Ken didn't look back again.
He formed a seal and let the Transformation Technique settle over him. His body shifted, features reshaping to match the man he had just killed. The weight felt wrong for a moment, then adjusted.
Good enough.
He straightened his posture and walked toward the gate.
One of the guards glanced at him as he approached from the trees. His gaze lingered longer than before.
"Took you long," the man said.
Ken shrugged. "Stomach's been bad since morning."
The guard grimaced. "Shouldn't have eaten that meat."
Ken didn't answer. He stepped past him and into the camp.
No one stopped him.
Inside, the smell hit harder. Sweat, smoke, old food, and something sour beneath it all. Men lounged around the tents, weapons close at hand but attention scattered. Laughter came from somewhere near the center.
Ken kept his pace steady. Not slow. Not hurried.
A man leaning against a crate watched him pass.
Then watched again.
Ken felt it. That subtle shift when someone's instincts caught up before their thoughts did.
"You alright?" the man asked.
Ken nodded. "Yeah."
The man frowned.
That was enough.
Ken stepped closer as if to pass by. The kunai came up fast, low, and clean. The blade slid between ribs. The man's breath hitched in surprise rather than pain.
Ken caught him before he fell and lowered the body behind the crate.
Blood soaked into the dirt anyway.
Too much.
Someone nearby went quiet.
Ken felt eyes turning.
He dropped the transformation without hesitation.
Chakra surged through his hands.
"Mud Ball."
The jutsu tore forward and slammed into the largest tent in the camp. Wood snapped. Fabric shredded. The structure collapsed inward as dirt and debris exploded outward.
Shouting erupted.
"Enemy!"
"Shinobi!"
Ken moved.
He didn't charge. He didn't freeze.
He struck where openings appeared and retreated before the weight of numbers could close in. A knife grazed his side. A club clipped his shoulder. Pain flared, sharp but manageable.
Untrained fighters. Sloppy swings. Wrong grips.
But there were too many of them.
Ken ducked under a wild slash and drove a kunai into a man's thigh. Another rushed him screaming. Ken sidestepped and ended it quickly.
Slowly, the pressure eased.
Bodies lay scattered across the camp. Some groaned. Some didn't move at all.
Breathing hard, Ken scanned his surroundings.
A few remaining bandits backed away, faces pale.
One dropped his weapon and ran.
Ken let him go.
His shoulders loosened despite himself.
That was the mistake.
The blow came out of nowhere.
A fist slammed into his gut with crushing force. Air exploded from his lungs as his feet left the ground. Ken crashed into a tree hard enough to blur his vision, bark tearing into his back as he slid down to one knee.
He coughed, struggling to breathe.
Heavy footsteps approached.
Ken forced his head up.
A burly man stood before him, arms thick and veined, skin flushed as chakra rolled off him in a crude, uncontrolled surge. His stance was wrong. His movements rough.
But the power was real.
Ken's breath hitched.
So that's it.
The man hadn't been trained. He had forced his chakra open and flooded his body with it. Strength without control.
Enough to make ordinary men feel fearless.
Enough to nearly end this.
Ken braced himself against the tree and stood, forcing air back into his lungs.
The real fight hadn't even started.