"The world's not kind to the weak. That's why we have to become strong."
— Guts (Berserk)
--
"This land belongs to The Broken."
Commander Renji clicked his tongue as Otis folded the scroll. "Still a C-rank mission to the higher-ups, I guess," he muttered. "But those weren't average bandits. No tracks. No chakra residue. No survivors."
Otis's brow furrowed. He folded the scroll slowly,
"Understood," he said.
Renji leaned forward. His gaze was sharp, but tired. "You look young, boy. And you came alone. If you want to wait for reinforcements—"
Otis shook his head.
"I won't need them."
The commander paused, studying him a second longer before sighing. "Suit yourself. Just don't die out there."
Day 21
After checking in at the outpost, Otis finally allowed himself a few hours of rest.
The next morning, he was up before sunrise, tightening his cloak, ready to begin investigating the surrounding area before nightfall.
He didn't mind dealing with bandits.
They were a major problem in smaller villages—places that rarely had any real ninja. If they were lucky, they might have a Genin. Maybe a Chūnin. But Jōnin? That was a luxury. Rare. The kind of backup you'd only get if your village was right under the nose of a major Hidden Village.
But Otis had seen enough to know most bandits weren't born evil.
Many were just men whose homes had burned in war. Some had lost their families to other bandits. Others were simply starving—no coin, no food, nowhere to go. The cycle twisted them into monsters. Broke them. Turned them into something else. Not all. But most. They had no other way to survive. Banditry was all they had left.
And sometimes, Otis found himself wondering—
Maybe they weren't the real monsters.
Maybe we were.
The ones who let it get this far.
The ones who watched it happen… and looked away.
And sure, some were simply greedy thugs who preyed on merchants and nobles moving through these lesser-patrolled roads. The type who laughed as they killed, who enjoyed it.
But the ones that bothered him most… were the kids.
Otis hated it more than anything.
Children with blades in shaking hands. Faces in dirt, eyes dulled by hunger, and by grief. Orphans who had no one left. Some were barely older than Academy students. The ones who had nothing, nowhere to go, no one to guide them. Orphans who were pulled into gangs and grew up stealing, killing, surviving.
Otis considered himself lucky—lucky to have survived as long as he had, lucky to have found strength,
Because in this world? The wars had made more orphans than stars in the sky.
Not everyone was born into a Hidden Village where they could fall into an orphanage or academy. Not everyone had a roof or warm rice balls at night… by someone who cared for them. Otis had lost count of how many children he'd seen lying in alleyways—cold, starved to death. Their bodies were nothing more than empty husks and their eyes blank. Just another forgotten soul the world would never remember.
And where were the nobles? The Fire Daimyō? The ones sipping rice wine in their polished halls, wearing gold and diamond on their fingers?
Nowhere. Doing nothing.
Nothing at all
Because they didn't care.
And that was the truth Otis had learned the hard way.
A truth he still hadn't learned to live with.
***
About half a day's walk southeast, there was a small village. Barely marked on any map. Nothing special.
Otis adjusted the strap of his bag and started walking.
Kibana.
A handful of wooden houses stood clustered near a narrow stream, with farmlands stretching behind them. There was no wall. No gate. Just quiet.
Just silence.
Too much silence.
As Otis walked in, a few villagers peeked from behind shutters. Children stopped playing and ran indoors.
He passed a well, its crank rotting. A shrine sat on the edge of the village, cracked and covered in vines. Something about the place felt... still. Not peaceful. Just empty.
A single man, hunched over a cart of firewood, gave him a wary glance—then looked away.
Otis slowed his steps.
No laughter. No markets. No livestock sounds. Just the wind through the trees and the sound of his boots on earth.
He spotted a hand-painted sign nailed to a post near the well:
"This land belongs to The Broken."
(Pic)
Village Hut
He found the elder's home at the highest point of the village—a small hut built partly into the hillside. Smoke rose from the chimney. Otis knocked on the door
A pause.
The door creaked open, and an old woman looked up at him with tired, sunken eyes. Her fingers clutched the edge of the doorframe tightly.
"You're from the Leaf," she whispered, her gaze drifting to the headband tied loosely at Otis's shoulder. "Did something happen, ninja-sama?"
Otis gave a quiet nod. "I'm here because of bandit activity. There were reports."
She didn't smile.
"There are no bandits in the village," she said calmly. "It seems you were… mistaken."
A beat passed.
Otis's gaze remained steady. "Then what about the sign near the well? 'This land belongs to The Broken.'"
The old woman didn't change her expression—though she tried to.
"That's… just a name. A word we use," she said after a moment, her voice carefully measured. "The 'Broken' are what we call those left behind. Those abandoned by nobles and shinobi during the wars. We found each other. That's all."
Otis didn't respond. Just listened.
"We only have ourselves now," she added. "You'll find many more villages nearby with the same signboard. It means nothing official, ninja-sama. Nothing… dangerous."
But Otis could see it, even though she tried to hide it
The flick of her fingers. The tension in her shoulders. The subtle tightness in her throat when she swallowed. She was definitely hiding something.
But Otis didn't press it.
He would find another way.
Instead, he gave a small nod and stepped back. "Thank you for your time."
The door creaked closed.
Behind it, the old woman stood still for a long while—her eyes watching through the narrow slit in the door, fixed on Otis's back as he walked away.
--
Author's Note:
Otis walks into a creepy, silent village, gets cryptic answers from a suspicious old lady, and just… leaves politely. Me, as the author? Yeah, I'd be dead already. I would've accepted her tea and woken up missing at least two kidneys.
--
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