Konoha: Who Says the Shinobi World Can't Play Hunter?

Chapter 44: First Blood

The three of them exchanged glances. It was clear that no missions would be completed today—everyone had things to prepare for. Kazama turned and left, knowing that tomorrow would be the first time he spilled human blood. He needed to prepare himself mentally.

It wasn't as though he had never seen blood before. Over the years, he had slaughtered more livestock than he could count—if he claimed to have killed over a thousand, it wouldn't be an exaggeration. He was no stranger to the butcher's blade. But this was different. This time, he was going to take human lives.

No matter how much he reminded himself that life in this world was cheap, that shinobi killed without hesitation, his modern mindset still crept into his thoughts. Ideas of justice, trials, and executions clouded his mind.

Realizing the danger of such hesitation, he forced these thoughts away. He repeated to himself—I am a ninja. Ninjas kill without mercy.

Despite his efforts, sleep eluded him for most of the night. He had told Ichirō and Nobuko to be ready, but in truth, he was the one who needed the most preparation.

The next day, they left the village.

Kazama remained unusually silent, while Nobuko, excited by the novelty of traveling beyond Konoha's gates, chattered nonstop.

At the edge of the forest, Hayate gathered them.

"The usual rule applies—I won't intervene. You three will handle this on your own. Remember, the mission is extermination. Do not hesitate."

His serious tone left no room for argument.

Kazama took the lead. "Let's go over the plan. I'll scout ahead and locate the bandit camp. We'll infiltrate separately and take them out as quietly as possible. If we're discovered, Ichirō engages head-on, Nobuko finishes off stragglers, and I provide long-range support."

"Understood."

"Move out."

Silently, like shadows in the night, the three approached the dimly lit bandit camp.

Kazama took the front because the entrance had a watchtower. His arrows could silently eliminate sentries from a distance—something neither Ichirō nor Nobuko could manage without risk. Tossing kunai from below wouldn't guarantee a kill, and climbing up would be too dangerous.

"Summoning Jutsu."

In a puff of smoke, his five companions materialized before him. Kazama stroked their heads in turn as he gave them orders.

"Yatarō, Pawtarō, you're with me. Only intervene if necessary. The rest of you hold position."

Yatarō nestled into Kazama's chest while Pawtarō burrowed underground, ready to assist if needed. Kazama, using Earth Release, slipped beneath the camp's walls undetected.

The first guard never saw it coming.

A swift slash to the throat, a muffled gurgle, and the bandit collapsed, his blood soaking the dirt.

The second guard barely had time to glance over before Kazama's machete buried itself in his chest. He staggered, clutching the wound, but Kazama swiftly pulled the blade free and plunged it in again. The man's struggles ceased.

Above, two sentries stood on the watchtower, oblivious to what had just transpired.

Kazama took a deep breath and unsealed his bow.

Pull. Aim. Release.

The first arrow struck clean, sending one of the bandits toppling.

The sudden thud caught the second bandit's attention, but before he could react, another arrow pierced his chest, knocking him backward onto the platform.

No bodies fell. No sound escaped beyond the watchtower.

Kazama exhaled, steadying his nerves.

The night concealed the slaughter well. His vision adjusted to the darkness, and soon, each kill became mechanical.

Draw, aim, loose. Draw, aim, loose.

It was almost too easy.

Then, a commotion erupted deeper in the camp. Someone had been discovered.

Kazama quickened his pace, eliminating a few more stragglers before heading toward the noise.

Unsurprisingly, the one who had been spotted was Ichirō.

Stealth had never been his strength, and his direct combat style made subtlety a challenge. Rather than panic, Ichirō embraced the chaos. He charged in, iron staff in hand, swinging with brute force.

Bandits, armed with crude weapons, hesitated. None wanted to be the first to take a hit.

One strike from Ichirō's weapon could maim or kill instantly. Anyone caught in the arc of his swing was sent flying—some unconscious, others lifeless.

"Damn it! They're ninja! Step aside, I'll handle this!"

A bandit chief stepped forward, dressed like a ronin, a katana in his hands. His presence caused the others to withdraw, eager to let him take charge.

"You've killed too many of my men. Your life is forfeit!" The ronin declared, drawing his blade in a rapid Iai strike.

Ichirō, however, was unshaken.

With a single hand, he planted his iron staff into the ground, effortlessly stopping the slash.

The ronin's eyes widened. His strongest technique had been nullified as if it were nothing. Worse, the impact reverberated up his arms, sending painful tremors through his wrists.

In truth, Ichirō had faced plenty of sword-users before. Nobuko's Iaido training had forced him to develop effective counters. Compared to her speed and precision, this bandit leader was slow and predictable.

The ronin tried again, but each swing of his blade was met by Ichirō's relentless barrage. His katana bent, his grip weakened, and soon, his only option was to retreat.

But there was nowhere to run.

"Wrap this up," Kazama's voice came through the earpiece.

Nobuko and Ichirō glanced at each other. Their hesitation was gone. Their eyes steeled with resolve.

The remaining bandits didn't stand a chance.

From afar, Kazama fired a few final arrows before making his way to the leader's quarters.

Looting was an essential part of battle.

Other reincarnators might think differently, but Kazama was a pragmatist.

He was poor.

Poor people had no right to be sentimental.

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