The Land of Fire's forest pressed in on all sides—ancient trees blocking out the sky, their canopy so thick that even midday felt like dusk. The caravan had been moving steadily for hours when Seiran's team suddenly stopped.
The merchants froze. The entire procession ground to a halt in the middle of the road, and the caravan leader's nervousness spiked immediately. He swallowed hard, eyes darting between Seiran and Shibi Aburame. "What's wrong?"
"Ambush," Seiran said simply. "About a hundred meters ahead. Charge straight through if things go bad."
The word rippled through the crowd like a shockwave. Panic spread faster than fire. The merchants huddled closer, glancing toward the dense treeline. The caravan leader turned to Shibi, desperation creeping into his voice. "Lord Shibi, shouldn't we go around?"
"It doesn't matter," Shibi replied flatly.
The leader's face went slack. It doesn't matter? They'd paid a fortune in rare goods to secure the Aburame clan's protection. And now they were just... stopping?
Before he could protest, figures emerged from the trees ahead.
A dozen rogue shinobi stepped into the road, kunai glinting in the filtered sunlight. Their skin was a roadmap of scars—knife wounds, burn marks, tattoos of forgotten villages. Their eyes were sharp and hungry. These were the refuse of the shinobi world: renegades who'd failed to make it in the hidden villages, or worse, those strong enough to reject them entirely. They survived by bleeding caravans dry, killing without hesitation.
"Well, well," one of them sneered, twirling a kunai between his fingers. "Looks like they spotted us. Doesn't matter—you're not getting away."
"Fat pickings," another drooled, eyeing the cargo.
Most of the merchants were civilians. They trembled at the sight, some dropping their packs, ready to bolt.
"Rogue shinobi..." someone whispered.
"There's too many. We're finished..."
Seiran's eyes narrowed. In the original timeline, even Naruto's first D-rank mission had run into a pair of them. This group was the largest he'd seen in the region—dangerous, but not invincible.
What was dangerous was Ryosuke's pride.
From the other team, the hot-headed jonin's voice cut through the growing panic. "Damn it! Just a bunch of rogues? Let's crush them!"
His teammates echoed the sentiment, and before Seiran could even react, Ryosuke charged. The merchants breathed a collective sigh of relief, watching the "heroic" team surge forward in a wave of chakra and fury.
Seiran sighed. Learn the hard way, then.
Through his Byakugan, he could see it clearly: among the rogues stood one figure that stood apart. A jonin. Not weak either—his chakra was dense, controlled, lethal. The others were just cannon fodder. But that one? The tall scarred man with a gash running from forehead to jaw? He was the real threat.
Rin Uchiha's hand hovered over her kunai pouch. "Goku, should we help?"
"Let them have their moment," Seiran said, watching the battle unfold.
It was over in seconds.
Ryosuke had been pressing one of the rogues back when something changed. A chill ran down his spine. He twisted—almost too late. A blade screamed through the air, missing his heart but carving a deep gash across his abdomen. Blood sprayed.
The rogue grinned, all teeth and malice. "Thought you could take us all?"
Ryosuke's team was being shredded. Without coordination, they folded like paper. Ryosuke himself parried a brutal slash, and his arm went numb from the impact.
"I shouldn't have tried to show off..." he muttered, blood dripping from his lips.
Might Duy shifted beside Seiran, jaw tight. "They're from our village. We can't just watch them die."
Seiran nodded. "Don't take too long."
Duy grinned, the veins on his forehead already bulging as he tapped into the gates. "Thanks, kid!"
He and Seiran's team charged forward.
Seiran pulled a scroll from his pouch. A flash of white mist, and Long Tooth appeared in his hand—his katana, reforged after he'd melted his old blade during his breakthrough with Electromagnetic Manipulation. The blade was slender, light, humming with barely contained power.
He moved.
A rogue swung at him. Seiran parried, steel ringing against steel. He countered in a single fluid motion, slicing through the man's kunai and deep into his chest. The rogue crumpled, a line of blood spreading from collarbone to sternum.
Good.
Duy was a whirlwind. He spun through the rogues like they were training dummies, his kicks precise and devastating. One Chunin-level rogue went flying backward, ribs shattered from a single blow.
"Dad's amazing!" Guy shouted from the sidelines, eyes wide with awe.
Meanwhile, the rogue leader saw his opening. Ryosuke was bleeding, distracted. The man lunged, blade aimed at Ryosuke's neck.
"Not today," Seiran muttered.
He raised his hand. The rogue's kunai ripped free from his grip and shot backward, embedding itself in the man's thigh. The rogue leader stumbled, eyes wide with shock, just as Seiran's blade descended.
The man tried to dodge. He wasn't fast enough.
The katana cut through his guard, through his armor, through his ribs. He fell dead before he hit the ground.
The remaining rogues faltered at the sight of their leader's corpse. Duy and the others capitalized, cutting them down one by one.
But one rogue—tall, scarred, vicious—had been holding back. He'd seen his opening with Ryosuke's team scattered and their captain bleeding. He lunged for the finishing blow.
Ryosuke barely blocked the slash. The impact sent him skidding backward, his arms screaming.
The rogue raised his blade for the killing strike.
A buzzing sound filled the air.
The rogue froze. Black insects poured up his legs like a living storm, consuming his torso, his face—a cloud of black that moved with terrible purpose.
"Secret Technique: Insect Sphere!"
Shibi formed a single seal. The black sphere contracted violently. The screams stopped.
Silence fell.
Where the rogue had stood, only a skeleton remained—picked clean in seconds, every trace of flesh consumed.
One of the merchants gagged. Another sat down hard, his legs giving out.
Shibi Aburame lowered his hand, expression unchanged. "Seiran," he said, his voice calm and cold. "Don't waste time showing off. Focus on your swordsmanship."
Seiran sheathed his katana with a wry smile. "Noted, Sensei."
Ryosuke stared at the skeleton, then at Shibi, then at Seiran. His face was pale, his hands trembling.
The caravan leader finally found his voice. "Is... is it over?"
Shibi glanced at the carnage. Dead rogues. A clear road. No threats remained.
"It's over," he said.
And for the first time that day, the caravan believed him.