The valley matched the intelligence map with precise accuracy. Steep walls rose on both sides, their surfaces covered in dense vegetation that would mask anyone positioned along the ridges. The dirt road below wound through the valley floor in a meandering path that forced travelers to move slowly through the narrow space. The terrain provided ideal conditions for an ambush with multiple elevated positions and limited escape routes.
Muzan crouched behind a cluster of rocks on the western ridge, his body pressed low to minimize his silhouette against the night sky. Below him, the road cut through the valley like a pale scar in the darkness. His transformed vision picked out details that normal human eyes would miss: the texture of individual stones in the road surface, the patterns of disturbed earth where previous travelers had passed, the way moonlight reflected off moisture in the air.
Amanai occupied a position approximately ten feet to Muzan's left, concealed behind a different rock formation. Naroi and Masai had spread out further down the ridge at intervals that would allow them to converge on the road from multiple angles simultaneously. All four of them remained completely silent and motionless, their breathing controlled to avoid making even the slightest sound that might carry down into the valley.
Across the gap, Miyako's squad would be positioned along the eastern ridge in similar concealment. Muzan couldn't see any of them despite his enhanced senses, which proved they were maintaining proper discipline. The entire point of an ambush was remaining invisible until the moment of attack.
Moonlight broke through gaps in the cloud cover and illuminated sections of the valley floor in shifting patterns. The variable lighting would make it harder for the convoy guards to spot threats, while the Uchiha's Sharingan-enhanced vision would function perfectly in the low light conditions.
Muzan settled in to wait, knowing from his limited training that patience was often the most important skill in combat operations. Most actual shinobi engagements lasted only minutes once fighting began, but the preparation and waiting could extend for hours or even days depending on the target's schedule and route.
An hour passed without any sign of movement on the road below. Muzan's transformed body didn't experience the muscle fatigue and joint stiffness that would have affected normal shinobi maintaining a crouch for that duration, but he was careful to shift his weight occasionally to maintain the appearance of being human.
Another hour crawled by with agonizing slowness. The clouds continued their drift across the moon, alternating between darkness and pale illumination. Small animals moved through the undergrowth along the valley walls, their passage creating sounds that Muzan's hearing identified and dismissed as non-threatening.
"Where are they?" Masai's voice was barely audible even to Muzan's enhanced hearing, a whisper so quiet it wouldn't carry more than a few feet.
"Patience," Amanai replied with equal quiet.
Thirty more minutes passed before Muzan detected the first sign of approach. A faint rumbling sound carried through the earth, the vibration of wooden wheels rolling over packed dirt. The sound was coming from the direction intelligence had predicted, approaching at the slow pace of laden wagons pulled by horses.
Muzan's body tensed automatically and his hand moved to his kunai pouch, fingers curling around a blade's handle without drawing it yet.
The rumbling grew steadily louder as the convoy approached the valley entrance. Three wagons came into view around a bend in the road, each one pulled by a pair of horses moving at a walking pace. The wheels creaked with each rotation, the sound echoing slightly off the valley walls.
Muzan scanned the convoy carefully, analyzing what he could observe from his elevated position. No visible guards walked alongside the wagons. No outriders preceded or followed the main body. Just three drivers, one per wagon, sitting on the front benches and guiding their horses forward with practiced ease.
The setup seemed too simple, too exposed. Intelligence had predicted at least ten guards accompanying the convoy to protect whatever supplies warranted this level of transportation. Where were they?
Muzan's eyes focused on the wagons themselves. Each one was covered with heavy canvas stretched across wooden frames, concealing whatever cargo they carried. The canvas hung in natural folds that could easily hide multiple people crouched inside. Anyone watching the convoy approach would see only the drivers and assume they were civilian merchants rather than military transport.
It was a deception strategy. The guards were hidden inside the wagons, ready to respond to any threat that revealed itself.
The convoy rolled forward into the deeper section of valley, the horses' hooves creating steady rhythmic impacts against the packed earth. The first wagon passed beneath Muzan's position on the ridge. Then the second wagon moved past while Amanai's raised hand continued to signal that they should wait.
The third wagon was almost directly below their positions when Amanai's hand dropped in the attack signal.
Ichiro appeared on the road behind the convoy, his body materializing from concealment with the speed technique most experienced shinobi could perform. His hands flew through rapid seal formations and his voice carried clearly in the confined space. "Earth Style: Earth Wall!"
The ground erupted violently as earth and stone responded to his chakra manipulation. A massive wall burst upward from the road surface and grew to fifteen feet high in seconds, completely blocking the path the convoy had traveled to enter the valley. The wall was thick and solid enough that breaking through it would require significant time and effort.
The wagon drivers reacted with inhuman speed that betrayed their true nature. They weren't civilians. Their hands moved to weapons before the earth wall had finished forming.
The canvas covering all three wagons exploded outward as concealed shinobi burst from inside. Muzan counted rapidly as figures emerged in a coordinated response: six, seven, eight, nine. More than intelligence had predicted, which meant either their information had been incomplete or the Sarutobi had increased security for this specific convoy.
"Now!" Miyako's voice rang out from somewhere on the eastern ridge, giving the final attack command.
Both Uchiha squads launched themselves from their concealed positions simultaneously. Muzan jumped from his hiding place and the ground rushed up toward him as gravity accelerated his descent. He landed in a controlled crouch with both legs absorbing the impact, his right hand already holding a kunai drawn from his pouch during the fall.
A Sarutobi shinobi spun toward him, the man's hand reaching for the weapon pouch strapped to his thigh. Muzan's body moved before his conscious mind processed the decision to attack. His kunai drove forward in a thrust that punched through the soft tissue of the man's throat, the blade grinding against vertebrae as it penetrated deep.
Blood sprayed from the severed arteries in a hot arc that splashed across Muzan's face and chest. The sensation was warm and wet, coating his skin in a layer of copper-scented fluid. The Sarutobi made a wet gurgling sound as his hands clutched uselessly at his destroyed throat, unable to form the seals necessary for any technique. He collapsed forward and Muzan stepped aside to let the body fall.
Muzan yanked his blade free with a twisting motion that widened the wound further. His hands remained steady without the trembling that had affected him after his first kill. The hollow feeling in his chest hadn't disappeared but it no longer paralyzed him with doubt.
Around him, the ambush exploded into chaotic violence as both squads engaged the convoy guards simultaneously from multiple directions. Amanai moved between two Sarutobi shinobi with speed that left afterimages, his tanto opening both their throats with surgical precision before either could complete a defensive technique. Naroi's blade flashed in rapid arcs that carved through flesh and bone, each strike calculated to disable or kill instantly. Masai crashed into an enemy combatant like a battering ram and drove the man backward into one of the wagons with enough force to splinter the wooden frame.
On the opposite side of the engagement, Miyako moved through three opponents in the space of seconds. Her three-tomoe Sharingan tracked every movement before it happened, allowing her to position her blade precisely where her enemies would be rather than where they currently stood. Asuka and Ichiro flanked a fourth opponent with practiced coordination, their strikes coming from angles that forced him to choose which attack to block while the other landed.
Muzan's attention snapped back to his immediate surroundings as another Sarutobi rushed toward him from the left. The woman had short-cropped hair and killing intent evident in her focused expression and aggressive approach. Three shuriken flew from her hand in a spread pattern designed to limit his evasion options.
The projectiles came fast enough that a normal shinobi might have struggled to track them. Muzan twisted his body and felt one whistle past his ear close enough that the air displacement stirred his hair. Another grazed his shoulder and opened a shallow cut that his regeneration immediately began sealing beneath his clothing where the healing wouldn't be visible. The third shuriken he caught out of the air with his left hand, his transformed reflexes making the interception look almost casual.
The woman's eyes widened slightly at the catch, her expression showing surprise at his speed. Muzan threw the captured shuriken back at her without hesitation, reversing its trajectory.
She dodged to the side but the thrown weapon forced her to move in a predictable direction, committing her momentum to a path Muzan could anticipate. She closed the remaining distance between them with her tanto drawn, slashing at his midsection in a horizontal cut designed to disembowel.
Muzan leaned backward and let the blade pass inches from his torso, then sidestepped as she followed up with a thrust aimed at his heart. His left hand shot out and caught her wrist mid-strike, his fingers wrapping around the joint with crushing pressure. He twisted sharply and felt the bones snap under the applied torque.
She screamed in pain as her hand spasmed and dropped the tanto. Muzan's kunai found her ribs in three rapid thrusts, the blade punching through flesh and scraping against bone with each strike. He felt the resistance as metal encountered organs, then the sudden give as the blade penetrated vital structures.
The woman collapsed and her body went limp as shock and blood loss shut down her systems. Muzan felt no hesitation during the sequence, just mechanical execution of techniques drilled into him during training combined with his transformed body's natural advantages.
A massive shadow fell across him as moonlight was blocked by an enormous figure. Muzan looked up to see an Akimichi clan member standing eight feet tall with his arms and torso swollen to twice their normal size. The giant's fist expanded even further until it was the size of a boulder, chakra glowing beneath the stretched skin.
"Partial Expansion Jutsu!"
The massive fist descended toward Muzan's position like a siege weapon, carrying enough force to crater stone and pulverize bone. Muzan threw himself sideways in a desperate roll as the enlarged fist impacted where he'd been standing moments before. The ground exploded under the strike, sending dirt and rocks flying outward in a destructive radius. The shockwave caught Muzan mid-roll and knocked him off balance, sending him tumbling across the ground.
Before the Akimichi could capitalize on Muzan's compromised position, Naroi appeared behind the giant with his tanto already moving. The blade opened a deep gash across the back of the Akimichi's knee, severing tendons and compromising the joint's structural integrity. The massive shinobi's leg buckled under his own weight and he toppled forward, unable to maintain balance on the crippled limb.
Naroi's blade followed the giant down and punched through his eye socket, driving deep into brain tissue. The Akimichi's body convulsed once then went still as death came instantly.
"Keep moving!" Naroi was already running toward another engagement before the body had finished falling.
Muzan pushed himself to his feet and sprinted toward the nearest wagon, his legs carrying him across the blood-soaked ground in rapid strides. A Sarutobi shinobi was climbing out from inside the wagon's covered interior, his hands reaching for weapons as he emerged.
Muzan grabbed him by the hair before he could fully exit and slammed his face into the wagon's wooden edge with brutal force. The wood cracked under the impact and the man's nose shattered in a spray of blood and cartilage. Muzan slammed his face into the edge again with increased force, feeling bone break and flesh tear. The Sarutobi went limp and Muzan released his grip, letting the unconscious or dead body drop to the ground.
He turned away from the wagon and a kunai flew at his face from a new attacker. Muzan jerked his head to the side and felt the blade graze his cheek, opening a shallow cut that immediately began healing in the darkness where the regeneration would go unnoticed.
A young Sarutobi stood fifteen feet away with his hand already drawing another kunai from his pouch for a follow-up throw. Muzan caught the second projectile mid-flight with his left hand and reversed its momentum, whipping it back at the thrower in one smooth motion.
The Sarutobi dodged to the left but Muzan was already closing the distance between them. Three rapid strides brought him within striking range and his knee drove up into the man's gut with enough force to lift him off his feet. The Sarutobi folded around the impact as air was driven from his lungs. Muzan grabbed the back of his head with both hands and brought his knee up into his face with crushing power.
Teeth shattered under the impact and blood sprayed across Muzan's leg as the man's jaw broke. The Sarutobi collapsed into an unconscious heap at Muzan's feet.
Muzan's breathing remained controlled and steady throughout the sequence. His heart rate had elevated but not to the point where it affected his combat efficiency. Something fundamental had changed in how he approached violence. He wasn't thinking anymore, wasn't analyzing each decision. His body was simply reacting to threats and neutralizing them through the most efficient methods available.
"Muzan! Behind you!"
The warning came from Masai but Muzan was already spinning in response to a threat his enhanced senses had detected a fraction of a second earlier. A massive fireball hurtled toward his position, chakra-infused flames that would incinerate flesh and bone on contact.
Masai tackled him from the side with his shoulder driving into Muzan's ribs. They hit the ground hard and rolled as the fireball screamed overhead close enough that Muzan felt the heat wash over his exposed skin. The flames slammed into one of the wagons and the wooden structure exploded, pieces of burning debris scattering across the battlefield.
"Pay attention to your surroundings!" Masai shoved Muzan away and both of them rolled in opposite directions to create separation.
Muzan came up on his feet with his kunai ready, scanning for the source of the fire technique. Across the battlefield, Miyako was engaged with what appeared to be the convoy's commander based on his equipment and the way the other Sarutobi had been positioned to protect him. The man was clearly a high-level combatant based on the speed and precision of his movements. Their blades clashed in rapid exchanges that created sparks with each impact.
"Amanai!" Miyako's voice cut through the chaos with clear command. "Priority target!"
Amanai disengaged from his current opponent by opening the man's throat with a vicious slash, then blurred toward the jonin with speed that suggested he was channeling significant chakra into his movement. The Sarutobi leader saw him approaching and his hands flew through rapid seal formations, his fingers moving too fast for normal human eyes to track.
"Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!"
A dozen small fireballs erupted from the shinobi's mouth and scattered in multiple directions like a shotgun blast of flame. Each fireball was the size of a human head and carried enough heat to cause severe burns on contact.
Amanai wove between the fireballs with reflexes enhanced by his three-tomoe Sharingan, his body twisting and changing direction mid-stride to avoid the projectiles. One of the flames caught his left arm and singed the fabric of his sleeve along with the skin beneath, but he didn't slow his approach.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat and engaged the shinobi in close combat alongside Miyako. Now the Sarutobi leader faced two highly skilled opponents simultaneously, both of them using the Sharingan to predict and counter his movements.
The shinobi was skilled enough that he managed to hold both attackers at bay for several seconds, his blade moving in precise defensive arcs that deflected strikes from multiple angles. But maintaining defense against two coordinated opponents with enhanced perception was an impossible task over any extended duration.
Miyako feinted a high strike toward the shinobi's head, drawing his defensive response upward. Amanai struck low in the opening she'd created, his kunai slipping through the gap in the man's defense and burying itself in his side between his ribs.
The shinobi gasped as the blade penetrated deep into his torso, compromising his breathing and sending blood flooding into his chest cavity. He stumbled backward with his coordination failing as shock began to set in.
Miyako's tanto flashed in a horizontal slash that took the shinobi's head from his shoulders. The severed head hit the ground and rolled several feet before coming to rest, while the body remained standing for a moment before collapsing.
The remaining Sarutobi shinobi saw their leader fall and understood that the tactical situation had become hopeless. They were outnumbered, surrounded, and cut off from retreat by the earth wall still blocking the valley exit.
"Surrender and we'll allow you to live!" Miyako called out, offering terms that were standard practice for extracting intelligence from captured enemies.
The surviving Sarutobi looked at each other and Muzan saw the decision form on their faces before they moved. They weren't going to surrender. They were going to try to take as many Uchiha with them as possible before dying.
They charged as a group toward the nearest concentrations of enemies. The final engagement was brutal and brief, lasting perhaps ten seconds before the last Sarutobi fell.
Muzan moved through the chaos with mechanical efficiency. A Sarutobi came at him with a sword raised for an overhead strike. Muzan ducked under the descending blade and drove his kunai upward through the soft tissue beneath the man's jaw, angling the blade to punch into his brain.
Another enemy threw a volley of shuriken from medium range. Muzan deflected the projectiles with kunai in both hands, then closed the distance before the thrower could draw another weapon. His blade opened the man's throat in a slash that severed both carotid arteries and his windpipe.
He made no wasted movements during the sequence. Every action served a specific tactical purpose and eliminated threats with maximum efficiency. He felt no hesitation, no emotional response to the violence he was inflicting.
Just the drive to survive whatever it took.
When the engagement finally ended, the valley fell silent except for the crackling of flames from the burning wagon and the quiet moans of those who weren't quite dead yet.
Muzan stood in the center of the carnage with his clothes soaked through with blood. Some of it was his own from minor wounds that had already healed, but most belonged to the enemies he'd killed.
Bodies lay scattered across the road and the ground around the wagons. Muzan counted quickly: fifteen visible corpses, possibly more that had fallen in positions he couldn't see from his current location. All of them were dead or dying, their blood soaking into the dirt and pooling in the wagon ruts.
He looked down at his hands and saw them covered in blood up to his wrists. The kunai he was still holding dripped red liquid that fell in slow drops to the ground. His hands weren't shaking anymore. His breathing remained steady and controlled. He felt nothing looking at the destruction around him, just the same hollow emptiness that had been growing in his chest since his first kill.
Was this what survival required? Becoming someone who could stand surrounded by death without experiencing emotional response?
"Status report!" Amanai's voice cut through Muzan's thoughts, pulling his attention back to immediate concerns.
"Minor injuries, nothing that requires immediate treatment," Naroi reported from where he was wiping his blade clean on a dead Sarutobi's clothing.
"Same condition here," Masai confirmed while checking his equipment for damage.
Ichiro conducted a quick assessment of his squad members. "Kenji took a kunai to his shoulder but the wound isn't deep. Everyone else is operational."
Miyako's gaze swept across the battlefield with her Sharingan still active, those red eyes analyzing everything they touched.
"Acceptable performance from both squads. Search the wagons and collect anything useful for intelligence or supplies. We have ten minutes maximum before we need to evacuate this location in case enemy reinforcements were following at a distance."
The assembled squads split up and began rifling through the wagons' contents while others checked bodies for useful items or documents that might provide intelligence value.
Muzan didn't move immediately from his position. He just stood among the corpses and stared at the evidence of what he'd participated in. Twenty people had died in approximately five minutes of combat. The speed and efficiency of the killing was almost incomprehensible when he tried to process it consciously.
He'd personally killed at least two or three of them. Maybe more. The exact number didn't seem to matter anymore. They'd all been threats and he'd eliminated them to protect himself and his squad. The justification was simple and clean, requiring no complex moral reasoning.
The hollow feeling in his chest hadn't disappeared but its nature had transformed. Instead of an absence that threatened to consume him, it had become something solid he could carry like armor. He'd crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed, had made choices that fundamentally altered who he was as a person.
And he would do it repeatedly as many times as necessary, because that was what survival demanded in this world. The realization didn't bring peace or satisfaction, just acceptance of the reality he existed in now.
Muzan finally moved to help search the wagons, his blood-soaked hands already reaching for the next task that needed completing.