I didn't feel any nausea at the sight.
Shaking the thoughts of my changed self against my past life, I looked at the survivors.
The ones who were lucky enough to dodge my initial attack hesitated, their eyes filled with terror. I could see the thoughts running through their heads—Do we fight? Do we run? Will we survive?
The answer was no.
The only one who reacted appropriately was their leader.
He roared as he charged, his massive sword glinting in the firelight.
"You bastard!"
I twisted, dodging the downward swing by inches. The ground split apart where I had stood. Fast. Strong. But not enough.
His chakra surged, his body moving with a speed that was impressive for a rogue. But there was a difference between raw strength and trained shinobi precision.
I feinted left—he bit the bait.
My real strike came from the right. A chakra scalpel, honed and sharp, grew from the fist I threw, slashed through his wrist, which tried to guard my punch.
His grip loosened. His sword clattered to the ground.
His eyes widened in shock.
I didn't give him time to recover. A palm to his chest—Mystic Palm Jutsu: repurposed.
A burst of chakra sent into his heart made a mush of blood and flesh.
It was such a simple thing, a push of chakra here and there, the big vessels in the heart burst and tore through itself from the same force that was used to pump blood throughout the body.
Silence. It was the only thing I felt.
The surviving bandits stared at me, too afraid to move.
I could hear their ragged breathing, see their hands twitching, caught between fight and flight. But they wouldn't fight. Not after watching their comrades die in seconds.
That hesitation was why they were still alive.
I exhaled through my nose, feeling the blood cooling on my skin. My mind drifted to a memory from my past life. My professor from medical school said, "An unskilled surgeon is no different than a killer."
He had meant it as a warning, a reminder of the responsibility of being a doctor. But with the experience of this life, I could confidently say—A skilled surgeon willing to kill is no different than the best killer in the world.
I glanced at the bandits, the ones still able to stand. "Load everything onto the carriages," I ordered, voice flat. "Then start walking."
One of them swallowed hard. "W-Where?"
THUCK
I killed the guy who asked the question with a single throw of my kunai. The clan leader's focus on me and his upbringing was cruel and controlling. But it made me a shinobi.
The colour drained from Bandit's face. They knew what I meant by my kill.
No protests came. They were too terrified to resist.
I watched them move, sluggish at first, then with urgency as they carried the stolen loot onto the wagons. Their former hideout had nothing left worth salvaging—not after I had cut through them like livestock.
Once the last crate was secured, I gestured for them to start walking. They obeyed, trudging forward, haunted eyes locked onto the ground.
It took time, but we eventually arrived at a clearing where Jizen had set up camp. The air smelled of burnt wood and damp earth. The children sat in small clusters, their faces unreadable.
One boy—Hiro, I think his name was—looked deadly pale, his hands trembling against his knees.
I didn't bother acknowledging it. There was nothing to say about the captured bandit's absence. Whatever happened was not talked about.
Instead, I turned to Jizen. His legs were gone, severed clean below the knee, but his presence hadn't dimmed. His expression was neutral as he met my gaze.
"Your turn," I told him.
Jizen smirked, wheeling himself forward. "Figured as much."
The bandits stiffened. They had thought themselves lucky, spared from my massacre. They hadn't realised yet—this was worse.
Despite lacking legs, Jizen was a chunin-level shinobi. Despite having no legs, his chakra and experience made him a force beyond anything these men had ever faced. But this wasn't about him. It was about them—the children.
One by one, the bandits were tied up by Jizen and handed over.
One by one, the children were made to kill.
I sat against a tree, eyes half-lidded as I listened. The first few kills were loud—screams, struggling, the desperate thrashing of men who had never fought for their lives before.
Then came the retching.
The choking sobs.
The silence.
Everyone vomited after their first kill. Karui hesitated for too long, her cut messy, leaving her opponent to bleed out painfully. Momosuke, to his credit, didn't waver. His kill was swift. Efficient.
But the rest of the kids. Clearly, far too small and too childish, they were messy with their first kills.
Each death, each fresh wave of sickness from the children, made something twist in my gut.
Especially little Hiro, He couldn't cut the throat properly. Not the first nor the second time.
Disgust.
Revulsion.
Not at them—but at myself.
To think I had once found fault with the clan leader for doing the same to me. At least, I didn't give them a baby to kill, just like the clan leader had done so in my case.
Of course, it was my refusal to do the deed on a baby that revealed to the clan leader that he lacks control over me. Hence, it became the beginning of a series of suffocating years in which he tried to bind a leash around me, from rewards to subtle threats.
It was after a dreadfully long time; the clearing revealed a dozen kids covered in blood. Unlike the aimless, hopeless eyes I remembered seeing when I woke up in the ruins, their eyes now held a hint of dark, burning flames of revenge and self-disgust.
Good, as much as it pains me, I was happy that they looked alive.
Now, I need to find a way for them to stay human as much as a shinobi can, not some kind of revenge-obsessed monsters.
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Days passed. Then weeks.
It was when we entered the Land of rice paddies that I thought it was safe to approach the human settlements again. The one advantage of this cruel era was that it made pursuing enemies beyond their clan's territory almost impossible.
Of course, it was only if you weren't Madara Uchiha who chased the Chinoke clan all the way across the continent, to the land of hot water. Our next destination, where we would set off from its docks towards the Land of Whirlpools.
"…. Damn, it seems the Uchihas have once more produced another monster."
"Yes, the craziest thing was that this one was still a decade away from his peak strength."
"Damn it."
I could understand their feelings, especially when I looked back at the scorched forest path that was the result of his ninjutsu. As I said, Madara Uchiha chased the clan across the continent.
The kids looked in awe at the scene. It makes me giddy that they managed to show another emotion. Good.
Now, I need to do more.
I took out at least 10,000 ryo, which was quite a generous amount. The ryo's value had not depreciated like in the hidden village era, where even an elite jonin like Asuma was worth millions of ryo. In this current era, only two men could hold such bounties.
Hence, this money was enough to entertain the kids.
"Momosuke-kun, take this money and have some walking sticks made for Jizen."
The walking sticks were just an excuse. The old man's looks said the same. A shinobi like him could crawl at a faster speed than the average civilian's running speed. But the kids needed to do something.
With an exasperated look, Jizen took the kids with him to buy walking sticks.
Hopefully, they like the food in this country. I found the kids more comfortable with Jizen than with me.
Frankly, it was shocking because the old man scared away many kids from my generation when the clan was still around. In a way, his motivations, except for the loyalty to the clan, were a mystery. He didn't marry or take up a surname despite his strength.
Thankfully, I knew the reason for the Daimyo's extreme retaliation from his contacts. Well, not so extreme when I found the reason. The stupid clan leader had apparently intervened in the politics between the Daimyo's heirs, all behind the backs of the majority of the kyudo clan. And even worse, he was found out. Fuck, no wonder the Daimyo ordered the clan eradication.
Clearing those thoughts from my mind, I began checking the prices of goods in the market.
"3 Ryo for one pack of clothes."
"1 kg of chilli for 10 ryo."
On and on the prices went; it was the same in each place we stopped by in the land. Clearly, the rice was the cheapest product in the land of rice. Oh!
"LISTEN WELL! THE NOBLE OF KOMODO WILL BE PASSING BY THE TOWN, TOWARDS THE LAND OF WHIRLPOOL. MERCHANTS WHO ASPIRE TO SEEK THE LORD'S PROTECTION, COME FORWARD!"
Well, we were in luck. Generally, the noble processions were well guarded by prominent clans with at least a dozen jonin. The protection fee paid meant safe passage.
Looking at the Aburame clan heading some dozens of shinobi from various clans, I felt envious of their kekkai genkai. Especially the multiple insects that infest their bodies, making them leave behind most of the time and effort needed for hand signs or chakra conversion.
It was a surprise for me to know that the Aburame clan was residing in the land of rice, considering they were part of Konoha at the time of canon. However, it was normal, given the times.
The Aburame choose to live in an abundant-resource region that suits the growth of their insects. However, it made me wonder if they found a better place, will they migrate?
--------------Land of Hot water------------
[Processing the data from host: Rumours, terrains, and evidence.
Cross-referencing the geology of the land of Hot Water
Estimating the current position of the Chinoke clan.]
Unlike the hidden village era, the current name of the hell water valley was unknown. Making me resort to this. As for why, it was something.
When we finally arrived after a safe stroll in the land of hot water and its hot springs, the sight before us was unlike anything I had ever seen.
The harbour city sprawled out before us, filled with ships, nobles and their entourage, merchants, and shinobi. Not just from one village or region—but from everywhere. Uchiha, Hyūga, Hōzuki, and even some lesser-known clans from the Land of Water and beyond.
The neutrality was surprising. No one fought. No one even exchanged hostile glares. It was as if an unspoken rule kept everyone in check.
I stood beside Hiro, who had developed a knack for numbers, watching him stare in quiet awe as the spices we brought were exchanged for crates of ryo.
"This," I said, patting one of our carriages, signalling their contents, "is why we held onto this instead of selling earlier in the inland of hot water. Here at the edge of the continent, the prices will definitely be higher."
Hiro glanced at the wooden crates, filled with dried chilli peppers. "Because the price is higher here?"
"Not just higher," I corrected, smirking. "3 times higher."
His eyes widened.
I gestured toward the market, where merchants haggled loudly over exotic goods. "Different climates, different demands. What's common in one region is gold in another. Dried chilli is cheap inland, but here, where valued spices are traded with merchants from foreign nations? They'll pay anything. I am sure they will sell the spices at an even higher rate back in their country."
Hiro absorbed my words like a sponge. The kid had potential, especially in trade. A crucial skill needed for a shinobi. Either for trade themselves or for the protection of the merchants who hired them.
Anyways, he was talented in terms of economics, and that was a surprise for me.
It made all the money I spent on the hot springs worth it. Each dip in the hot springs brought life to their skin and their own faces. With life in them, they began to show interest in multiple things.
However, the biggest reason for that was the lack of bandit attacks in the land of hot water. It was surprising. Even in the land of rice, despite being part of its noble procession of merchants, we were attacked. Yet, in the land of hot water, we weren't.
It made me curious and want to find the reason.
But what caught my attention next was even more remarkable.
Among the crowds were children. Shinobi children.
For the first time since the extermination of our clan, my group of orphans saw others like them.
I watched their reactions closely. There was no excitement, no curiosity—just a quiet observation.
Mine lacked the innocence of childhood.
They didn't point, didn't chatter with excitement.
They measured the other children. Calculated their strengths. Weighed their worth.
Some of the other shinobi children—particularly the Uchiha and Hyūga—mirrored the same cautious gaze. But it wasn't surprising considering the nature of those clans.
Still, everyone maintained civility and peace.
Because this was a colony city under the rule of the Land of Whirlpools. The only place in the world that could be considered a tourist destination. A hub of knowledge. Making it a sealed pot of safety.
And we were here to buy our place in it.
I took the heavy boxes from our carriages—gold, silver, coins, and the wealth we had acquired from selling and looting bandits along the way.
With a steady stride, I led my group to the wide desk at the entrance of the city. A red-haired man—an Uzumaki—sat behind it, lazily watching as shinobi came and went.
I slammed the boxes down, one after another.
The sound of the boxes echoed in the silent crowd.
"A dozen tickets," I said, voice firm. "Each is worth eight years of residence in the city."
A ripple of whispers spread through the surrounding shinobi. Sure, the Uzumaki allowed tourists and even allowed asylum for nobles and some shinobi. But a residence for so long was rare.
Eight years.
That alone said enough about us—refugees from an exterminated clan. Though the Uzumaki officially didn't accept refugees, they welcomed students who paid the price.
But the Uzumaki are no saints to accept refugees with kind hearts; the moment the time limit on our ridiculous expense was completed, we would be vacated with brutal efficiency.
However, we were both students and refugees. Though this massive wealth was only an entrance fee.
The Uzumaki man barely reacted. With a flick of his wrist, he unsealed a massive scroll, forming a poof of smoke as wealth that was salvaged from the Kyudo clan vanished into storage.
The kids bit back their voices, causing some to choke in sorrow. Because the boxes represented the last of their clan. Sure, I traded the original salvaged products for various other items multiple times on the journey here, but at the end of the day, these boxes were the last of the Kyudo clan for the kids. Still, seeing most of them spent in a single instance must be painful.
Unlike them, I watched, memorising every line of the sealing technique.
My eyes glinted with greed. This was the reason I was here.
This was the reason every shinobi came here.
Fūinjutsu.
The Land of Whirlpools was the birthplace of Fuin art. The only known place in the world that taught even its basics.Though, of course, at a very steep price. But, the Uzumaki don't know that the profit I make from this learning deal will far exceed the price I pay them.
My AI chimed as I started sensing the terrain ahead.
------------------------------------------------------------------
---Note : Mc's progress will shown in bold letters in each Profile at the end of chapter.-------
Profile
Name: Kyudo Kirito
Age: 16 years, 4 months
Chakra: 7000 [Chunin] [Growth 100+]
Physique: Elite Chunin
Chakra Control: S
Chakra Control Exercises: Rasengan Balloons
Nature Transformations:
Water Release: 800/1000 [B-rank] [Growth 40+]
Taijutsu: Chakra Scalpel Precision Combat: 600/1000 [A-rank]
Kenjutsu: Medic Scalpel -????? [Theoretical]
Genjutsu: None
Ninjutsu:
General Ninjutsu:
Academy 3 [D-rank]
Body Flicker – 200/1000 [ C-rank]
Medical Ninjutsu:
Mystic Palm Jutsu: 1000/1000 [A-rank] Chakra Scalpel: 1000/1000 [A-rank]
Water Release:
Water Bullet [C] Water Severing Waves [B] Hidden Water Mist [C] Water Hidden Cutter [C]
Other Skills:
Chakra Disruption: 600/1000 Chakra Augmentation: 300/ 1000 [B-rank] Advanced Sensory Techniques: 700 range [B-rank] Growth 200+
Training:
Weighted Training: 100 kg per limb, 350 kg vest (In progress) Sign Languages [B] Tracking [A] Information Analysis & Gathering [S]