The moon was a sharp sliver in the sky, casting long, distorted shadows through the wooded pass. It was the same pass where they had been ambushed weeks ago, but tonight, Kaelen and his three companions moved with the silent, predatory confidence of wolves returning to a familiar haunt. They carried their grim props: the massive, horned skull of the gator-lizard, a selection of its largest bones, and several broken swords and shields from the outpost's scrap heap.
There was no wasted motion. Under Kaelen's precise direction, they became artists of deception. Brandt, using his brute strength, bent a steel sword around a tree trunk and splintered a shield against a boulder, mimicking the force of a monstrous impact. Hake and Finn, using their tracking skills in reverse, created a chaotic tableau of footprints—the deep, gouging tracks of the "monster" and the desperate, slipping prints of men in a losing battle. They scattered torn scraps of cloth bearing the von Hess insignia, stained with gator-lizard blood, on the thorny branches of bushes.
Kaelen orchestrated it all, his two-tomoe Sharingan taking in the entire scene. He was not just seeing details; he was seeing a narrative. "Brandt, drag that shield another ten feet," he would command softly. "Finn, the prints here are too orderly. Scuff them. There should be a sign of a man being dragged."
He placed the massive skull himself, positioning it in the center of the clearing where it would be the first thing any search party would see. It was a terrifying, undeniable statement: something inhuman had been here.
The final act was the most perilous. The four of them climbed the unstable ridge overlooking the pass. Using long, sturdy tree limbs as levers, they pushed against the key stones that held the scree slope in place. For a moment, there was only the grating sound of rock against rock. Then, with a deep, groaning crack, the ridge gave way.
A thunderous roar echoed through the night as tons of rock, earth, and dead trees cascaded down into the pass. The ground shook beneath their feet, and the air filled with the choking dust of ages. When the last rock had settled, they looked down upon their masterpiece.
The pass was choked, the evidence of their "last stand" artfully, chaotically buried. It was a perfect scene of violence and natural disaster. The Blackwood garrison had not just been killed; they had been erased.
The journey back to The Mire was quiet and contemplative. The weight of their final, irreversible act settled upon them. They were ghosts now, untethered from the world they had known.
"It's a strange feeling," Brandt said, his voice raspy in the pre-dawn stillness. "Knowing the world will move on without you. That your name is now just a footnote in some dusty report."
"The name 'Brandt' is dead," Kaelen replied, his voice as calm as the still air. "He was a sergeant who died honorably in service to a Baron who saw him as disposable. Kaelen von Hess died with him."
He paused, looking at his most trusted subordinate. "I have a new name now. The only name I will answer to."
"My lord?" Brandt asked.
"Uchiha," he said. The name felt right on his tongue, a declaration of his true nature. "My name is Uchiha."
Brandt was silent for a long moment, processing the finality of it. He then gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Lord Uchiha," he affirmed. A new loyalty for a new man.
As they moved through the last stretch of woods, nearing the secret perimeter of their home, Kaelen's Sharingan caught an anomaly. A flicker of heat. A small, guarded campfire deep off the path where no fire should be.
He raised a hand, bringing the group to a silent halt. He motioned for Finn, the lightest on his feet, to follow him. The two of them melted into the undergrowth, circling around towards the camp.
What they found confirmed Kaelen's suspicion. Two rough, heavily armed men lay sleeping near the low-burning fire. Their gear was that of bounty hunters or slavers. A few feet away, chained to a tree inside a crude but strong iron cage, was a woman. She was covered in dirt and her clothes were torn, but she held her head high. Her hands, visible through the bars, were strong and calloused, with the specific scars and burns of a blacksmith or an artisan. Her eyes, even in the dim light, burned with a defiant, unbroken fire.
Kaelen's mind processed the variables with cold, swift logic. Threat: Two unknown, armed men, too close to his hidden base. Their presence was an unacceptable risk. Asset: A woman who was clearly a skilled craftsperson—a resource his fledgling village desperately needed. Her hands told a story of hammer and forge, not servitude. It was an opportunity too valuable to ignore.
He slipped back to Brandt and Hake, his face an emotionless mask in the moonlight. He gave no speech. He offered no moral justification. He simply drew his sword and issued a series of silent, precise hand signals. Encircle. One on the left, one on the right. On my mark. No survivors.
His first act as Uchiha would not be to lay a foundation stone, but to spill blood. The tyrant inside him did not even question the necessity of it.