After hiding the utterly exhausted clansmen deep within the dense forest, the three-man decoy team began to move swiftly in their designated directions—making no effort to conceal their presence.
Their pursuers were close behind. Hagumi Genshin planned to split them up and crush them one by one, while the other two hoped to trade their own lives for even the faintest sense of safety for the survivors.
As for whether the enemy would split up to chase them—Genshin was certain they would. His reasoning wasn't just based on the situation at hand, but on the very nature of the current state of war itself.
At this time, battles between shinobi mainly occurred between entire clans. These clans were the principal units of warfare. Most shinobi trusted only their own kin; everyone else was either an enemy, or at best, "neutral but hostile."
In such an environment, every shinobi clan lived on the edge of annihilation. Their only viable strategy was to leave no roots behind—to strike until none remained.
The Hagumi clan was little more than a candle about to go out. A single breath—no, even the faintest stir of air—could snuff them out. In this situation, dividing their forces to pursue the survivors posed neither concern nor risk.
They were merely a small, weak clan—no Kekkei Genkai, no secret techniques. They had survived only by slipping through the cracks of the greater powers. If they had any distinguishing feature, it was that they were somewhat adept at Fire Release.
But Fire Release was a jutsu type with an enormous gap between the strong and the weak. The Hagumi were known for it, yes—but so were the Sarutobi and the Uchiha. Could they even be compared?
Their enemies, the Tsugawa clan, were a mid-sized shinobi clan with over a hundred active members—an overwhelming force compared to the Hagumi. It was the Tsugawa who had razed their village.
There was no deep hatred or blood feud between them. The Tsugawa had simply wanted to expand their territory. Big fish eat little fish. The Tsugawa would never dare challenge the great clans, so they turned their cruelty upon the weak.
After putting a safe distance between himself and his hidden people, Hagumi Genshin began leaping through the treetops, making no attempt to hide—almost as if he was afraid the enemy wouldn't see him.
And just as he'd hoped, the enemy's scouts quickly picked him up.
From the northwest, the Tsugawa shinobi appeared right on schedule.
"Captain, I've spotted three fleeing enemies, heading in separate directions. One of them should be that young clan head who escaped earlier. I haven't detected any others so far… They're deliberately exposing themselves—likely to draw us away and buy time for the rest to flee."
The lead scout reported as he ran.
The squad captain—a tall, broad-shouldered man in his thirties—kept running, replying coldly,
"A decoy tactic. Same little trick as before."
"Yes, Captain," the scout nodded. "They've already tried it once."
"Then nothing's changed. Most of their survivors must still be hiding in this forest. They don't have the strength to flee far. These three are all that's left of their fighting force—perhaps the only ones still able to move. Once they're dead, this forest becomes their grave."
His assessment was sound. A decoy plan was just a dying clan's last twitch. Whether they were killed near or far, sooner or later, made no difference.
"That young clan head—I remember him. A man with a bit of wit, but without the strength to back it up. A pitiful fool. Listen up! Split into three teams of five and pursue. The young one is mine. Scouts, stay with the farthest team."
"Yes, Captain!"
Without hesitation, the Tsugawa split their forces and fanned out—just as Genshin had predicted. Better still, the strongest among them, the captain himself, was coming his way.
That was only natural. After all, Genshin was the clan's leader—its symbol. His death would mark their annihilation. He was not someone the enemy would allow to escape.
Among the fifteen pursuers, the captain was an elite jōnin, with two tokubetsu jōnin leading the other squads, eight chūnin, and four genin as support. Together, more than enough to erase the Hagumi clan from existence.
"Captain, he's right ahead!"
The distance closed fast. Genshin occasionally slowed, baiting them closer.
"Encircle him," the captain ordered.
The five Tsugawa surrounded him in moments.
A sharp hiss of air split the silence—a kunai flew straight for Genshin's torso. Midair, he twisted his body, bending back just enough to let the blade whistle past.
He dodged—but lost his footing in the process, tumbling down into the underbrush below.
And then, strangely—he vanished.
"What? He's gone!"
"A clone? No… that's impossible."
The sudden disappearance threw the Tsugawa into confusion. But their captain stayed calm.
"Everyone, get to higher ground. Don't move. Stay sharp and keep watch. He's somewhere in this area. He can't get out."
Under normal circumstances, he was right. Genshin had no means of escape.
But this wasn't a normal battle.
The Mayfly Technique—the signature ability of the White Zetsu. It allowed the user to merge their body with the earth, trees, and roots beneath, erasing all traces of presence. By traveling through the organic networks of roots and underground water, one could move unseen and unheard. A true assassin's art.
And the most terrifying part—it required no hand signs. It was instantaneous.
At this moment, even with limited mastery, Hagumi Genshin could use it in combat.
The captain, standing on a thick branch, watched the forest floor with patient, predator-like calm. He had survived dozens of battles and would not be fooled by mere tricks.
In his mind, Genshin was nothing more than a child playing at being a shinobi.
But what he didn't know was that conventional experience only works in conventional wars. Precision in judgment fails when the battlefield itself changes—and strength means nothing when you can't even see what to strike.
War allows no margin for error.
Without a sound, Hagumi Genshin rose behind the captain like a ghost—visible, yet devoid of presence. The man's honed senses detected nothing.
Time itself seemed to freeze.
Genshin's heartbeat halted for an instant. Between the last beat and the next pulse of blood, the line between life and death was drawn.
His right hand plunged the kunai into the man's lower back, sinking the blade to the hilt. His left hand drove a short sword through the nape of the neck, slicing through the vertebrae as easily as paper before angling down through the throat.
The perfect kill. The captain never made a sound.
He had only one shot at this—so he chose the strongest target. And it worked.
But even as the body slumped forward, one of the nearby shinobi suddenly turned—his instincts flaring.
"Enemy attack!"
Countless shuriken and kunai rained toward them, indiscriminate and frantic.
Genshin ducked behind the captain's corpse for cover. His strike had been flawless—so how had they noticed?
Then he realized—the breathing. The captain's final ragged breaths had given him away. In such silence, even that was enough.
Seasoned veterans, indeed.
He'd lost the chance for a second ambush—but that was fine. He had achieved his real goal. Once the strongest was dead, half the battle was already won.
Kunai and shuriken thudded into flesh with wet, dull sounds. The remaining Tsugawa were relentless, striking even at their fallen commander.
Or perhaps, not relentless—just panicked. The shock of seeing their leader silently assassinated had shattered their discipline. They didn't even understand what had just happened.
A Water Release: Water Bullet Technique!
One shinobi formed seals, sending a massive water sphere crashing forward.
Genshin released his kunai from the corpse's back, then exploded chakra from his feet, darting left just as the jutsu hit. His right arm hooked the short sword still embedded in the man's throat, twisting it sharply—cleanly severing the captain's neck.
Always finish the job. Only then can you be sure they stay dead.
Genshin flipped midair and landed lightly on the forest floor.
Behind him, the captain's head wobbled a few times before it finally toppled off, thudding to the ground near Genshin's feet.
Thud.
The sound was soft, muffled by the layer of dead leaves and branches.
For a brief moment, the remaining enemies froze.
Genshin grinned. His tongue pressed against his dry, cracked lips. His expression was nothing short of deranged.
In his past life, he'd grown up in peace—never fought after primary school, always kind, polite, and honest. He had never revealed such a savage side.
But never showing it didn't mean it wasn't there. Humans are products of their environment, and different worlds reflect different faces.
Ninjutsu took countless forms—flamboyant, diverse, and complex. Genjutsu was subtle and insidious. Taijutsu, whether hard or soft, was the purest form of violence.
Yet, beneath all techniques, beneath every kind of war, the truth was the same—
The cold, eternal essence of battle:
Iron and Blood.