Three, flashed the thought, as my kunai sparked and became cloaked in wind chakra. I jerked my wrist sharply, sending the weapon toward one of the silhouettes. The air whistled, and in the next instant—thud—the kunai pierced straight into the ninja's chest, breaking through his guard with a dry sound, as if tearing fabric and flesh at once.
— One, — I managed to note to myself.
But there was no time to rejoice. Almost instantly, the other two turned at the sound of the strike. Their movements were precise, swift—not mere bandits, but trained fighters.
Gai and Genma burst out of the room with such synchronicity it was as if they had rehearsed it. Genma snapped his fingers, activating a pair of senbon with paper tags and hurling them, forcing the enemies to duck. At that same moment, Gai, without a second's hesitation, leapt straight at one of the foes. The narrow corridor played to our advantage—the two enemies couldn't maneuver freely.
"Good, we've cut off the passage," flashed through my mind.
A second later, everything turned to chaos. Gai and one of the ninjas clashed so hard their bodies broke through a flimsy wooden-paper partition and came crashing down, from the second floor straight into the hall. The floor shook, and sharp bangs echoed through the building—whether from falling objects or exploding seals, it was impossible to tell.
— Damn! — I cursed, gritting my teeth.
Wasting no time, I rushed in the opposite direction—I had to check the nearby rooms. If the attackers were coordinated, the strike wasn't only against us but the others as well.
I yanked open the first door, and there stood another ninja—his hand already raised for the strike. In the dim light of the oil lamp, his kunai glinted, aimed at a sleeping shinobi in the bed.
— You won't make it! — I roared, putting all my strength into the kick.
My strike hit true: I knocked the kunai aside, the metal clattering to the floor. The enemy turned toward me, but at that very moment the drowsy, shocked—but alive—shinobi in the room were already awake. Two reacted instantly: one flung a shuriken, the other jumped up with a kunai in hand. The attacker stepped back, but too late—his chest was pierced, and he collapsed to the floor.
I breathed heavily, pressing my fist against the wall. "Another one down."
At last, the light grew brighter—someone had lit another lantern. People were getting up, looking around. And right then, one shinobi, leaning over the fallen body, froze.
— This… — he raised his head, his face pale. — This is the innkeeper.
I stepped closer, blood pounding in my temples. On the floor indeed lay the man with the kind face, that same broad, almost too-perfect one who had greeted us in the evening. Only now his smile was gone. His eyes glazed, his mouth twisted into a strange, almost grotesque grimace.
— He… he was one of them, — I exhaled quietly, though inside everything screamed.
The room filled with tension. Several shinobi exchanged glances, someone cursed, someone spat on the floor.
— So it's a trap, — one of the seniors concluded. — This inn worked for the enemy.
From outside came the roar of battle—it was still raging. Somewhere below, weapons clashed, voices cried out. I exhaled and wiped sweat from my brow. Everything was happening too fast.
— Everyone up! — I barked at the shinobi in the room. — Whoever can hold a weapon—grab it and follow me. They're not loners. There are more of them.
People began to gather, some still half-asleep, but fear did its job—no one stayed behind.
I stepped to the window and looked out. Shadows darted across the street—apparently the common folk had heard the blasts and were starting to scatter…
Returning to the innkeeper's body, I lingered for a moment. My chest tightened—a strange feeling. In this world, it's hard to trust anyone.
— Bastards, — I muttered, clenching my fist.
From the other rooms, more people rushed out: one ninja collapsed unconscious, three others—badly wounded—clutched their sides and coughed blood. They mumbled incoherently, eyes wide from pain and fear. In the corner, a girl from the squad tried to press a bandage to a wound, but blood still seeped through the cloth.
— Medic-nin! — shouted a chunin, bursting into the room, his voice breaking with strain. — Quick, here!
Two medics who had been behind him reacted instantly: one knocked over a nightstand and pulled out bandages, the other seemed to support something with a medical technique.
Meanwhile, the rest began searching the rooms. Some checked under beds, others opened closets and corners, some were already heading downstairs, tying up and dragging off captured ninjas. Gai, covered in dust and scratches, stood hunched over one of the enemies.
— What are you doing here? Who sent you? — barked one of our genin and, without flinching, punched the prisoner in the face.
The man twitched, lips rasping, but instead of answers he forced out only one:
— It won't help you… — and suddenly grinned.
I caught it for just a split second—and then white, foaming liquid gushed from his mouth. Foam splattered across the floor, the sheets, the dead innkeeper's neck. The smell—sharp, chemical, vile—hit my nose; my throat tightened.
— Get back! — the chunin shouted sharply, stepping forward. His voice was stone, but a shiver ran down the corridor. — Everyone back!
The foam spread across the planks, leaving swollen stains in its path. One of the wounded on the floor coughed and clutched his throat—the same white froth surged from his mouth. His skin turned pale.
"Poison," the thought came automatically. I recognized that distinct sweetish scent some strong toxins leave behind.
— The situation with the injured is stabilized! — one of the medics called out, drawing a heavy breath.
For a moment, tense silence reigned in the corridor.
— Gather here, all of you! — came the chunin's order. His voice was tearing through exhaustion, but iron resolve held in it. — Now!
A couple of minutes later, almost all the squad's surviving fighters stood in the hall.
The commander stepped forward, sweeping his gaze over the assembled, and said:
— Listen carefully. The wounded will remain here, guarded by the medics and part of our forces. I'll also stay—to coordinate actions and deal with this case. You—move to the front immediately and report the situation to command: request reinforcements and medical units.
Instead of me, I'm assigning Chunin Shiradoki—he'll take over command here. Shiradoki, you take responsibility for the entire lower sector. Understood?
Chunin Shiradoki, standing nearby, lifted his chin. He wore a long cloak and carried a heavy bag of tools.
— Understood.
He looked rather unremarkable, I thought, letting my gaze linger on the man of about thirty. Average height, ordinary face without notable features, the kind rarely remembered: no scars, no unusual expression, no distinctive bearing. Dark hair tied into a short tail, standard clothing—a light armor over a shinobi vest, all clean but without excess. At first glance—just an ordinary ninja, one of thousands.