"Mom… she… she already knew something was wrong, didn't she?"
Karin's voice trembled, thick with tears.
"Was it because of me? Because I said I 'liked' it… that she decided to stay? For me… she chose to jump into that pit of fire?!"
Karin was on the verge of losing her mind.
Overwhelming regret, guilt, and a surging hatred toward Kusagakure intertwined, threatening to burn away the last of her reason.
Why was I so ignorant back then?!
Why didn't I see how hard it was for her?!
Why… why couldn't I protect Mom?!
"AAAHHH—!!"
A raw, animalistic scream tore from her throat. Her eyes turned blood-red in an instant.
At that very moment, her sharp sensory ability detected a squad of Kusagakure shinobi executing a mission in the distance. The faint sounds of their movement carried to her position.
To her now, that sound was nothing less than provocation.
"Filth… all of you are filth!!"
Killing intent erupted like a volcano.
Her figure flickered, and like a blood-colored phantom she shot out of the cave, charging toward the unsuspecting squad at terrifying speed.
No words. No warning.
Only pure, savage slaughter.
Crack! Splurt!
The sounds of bones breaking, steel slicing into flesh, and brief, dying screams echoed through the forest—then quickly fell silent.
In just a few breaths, the squad lay twisted and broken on the ground.
Warm blood splattered across Karin's face and clothes. She seemed not to notice, standing amid the crimson pool, chest heaving, madness and agony twisting within her scarlet eyes.
This massacre had not been planned.
It was simply the eruption of her grief and fury.
Meanwhile, within the Heavenly Curtain, the story moved forward coldly.
Inside a hidden chamber, the leader of Kusagakure stared at the shinobi whose body had almost completely recovered in mere moments.
Shock and elation filled his face.
"It's real… it's actually real!!"
Then he turned to the shinobi, arranging a benevolent smile on his face.
"You've rendered great service. The village will reward you well."
"You did very well—not using force, but ensuring they wouldn't leave the village. Very good."
The shinobi's face lit up with joy. He opened his mouth, ready to pledge loyalty—
Shing!
A flash of cold steel cut through the air.
An ANBU operative, who had appeared silently behind him, drew a blade across his throat in one precise motion.
The shinobi's delighted expression froze, replaced by disbelief. He clutched at his spraying neck in vain, collapsing to the ground, confusion and resentment lingering in his fading eyes.
The leader of Kusagakure showed no reaction.
Only calculation. Absolute control.
He gave a cold snort.
"Such a precious, one-of-a-kind resource… its secret must belong to me alone."
"Clean it up."
"Yes."
The ANBU bowed and dragged the corpse away like refuse.
Silence returned to the chamber, broken only by the leader's unconcealed greed.
His eyes burned with avarice as he issued cold, meticulous orders to his trusted subordinates.
"Keep the mother and daughter under strict 'surveillance'—and 'protection.' No mistakes. And absolutely no one else must discover their secret."
He emphasized those words as though speaking of personal property.
"There are still… troublesome elements within the village. Stubborn old fools who refuse to submit. This Karina may prove to be the most important leverage in eliminating my enemies and consolidating my authority."
What followed unfolded like a carefully written script.
Under the leader's covert direction, Karina and her daughter—being outsiders—began encountering frequent "accidents."
Their home would be vandalized.
Their rations reduced.
Petty thugs would harass them outside their door.
Each time Karina felt fear and helplessness, the leader would conveniently appear—or dispatch men to "resolve" the situation—sternly "rebuking" the offenders and demonstrating special concern for the mother and child.
Karina was not foolish.
Once or twice might be coincidence.
But as it happened again and again, she gradually understood her own "value" in the leader's eyes—and the position she occupied.
They were pieces on his board.
And they had no right to refuse.
After yet another staged "rescue," Karina went to see the leader herself.
She did not beat around the bush.
In a voice laced with humility and resolve, she made her one request.
"Leader… I know my ability is useful to you. I am willing to serve you. I ask only one thing—please let my daughter, Karin, grow up safely and peacefully. That is my only condition."
The leader looked at the mother who had been forced to bow her head for her child's sake.
A satisfied smile spread across his face.
"Karina, rest assured. As long as you work for me, no one in Kusagakure will lay a finger on Karin. I guarantee her safety."
Hearing this firm-sounding promise, the last shred of illusion in Karina's heart shattered.
She did not ask what had become of the shinobi who brought them here.
She already knew she had no choice.
She would trade her own flesh and blood for her daughter's fragile "peace."
"…I agree."
Her voice was barely audible.
From that day on, Karina began her life as a "living blood bank."
Under the leader's orders, she periodically healed the injuries of his trusted subordinates wounded in factional struggles.
At first, the frequency was manageable.
But as the leader gained the upper hand in internal conflicts thanks to Karina's ability, tensions escalated.
More clashes. More injuries.
And armed with Karina as his trump card, the leader grew increasingly ruthless. As long as his men weren't killed outright, he could restore them quickly to fighting condition.
Thus, Karina was "used" more and more often.
Her once healthy complexion faded into pallor.
Her body grew thinner by the day.
Her arms became covered in overlapping bite marks—fresh and old alike.
Meanwhile, empowered by her ability, the leader of Kusagakure advanced steadily in his power struggle.
The shinobi under his command seemed nearly immortal—no matter how severe their wounds, they could recover in an astonishingly short time.
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