Only a single morning star glittered in the sky. Outside Windmill Village, near the empty stretch of forest, a cold wind moved through the trees and stirred the leaves.
From a distance, the lanterns of Windmill Village still marked a sleepy horizon.
"Come on, come on, let's drink..." came rough laughter.
"This time the fat sheep really paid off..." someone shouted.
"Pour it up, let's eat!" another voice replied.
A rowdy group of bandits had gathered, celebrating a recent haul. From the bits and pieces of voice and laughter, Hayashi could tell they were in high spirits and careless.
Hayashi drew a breath, raised his thumb to his lips, and formed a hand seal.
"Kuchiyose no Jutsu." He whispered the summoning, then cracked his windbreaker open.
A cloud of smoke shivered, and a cluster of white snakes slid forth, each nearly half a meter long. The snakes melted into the grass and moved like ink through water toward the village.
The summoning had been quiet and efficient. Hayashi retraced his path and slipped back to the cave where the team had been hiding. He stepped carefully past the crude traps and pushed aside the stone barrier covering the entrance.
Inside, a dim kerosene lamp threw a small pool of light. A bonfire would have been too conspicuous, so they kept to low light. The stone slab at the mouth blocked the glow from leaking out.
Hayashi sank to the ground.
"How did it go?" Nawaki asked, impatient.
"Hold," Hayashi said. "Dabai is still relaying with the White Snake group. The recon isn't fully returned yet."
After a few breaths, Dabai's report reached them. Hayashi drew the enemy layout in the dirt with a twig: sentry positions, the main house, paths into the village.
"Orochimaru-sensei was right, there are many of them," Hayashi said, outlining the posts. "Four watchpoints, two per post."
"About a hundred fighters in all," Nawaki added.
"Then what? Do we storm in?" Nawaki demanded.
"Not a chance," Hayashi replied.
"According to our intel, the real problem is the leader's level. Orochimaru-sensei's notes were vague. They only said the enemy leader killed a Special Jonin."
"So the leader is at least Special Jonin level, maybe full Jonin," Hayashi analyzed carefully. "If it's a true Jonin, a direct assault is suicide."
"If it's a Jonin, then we pack and run," Nawaki muttered, half disgusted. "I'm no nine-year-old hero who can beat a Jonin."
"Good to hear some sense," Hayashi said dryly. He kept his humor small so it wouldn't break the tension. A quiet laugh eased the edge in the cave.
Mikoto picked up the thread. "So either the intel is wrong, or Orochimaru-sensei plans to assist and distract the leader. If he's helping, our mission narrows to the rest."
"Exactly," Hayashi said. "If they're drinking, late night is ideal. The latter half of the night is when men are drunkest and least coordinated. Even if they wake, their fighting will be less effective. That's our window."
He paused and added, "I have another plan as well."
"What plan?" Nawaki asked.
"Explosive tags," Hayashi said.
At the word, Nawaki's face tightened. He had his reasons for hating the sound of them.
Paper seals infused with chakra that could be detonated on a timer, by contact, or by flame. Hayashi had a handful left. They could turn confusion into panic and thin the enemy ranks without direct confrontation.
"How many do you have?" Hayashi asked.
"Not many. We used some on the way in for practice," Nawaki admitted while checking his pack.
"Enough," Hayashi said. "Used correctly, a few well-placed tags will be more useful than a headlong charge."
No matter how much planning they did, the three felt the nervous hum of their first real kill mission. Hayashi's voice lowered as he laid out rules.
"Act within your limits. If you're overwhelmed, fall back and survive. No heroics. Don't try to take ten men alone. Stay focused, cover each other."
He repeated the same points until they sank in. Then he checked the sky. It was about three in the morning, the hour when even the hardiest were closest to sleep. The night was theirs.
In the dark, the three of them moved like coiled shadows.
At a distant sentry post two guards kept a bored watch, muttering and yawning, unwilling troops on a cold night. The older man rambled nonsense about boldness and the way to survive in a rough town. He told a tall tale about being the reincarnation of a great sage, his words falling flat into the night.
Then his eyes glazed. He did not realize the jutsu sweeping over his mind until it was too late. Hayashi had laid a subtle genjutsu to loosen the sentries' senses, make their thoughts drift. When the spell took hold their speech stopped mid-sentence.
A thin flash of metal and a quiet red bloom marked the end of both guards. A kunai cut silent and clean, and blood darkened the grasses. The smell of iron hung in the air.
Within moments, the camp's mood shifted from careless to chaotic as explosions and shouts rang out. Hayashi's snakes writhed through the underbrush, slipping into houses and alleys to tie doors and trip watchdogs. Their presence created a thin, precise fear that set the bandits on edge.
Hayashi moved steady and deliberate. When the first explosive tag detonated in a cluster of barrels near the common fire, the bandits staggered like men punched by surprise. Hayashi used that instant to cut paths, to throw edge and rope where needed, to focus on non-lethal disabling when possible. Their goal was clear: neutralize the hostile force without giving the leader any time to marshal a proper defense.
The night became a series of sharp decisions and quiet violence. Hayashi called short orders, positioning the team to block retreat routes and sweep houses. Nawaki, though young and brash, followed orders with an intensity that surprised him. Mikoto moved with the precision of someone who had learned to read a room at a glance.
When the final chaos settled and the village's crude defenses lay twisted and broken, Hayashi paused under the lamplight to breathe. The mission had been brutal and swift. No one spoke praise. They checked each other for injuries, counted breath and pulse, and cataloged the bodies. Hayashi felt the weight of what they'd done, but he did not waver. Leadership demanded the work be finished cleanly.
They had followed orders, used their tools, and kept to the plan. In the dawn's thin light they gathered their gear, cloaked once more in the guise of traveling merchants, and slipped away before the town could call for help.
Later, when Orochimaru would question them about the leader, Hayashi would have facts, not bravado. For now he kept silent, feeling the fierce, quiet steadiness of a man who had taken responsibility and held his team together.
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