…
In an encampment hidden within the blanket of the forest, the light of the bonfires lit up the space. Tents lined up the ground in rough formation, their arrangement lacking any form of military discipline yet organized enough to suggest long-term occupation rather than temporary shelter.
Sparsely armed men moved between the campfires in loose groups, some drinking, others gambling, while a few remained stationed near the outer perimeter with weapons in hand.
The smell of alcohol, sweat, and burnt meat hung heavily in the air.
Near the center of the encampment stood a larger tent than the rest.
Unlike the others, two armed guards stood outside its entrance with alert expressions, occasionally glancing toward the surrounding forest.
Inside the tent, three men sat around a low wooden table.
One sat at the head.
The flickering lantern light revealed a broad man with a scar stretching from the corner of his eye down toward his jaw. Fur draped loosely over his shoulders while several weapons rested within arm's reach beside him.
Though seated casually, there was a pressure to the way he carried himself.
The other two men sitting nearby were noticeably different.
Their postures were lower.
Even when speaking, they occasionally glanced toward the scarred man first, as though unconsciously seeking approval before continuing.
"…The shipments from the eastern route are getting smaller," one of them muttered carefully. "The villages are hiding supplies better now."
The scarred man took a slow drink before responding.
"Then burn another one."
The tent fell quiet immediately.
Neither of the two men questioned the order.
The larger of the pair only nodded stiffly before speaking again.
"…What about Goro's group?"
At the mention of the name, the scarred man leaned back slightly.
"He should arrive tomorrow," he said. "Assuming he hasn't gotten drunk and lost half his men gambling again."
A rough chuckle escaped one of the others.
"With Goro leading them? I'd be surprised if they even arrive with supplies left."
The scarred man grunted lightly in amusement before taking another drink.
"Still," he said, "once his group arrives, we move further south. These villages are drying up faster than expected. I don't know what's going on with the Shinobi villages, but since their focus isn't on us, we should make good use of it while it lasts."
The two men nodded as silence settled briefly inside the tent.
Then…
RUMBLE.
The ground shook violently beneath them.
The wooden cups on the table rattled sharply as startled voices suddenly erupted outside the tent.
"ENEMY ATTACK!"
"GET YOUR WEAPONS!"
"ARGH—!"
The unmistakable sound of steel clashing against steel echoed through the camp, followed by screams of pain and confusion.
The three men inside the tent reacted instantly, grabbing their weapons swiftly with the scarred man already on his feet by the time the second scream rang out.
"What the hell is happening?!" one of the others barked as he got up as another violent crash sounded from outside.
The tent flap was thrown open immediately as the trio rushed out into the chaos that was unfolding.
The moment the three men stepped outside, what greeted them was a scene that would make one think their eyes was deceiving them.
They watched as their subordinates rushed through the encampment in alarmed confusion, some barely managing to grab their weapons before being forced into combat.
At the outer edge of the camp, one man was sent crashing violently through a wooden crate before collapsing unconscious beside the fire.
His assailant stood a few meters away breathing hard, fists raised clumsily.
"I-I got one!"
"Less shouting, more fighting!" another one of the intruders snapped from several meters away.
Metal clashed sharply as he narrowly blocked a blade aimed toward him before activating another Binding Tag directly against the attacker's chest.
The bandit froze instantly.
The intruder then struck him across the jaw a second later, dropping him onto the dirt.
The scarred man's expression darkened.
"Kids?!"
Anyone could see from their figures and voice that these were young boys.
Then his eyes widened slightly. 'Wait a minute. Headbands? Konoha shinobi!'
Before he could bark an order, he caught a movement flicker across the center of the camp.
A third intruder.
He moved through the chaotic camp with frightening calm compared to the flurry of attacks coming at him.
A bandit rushed him from the side with a spear but he shifted slightly causing the thrust to miss.
The intruder's palm struck the bandit's shoulder hard enough to spin him off balance before Murakami swept his legs from beneath him and slammed him unconscious into the ground.
All in one swift motion.
Another appeared immediately behind him with a raised sword.
But he ducked beneath the swing without even looking fully at the attacker.
His elbow drove backward into the man's ribs.
CRACK.
The bandit folded instantly.
The scarred leader's pupils narrowed.
Those weren't the movement of a kid.
He was too efficient and clean.
'No…that must be their leader.' his eyes locked onto him.
That one was the problem.
"Surround him!" he roared immediately. "Kill the black-clothed one first!"
Several bandits turned at once toward Murakami's position.
But Murakami remained calm.
His sensory field stretched across the entire encampment, feeding him every movement around him through vibrations, airflow, and killing intent.
That was a new discovery.
A faint tingly sensation at the back of his neck whenever someone approached him with hostile intent.
And in the middle of battle, it was proving surprisingly useful.
Murakami tilted his head slightly as a blade descended toward him from behind almost instantly.
He stepped aside before the attack even fully came causing the sword to slice through empty air.
Murakami's hand shot out and grabbed the attacker by the wrist before driving a knee directly into the man's stomach.
The bandit folded over violently, a strike to the neck followed immediately causing another body to drop.
To Murakami, the battle felt strangely slow, not easy, just readable.
This just proved a point; untrained opponents telegraphed too much.
Fear. Aggression. Hesitation.
All of it leaked into their movements before they attacked causing them to be easily read and countered before their strikes could even properly form.
Several more bandits rushed him together from different directions.
One from the front.
Two from the left.
Another circling behind.
Murakami's eyes sharpened slightly as he captured all this.
Then he moved.
A short sidestep avoided the first swing.
His palm struck the nearest attacker's chin hard enough to snap the man's head backward before Murakami twisted low beneath the second weapon.
A sweeping kick took one bandit off his feet.
The third barely managed to raise his axe before Murakami closed the distance completely and slammed his shoulder into the man's chest.
The impact sent him crashing backward into a tent pole causing the structure to collapse instantly.
Elsewhere within the camp, Hideki and Sora continued fighting desperately.
Unlike Murakami, neither of them looked composed.
Hideki nearly stumbled avoiding a wild cleaver strike before punching the attacker across the face harder than necessary, breaking his nose as he was sent flying.
Sora, breathing heavily now, relied almost entirely on the Binding Tags Murakami had given them, immobilizing opponents long enough to knock them unconscious.
They were messy and unrefined, but effective enough that they weren't a burden.
One by one, the camp began to quiet down as groans replaced shouts… Then silence replaced groans as bodies littered the encampment.
Some unconscious, others restrained with tags.
A few still twitching weakly from the impacts they had suffered.
At the center of it all, Murakami stood quietly. He wasn't breathing heavily like Hideki or panting like Sora.
His gaze slowly lifted toward the remaining figures near the larger tent.
The scarred man and the two subordinates beside him, their expressions solemn as their gazes met.
"You must be their leader." Came a clear, calm voice that sent an eerie chill down the spine of the three men.
"And you must be a Konoha-nin." The scarred man replied as he stepped forward slowly.
"Gee… what gave it away…" came Murakami's dry, sarcastic response.
The scarred man's eye twitched slightly.
Then Murakami continued. "I'll give you two options."
The atmosphere shifted immediately as the two subordinates tightened their grips on their weapons while the scarred man narrowed his eyes.
"…And what are your options?" he asked carefully.
Murakami answered without hesitation. "Surrender peacefully and come quietly."A brief pause. "Or resist and get hurt while being captured."
Silence.
Then the trio burst into laughter.
A harsh, ugly kind of laughter.
The man on the left stepped forward first.
He was tall and lean with patchy facial hair and several missing teeth visible through his grin. Chains wrapped around his forearms while a hooked blade rested over his shoulder.
"Kekeke… this brat's serious?" he laughed. "Boss, can I kill him first?"
Murakami's eyes shifted toward him.
"Name's Jinta," the man sneered proudly. "Used to hunt travelers near the Fire Country border before joining this crew. Fastest blade here too."
The second subordinate spat onto the ground afterward.
Unlike Jinta, this one was broad and heavily built with burn scars running across his arms and neck. A massive iron club rested against his shoulder as he cracked his neck loudly.
"Shut up and move aside," he grunted. "I'll crush the kid myself."
His eyes locked onto Murakami with obvious malice.
"Daigo," he introduced himself bluntly. "And I used to break bones for debt collectors before joining up here."
Finally, the scarred leader stepped forward fully.
Compared to the other two, he carried himself differently.
His hand rested over the hilt of a long curved blade hanging at his waist while his single visible eye studied Murakami carefully.
"I'm Raiga," he said slowly. "Leader of this group. Judging from the bodies around this camp… you're not an ordinary Genin."
Murakami remained silent. He didn't see the need to answer that question.
Raiga's gaze sharpened further. "But you made one mistake."
"Oh?" Murakami let out.
The curved blade slowly slid free from its sheath. "You came here with only the three of you."
The pressure in the atmosphere deepened instantly.
Behind Murakami, Hideki swallowed nervously while Sora adjusted his glasses again, tryin
g to steady himself.
Murakami noticed both reactions. Then sighed quietly… Almost sadly as ne shook his head.
"Well," he muttered, "since you chose to resist…" His eyes slowly lifted toward the three bandits again. "…you can only blame yourselves for what comes next."
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
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