Chapter 5: Red Corpse
After his therapeutic stroll through Konoha's streets—where people still believed in happy endings and the Will of Fire actually meant something—Qifeng returned to the morgue as the sun surrendered to moonlight. The village looked almost beautiful in the hazy glow, like a postcard advertising "Come Die For Us!"
Several medical ninjas waited by the morgue entrance, looking about as comfortable as cats in a dog kennel. They handed over scrolls containing fresh corpses, exchanged the bare minimum of pleasantries, and fled like their scrubs were on fire.
Can't blame them. Even medical ninjas draw the line somewhere.
Qifeng appreciated the solitude. Just him, blessed silence, and a collection of conversationally-challenged roommates. Perfect company, really—the dead never complained about his life choices.
But when he began transferring bodies from the scrolls to the white-cloth-covered beds, something made him freeze mid-motion.
One male corpse—burly, battle-scarred, looking like he'd argued with a blender and lost—was glowing. Not the familiar white, green, or yellow he'd grown accustomed to, but red.
Faint, but definitely red.
White for genin, green for chunin, yellow for jonin, and red for...
His heart hammered against his ribs. Kage-level?
He shook his head immediately. Impossible. He knew every major Kage-level fighter in the ninja world by reputation, if not by sight. This guy, despite looking like he'd been through a meat grinder, was definitely not one of the big names.
Unless...
Maybe some unknown powerhouse? But really, if you were strong enough to challenge Kages and nobody knew your name, why come out now when the Third War was brewing? Anonymous badasses usually stayed anonymous for good reasons.
More likely elite jonin. Quasi-Kage. Still impressive enough to make my day.
The ninja ranking system was about as reliable as weather predictions anyway. Some genin could level mountains (*looking at you, future Naruto*), while some jonin couldn't handle a determined cat. Konoha was especially notorious for this—their genin were basically walking weapons of mass destruction.
"Better to anger a Konoha jonin than offend a Konoha genin." The saying existed for good reason.
But tonight's quota was already spent. No system prompts, no touching corpses, no lottery prizes. Just him, staring at a red-glowing corpse like a kid pressed against a candy store window with empty pockets.
This is torture. Actual, psychological torture.
It felt like being a gamer who'd just spotted legendary loot but ran out of internet time. The digital equivalent of blue balls.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll find out what goodies you're hiding.
"Consider it building suspense," he muttered, trying to convince himself this wasn't driving him slowly insane. "Maybe something amazing will drop."
Or maybe just another kunai. Because life loves crushing dreams.
Still had work to do, though. He cleaned wounds, mopped blood, organized the bodies with the care of someone who took pride in his craft—even if his craft was deeply, deeply weird.
By the time he finished, midnight had come and gone. Exhaustion was settling in when he heard it.
Cha, cha.
Footsteps. Subtle, but there. Someone moving around outside.
Midnight. Remote location. Forest nearby. Yeah, this screams "totally legitimate business."
If it were ANBU, they'd just walk in. They didn't do sneaky—they did terrifying and direct.
Qifeng frowned, alertness creeping up his spine like cold fingers. He was just a corpse-collecting genin, not Konoha's neighborhood watch. Plenty of stronger ninjas around to handle whatever this was.
Please just be passing through. Please just be someone taking a really, really weird midnight stroll.
He blew out the candle and stood perfectly still, becoming one with the shadows and the smell of antiseptic.
After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps faded. Whoever it was had apparently seen the lights go out and decided to find easier prey.
Crisis averted. Time to go home and pretend this never—
**CRASH!**
The window exploded inward in a shower of glass and moonlight. Five or six shuriken cut through the air with deadly precision, blocking every possible escape route with the kind of mathematical accuracy that suggested serious ninja training.
"Shit!" The curse slipped out as Qifeng's hand moved on pure instinct, kunai materializing in his palm. He deflected the projectiles in a rapid sequence of *ting-ting-ting*, sparks flying like tiny fireworks.
Just because I'm mediocre doesn't mean I'm helpless.
A year of missions with a team leader hadn't been wasted time. He'd learned the most important ninja skill of all: how not to die immediately.
He dove for cover by the window, pressing against the wall and peering outside. Moonlight illuminated a figure in standard ninja gear but no forehead protector—the universal uniform of "I'm definitely up to no good."
Foreign agent. Wonderful. Just what my evening needed.
The stranger stared back with eyes colder than a bureaucrat's heart.
Huoshi had been a sleeper agent for over a decade, an elite chunin specializing in infiltration. Through two wars, he'd fed information to Iwagakure while maintaining perfect cover. Now, finally, he had a mission worth exposing himself for.
The red-glowing corpse in that morgue was an Iwagakure ninja—not just any ninja, but one who knew village secrets that could change the balance of power. Retrieving that body would make him a hero, earn him a triumphant return to the homeland he'd left as a child.
All that stood between him and glory was one pathetic genin corpse collector.
Average strength. Mediocre talent. Should be simple.
The fact that the kid had deflected his attack was mildly surprising, but hardly concerning.
Quick and quiet. In and out before the ANBU notice.
Inside the morgue, Qifeng's mind raced. He's not here for me. He wants something in here.
His gaze fell on the red-glowing corpse. That's got to be it. Of course the first interesting corpse I get tries to walk away before I can loot it.
Can't let him take it. Not the corpse—that's sacred. Well, mostly sacred. But definitely not before I get my prizes!
Another problem: if they fought here, the morgue would be destroyed. Losing his job would be bad enough, but losing his future lottery opportunities? Unacceptable.
Time for tactical retreat. With prizes.
He moved fast, grabbing the scroll containing the red-glowing corpse and bolting for the back door. If he could reach the village proper, ANBU would handle the rest.
Sorry, mysterious dead guy. You're coming with me.
Huoshi watched the genin's surprisingly quick movements with growing alarm. He's running with the corpse!
If that kid reached help, the mission would fail spectacularly. Worse, his cover would be blown and he'd be hunted by every ninja in Konoha.
Not happening.
Without any hesitation, he chased after him at a speed greater than Qifeng.