Discarding
"..."
Hearing Nakamura's words, Shirō and the others fell silent, not daring to take another step forward.
Even Shikamaru and Shirō, who had already steeled themselves beforehand, couldn't help but hesitate.
Many things are like this—you believe you're ready, but when the moment comes, you realize you're not.
Death. Taking innocent lives.
When faced with such choices, fear and hesitation always follow.
Nakamura did not rush them. As he had said, he had lived through this once before. He knew how heavy this moment was. Any sane person would hesitate.
This, after all, is what separates people from animals.
Finally, Shikamaru moved first, taking slow steps forward. Tai Yi followed behind quietly, but his blood-red Sharingan eyes betrayed the storm raging in his heart.
Only Shirō remained in place. Nakamura said nothing, watching him with a calm yet heavy gaze.
Shirō's hands clenched and unclenched before he finally stepped forward, each footfall weighed down like lead.
The path toward the village ahead felt unbearably scorching, as though it was burning their resolve to ash. Every instinct screamed to turn back.
But they didn't.
Because for a shinobi, the mission always comes first.
And so, they reached the village.
Desperately, Shirō and the others prayed that the villagers before them were wicked—bandits, conspirators, traitors. That way, at least, they could convince themselves.
But reality was merciless.
What greeted them was a peaceful village. Ordinary, kind-hearted people.
The hunter who had waved at them earlier approached, this time with a small girl at his side, presumably his daughter. Both carried bowls of water.
"You, aren't you afraid of us? We're ninja," Shikamaru asked quietly.
The hunter only smiled, cheerful and unguarded. "I know. But not all ninja are bad people. I can tell."
He ruffled his daughter's hair. "We've been helped by shinobi before. My daughter was saved from the jaws of a giant beast thanks to one."
"That's right, big brother, here's some water for you!" The girl giggled, holding up a bowl. Her wide eyes sparkled. "Your eyes are so pretty—so red."
"...Aren't you afraid?" Tai Yi asked, voice trembling. His Sharingan glimmered faintly.
"Nope! Big brother is a good person. Li'er isn't afraid!"
"That's right!" She puffed out her chest. "Don't underestimate me just 'cause I'm small! Li'er's even helped ninja adults before! One day, I'll become a ninja too!"
"...Do many ninjas pass through here?" Tai Yi's voice quavered again.
The hunter, misunderstanding his fear, smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. The ones who come here are kind. Not the bad ones."
"...Is that so? Then, Uncle..." Tai Yi's lips trembled. "I'm sorry. We've let you down."
"Huh? What do you mea—"
"Pfft!"
The kunai pierced clean through.
"Y-You!"
"I'm sorry!"
"Dad!"
Another thrust. Blood spilled across the ground.
"Sorry… sorry… sorry…"
Tai Yi fell to his knees, clutching Li'er's small, cooling body, trembling as his Sharingan spun wildly—its tomoe whirling faster and faster.
"Ah! Murder!"
"Run!"
The other villagers screamed, scattering in all directions.
Shikamaru instinctively stepped forward to stop them, but Shirō caught his arm.
"Enough, Shikamaru. Leave it to me."
He looked at the fleeing villagers, a bitter smile curling his lips.
"Projection begins. Unfold—Three Thousand Worlds."
In an instant, countless matchlock rifles shimmered into existence, surrounding Shirō. Their barrels all aimed outward.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The air was filled with deafening gunfire. Villagers collapsed one after another, their terrified screams cut short.
---
Three Thousand Worlds
Rank: E~A — Anti-Army Noble Phantasm
The three-stage volley of Nagashino. Three thousand rifles, unleashed at once.
Though famed for breaking the strongest cavalry regiment of the Sengoku era, even against those without Riding Skills, three thousand simultaneous shots are more than enough to slaughter unarmed villagers.
---
Shirō forced himself not to look away, locking his gaze on the dying faces before him, branding them into his memory. If nightmares came later, then let those spirits take their revenge on him.
Beside him, Shikamaru stared at the fallen hunter and his daughter, lips pressed tightly shut.
At last, the final villager fell. The rifles dissolved into nothingness, leaving only silence and corpses behind.
Shirō bent down, setting the untouched bowl of water beside the hunter's body.
"I'm sorry. I'm not worthy of this drink. I hope, in your next life… you never meet shinobi again."
He stood, shoulders heavy. Shikamaru and Shirō worked wordlessly to disguise the massacre, scattering signs of a mountain bandit raid.
They could not bury the bodies. They could not even cover them.
That knowledge deepened the weight crushing their hearts.
When they finished, Tai Yi finally rose. His Sharingan faded, but his dark eyes carried a depth that hadn't been there before. His aura was colder, heavier.
To Shirō, he seemed almost like Uchiha Itachi—the same haunted calm in his eyes.
But Tai Yi wasn't the only one changed. Shikamaru too seemed more composed, his youthful sharpness tempered.
And Shirō himself… knew he had discarded something important today.
Because the truth was simple: they weren't strong enough.
If they had been, Nakamura would never have asked them to stain their hands with this.
If they were even at Hatake Sakumo's level, no one would dare stand against them.
But they weren't.
Nakamura's face was unreadable, though his eyes flickered with pain. He had lived through this same trial when he was sixteen—and it had left scars. He did not want them to bear the same burden, but there had been no choice.
"Captain," Shirō asked softly, his voice hollow. "...Is this enough?"
"...It's enough." Nakamura met his gaze, but for the first time, he wondered if he had made a mistake.
Their route was carefully scouted. Ordinary villagers should never have been here. And yet they were. Which meant… perhaps someone above had planned this from the start.
Because shinobi are tools. And those in power only ever want tools sharp enough to cut—but never to question why.
And in that moment, a new thought quietly took root in Shirō's heart:
Perhaps… the era of shinobi should end.
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