The forest was quiet, too quiet.
Only the faint chirping of distant insects carried through the dawn, and the whisper of the evening wind that rustled through the branches. Within a small clearing surrounded by tall cedar trees, a group of men busied themselves with their routine.
Carriages sat stationed near the treeline, the horses occasionally stamping their hooves against the soil. A faint campfire crackled in the background, though its warmth seemed unnecessary in the humid summer air.
Two guards were stationed nearest the perimeter, blades at their sides, weary but dutiful. The younger of the two, a man with short black hair and a weary look, rested one hand on his blade. His partner, older, broad-shouldered and scarred across the face, uprooted the last of the tent's fastenings as more rays of the morning light peered through the canopy of trees.
It was time to go..
Then..
A hiss. The faint whistle of metal cutting air.
The younger guard barely turned his head when a wakizashi tore through his throat, carving a grotesque smile beneath his jawline. His eyes widened, mouth opening as if to scream, but only a wet gurgle left his lips.
A geyser of blood erupted outward, staining his partner's tent and drenching the soil beneath his boots. He staggered, fingers clutching his ruined throat, eyes searching for his partner with mute desperation.
But death was merciless.
He collapsed in a twitching heap, crimson gushin through his fingers as life abandoned him. His partner spun in horror just in time to see the black-cloaked silhouette step from behind. The figure's blade flashed once. The corpse's head split like a ripe melon, spraying gore across the clearing.
The scarred guard's instincts flared. His body tensed, eyes narrowing into slits. In one fluid motion, he unsheathed his katana, steel catching the dim firelight.
"We're under attack!!!" he roared, his voice slicing through the camp like thunder.
The call jolted the others, dragging bodyguards from their seats, tearing them away from their idle conversations. Hands darted to weapons, expressions darkened with alarm.
The scarred man rushed forward, katana raised, his rage boiling as he advanced on the assassin who had butchered his comrade so ruthlessly. But his foe was already moving.
A katana slashed toward his throat faster than the blink of an eye. Reflex saved him, he backflipped, boots digging into the earth as he skidded to a halt. His sharp eyes caught the visage of his attacker: a masked man in black cloth, eyes glinting with killing intent.
"Arghhh!" the scarred man roared, fury pouring from his lungs. He swung with a ferocious slash meant to cleave the assassin in two.
But before his blade could land, another figure dropped from above.
A long blade pierced through his spine with bone-crunching force. His roar strangled in his throat, cut short by agony. His body froze, nerves severed, before blood burst from his mouth. He crumpled lifeless to the dirt.
The clearing fell into chaos.
The remaining guards froze in horror. The carriage shook as an old man inside stumbled out, flanked by two terrified guards whose faces were pale as death.
"Fujitaro-san!" one of them cried, voice cracking with fear. He stepped forward, katana trembling in his grip. "On my signal, run! Don't look back!!"
The old man's wrinkled face twisted with confusion and terror, but he obeyed, turning sharply and sprinting away into the undergrowth. His robes snagged against branches, his sandals scraped soil. But escape was an illusion.
A katana slashed through the air. The old man barely twisted his torso, narrowly avoiding a killing strike. Even so, steel grazed across his chest, tearing open flesh. Blood gushed down his robe as pain ripped through him. He collapsed with a strangled cry, clutching his wound in desperation.
"Lord Fujitaro!" the guards screamed. But they never reached him.
Two more assassins descended from the canopy like demons. Their blades sang death. One guard's head flew from his shoulders, eyes still frozen in terror. The other was ripped apart limb from limb, his screams drowned by the wet ripping of flesh and the rush of blood soaking the soil.
The four assassins regrouped, stepping forward in unison toward the wounded elder. Their masks hid their faces, but their killing intent radiated like a storm. They moved with eerie silence, blades poised.
For the first time, Fujitaro saw them clearly. Men clad in light wooden armor, faces hidden behind lacquered masks, cloaks flowing around them like shadows. Their presence felt more like beasts than men.
"W-who are you?" Fujitaro groaned, clutching his bleeding chest, voice trembling with both fear and pain.
The leader stepped forward. His presence was suffocating. He gripped the hilt of his katana, voice rasping with feral venom.
"You… who ravage the wealth of the poor to feed your kind. You have no right to ask our names."
His blade rose high, glinting red in the moonlight as he prepared to strike.
But just as he swung down..
THWACK!
A stone hurtled from out of nowhere, smashing into the soil where his shoulder had been. He snarled, sidestepping, his blade halting mid-swing. His head snapped to the treeline, rage igniting his voice.
"Who dares!! Come out and beg for mercy! Perhaps I'll grant you a clean death!!"
The forest answered only with silence. Leaves rustled faintly, then stilled. The air felt heavy, charged. Then, the wakizashi that had decapitated the first guard… was gone.
The assassins tensed.
The leader gestured sharply. One of his men nodded, unsheathed his blade, and stalked toward the disturbance. He parted the leaves cautiously, eyes narrowed. Nothing. No presence. No figure.
He turned back, shaking his head.
But just as his guard lowered...
A hand shot from the underbrush. Fingers like iron clamped over his face and yanked him into the shadows.
SLASH!
A horrific tearing sound followed, flesh ripped apart like paper. A scream tried to form but was drowned in a gurgling choke. A crimson stream sprayed out, blood and brain matter spilling into the open, splattering across grass and bark. Fujitaro gagged at the sight, bile rising in his throat.
"Go!!" the leader roared to the remaining two assassins.
They obeyed instantly, blades drawn, rushing into the bushes to root out the hidden predator.
But none of them saw the yellow-haired figure ghosting upward, scaling branches with inhuman agility, vanishing into the thick canopy above.
The leader stayed his ground. His heart pounded violently against his ribs. The forest seemed to close in on him, shadows pressing down with suffocating weight. He felt it then, a cold sensation wrapping around his soul. Fear. Death. He couldn't tell the difference anymore.
Something dropped from above.
An agile figure landed silently in front of him, crouched low. A bloodied wakizashi clenched between his teeth. His hair glowed golden in the morning's rays, his eyes glowed.
Those eyes.
Sky blue, glowing faintly with an intensity that froze the leader's blood in his veins. Not kind. Not gentle. But merciless, brimming with murderous will.
It was death incarnate.
Before he could raise his blade, steel carved through his skull. His world ended in an explosion of pain and crimson. Blood and bone fragments painted the ground, splattering onto Fujitaro's trembling form.
The old man's heart skipped. His gaze shot upward at the figure now standing tall, blade dripping with gore. He recognized him, the stranger from earlier. The man he had gifted a pouch of coins in passing. But now…
Those eyes.
They no longer held kindness. They shimmered with cold calculation, with bloodlust and a hunger for survival that made the old man shiver to his very soul.
The blonde new assassin, Minato, pulled the blade free, exhaling softly.
"Bastard!!"
The two remaining assassins burst from the brush, faces twisting in fury as they saw their leader's corpse. They charged, one swinging a vicious arc toward Minato's temple.
But Minato moved first.
A backflip carried him over the swing, his sandal striking outward mid-air. His foot connected with brutal precision, knocking the katana from the assassin's hand. He landed crouched, swept the man's legs from under him, and with a ruthless thrust, buried the wakizashi in his skull. The body twitched once, then stilled.
Simple. Quick. Efficient. The was his shinobi way.
The last assassin lunged. Minato felt it. A pull, strange and unfamiliar, flowing within him. Not chakra. Something different. Purer. Denser. It gnawed at the edge of his senses, pulling his curiosity even in the heat of combat.
But no time to ponder.
Steel whistled toward his chest. Minato sidestepped, feeling the blade scrape his sleeve. His foot snapped up, spinning into the assassin's jaw. Teeth shattered, blood sprayed. The masked man staggered back with a grunt.
Minato advanced. He caught the man's wrist mid-slash, twisted, and hurled him over his shoulder. The assassin hit the dirt with a crunch, air forced from his lungs. Minato wasted no time, his wakizashi pierced through skull and brain in one decisive thrust.
Ruthless. Clean. Final.
The forest fell silent again, broken only by the old man's ragged breathing.
Minato exhaled, brushing blood from his face with a casualness that chilled Fujitaro to his core. Then, surprisingly, he smiled.
"Whew! That sure was intense." His voice was light, almost cheerful, as he turned to the old man.
Fujitaro nearly fainted.
"Y-you…!"
"Ah, don't talk." Minato knelt beside him, tearing cloth from one of the dead assassins. "You'll reopen the wound. Here." He pressed the cloth firmly against the gash across Fujitaro's chest, tying it tightly to stem the bleeding.
"You don't have any healing pills or salves, do you?" Minato asked casually. "This'll do for now."
The old man sat slumped against a tree trunk, eyes still locked on the corpses sprawled across the clearing. Blood soaked the soil, a massacre painted in red. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the buzz of the morning crickets.
Finally, Fujitaro spoke, voice rough.
"You… must have been one hell of a 'leader' when you were alive." His tone carried weight, an unspoken recognition of Minato's presence, his decisiveness, his killing intent.
Minato froze, a faint laugh escaping him. He looked away, eyes distant, a flicker of nostalgia tugging at him.
"Leader, huh… yeah. Something like that."
"How did someone like you die?" Fujitaro pressed, his weary eyes narrowing.
Minato sighed, smile lingering though it didn't reach his eyes. "Trying to protect my people. My family."
The old man exhaled sharply. His gaze lowered, shadowed by sorrow.
"You must've died with no regrets, then." His voice cracked with bitterness. "My family… they died because of me. Because of greed. I've never forgiven myself. I've searched for them since coming to this… Soul Society. But I've never found a trace. Not one."
Minato turned, studying the grief hidden deep in the man's eyes. Pain. Regret. Memories carved like scars.
And in that moment, he understood.
Because he carried the same.
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A/N: Enjoy guys.