The muddy trail stretched like a scar between the hills, and the downpour hadn't stopped for hours. Cold, heavy, relentless rain beat down on the foliage and drowned out any trace of sunlight. The air was saturated with moisture and a pungent stench—blood, mixed with churned earth.
The ten shinobi advanced in silence, cloaks drawn up, faces grim. Their steps sank into the muck as they approached the location indicated by the last transmission. One of them, a scout named Tetsuo, came to a sudden halt.
"What the hell…"
They emerged into a silent clearing. And what they saw took their breath away.
Bodies littered the soaked ground. Some were half-buried in the mud, others slumped against rocks or tree roots. The pounding rain ran down motionless faces, slowly washing blood into the natural grooves of the earth. This wasn't a battlefield. It was a slaughterhouse.
No sign of a prolonged fight. No scattered kunai, no traces of jutsu scarring the terrain. Everything had been done quickly, methodically.
Karui stepped forward, frozen. Her gaze met the empty stare of a Kumo shinobi lying on his side, throat cleanly slit. She staggered but caught herself. Then she saw Misaki—a young recruit she had grown fond of.
She lay on her back, face turned toward the gray sky, eyes still open. A thin red line ran across her chest: a single, precise slash that had ended her life in one stroke. No prolonged suffering. An execution.
"No…" she whispered. "No, no, no…"
She dropped to her knees, not caring about the mud seeping under her tunic.
"Misaki!!!" she screamed.
Her cry was swallowed by the roar of the rain. Her fist struck the ground with a dull thud. She trembled, as if the rain could wash away the injustice.
"They didn't even have time to react," said Genta, approaching slowly. "No smoke, no burns, no explosions. Just... surgical strikes. Clean work."
"Too clean..." added another member of the squad, a sensor. He suddenly stood up straight. "And there's barely any chakra residue. As if the killer erased himself."
Karui rose slowly. Her eyes were red, but her voice was ice.
"An assassin? There was only one?"
The sensor nodded.
"I don't detect multiple sources. Either he's a master of concealment, or... he was alone. And he killed them all."
A young ninja in the back murmured:
"That's not human… This kind of massacre…"
Karui clenched her jaw.
"This is a message. Someone just struck at Kumo's heart. We can't let it go unanswered."
Genta placed a hand on her shoulder.
"We'll find him, Karui. I promise you that."
---
Meanwhile, Takeshi walked calmly under the rain. His black cloak clung to his shoulders, droplets trickling from his chin. His expression was neutral, almost relaxed, despite the chilling damp.
A small village appeared beyond a rise, its thatched roofs dark under the rain. A few lanterns flickered, casting trembling halos onto puddles. Villagers moved quickly, silent, ducking under awnings and porches.
Takeshi entered an old inn weathered by time: "The Raven's Wing." He pushed open the door.
A soft chime, then a welcome warmth. The interior, though modest, offered comfort. The smell of hot soup hung in the air, mixed with wet wood.
A woman behind the counter looked up.
"A room?" she asked, hands still drying bowls.
"A room... and a bath," Takeshi replied.
He dropped a small pouch. The woman peeked inside and nodded.
"Room 4. The bath's in the back. You'll have to heat the water yourself—no luxuries here."
Takeshi nodded. He climbed the stairs, walked down a creaky hallway, and entered a simple room. A futon, a small table, a hook for his clothes. The window overlooked misty hills.
He slowly removed his cloak and top. Damp bandages clung to his side. He unwrapped them, revealing a well-healed wound on his right flank. The kunai strike had been clean, but deep.
"Not bad," he thought silently.
Half an hour later, he was immersed in a steaming bath. The water hissed faintly against his tense muscles. He closed his eyes, letting the sound of rain soothe his senses.
"You look quite calm for someone who's been wounded," said a voice to his left.
He opened one eye.
A young woman in a simple kimono stood near the bath's entrance, a laundry basket under her arm. She didn't look surprised to see him.
"I saw the bandages. Were you attacked?"
"Bandits. Nothing serious."
She stared at him a moment, then smiled faintly.
"You don't speak like a merchant. Or a farmer. Or a regular traveler."
Takeshi didn't take her seriously—and he didn't give a damn whether people knew who he was.
"And you don't talk like a simple maid."
A quiet tension settled between them, broken only by the rain.
"Be careful," she said, setting the basket down. "Some men came through earlier. Asking questions. A Kumo squad… They're hunting an assassin."
Takeshi said nothing.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"And you? Are you that kind of man?"
He opened both eyes and stared at her, expressionless. This woman was as bold as Mei.
"I'm a man the rain follows closely. And those who try too hard to understand… often end up soaked."
She held his gaze a moment longer, then shrugged and turned away.
"As long as you pay for your nights, I saw nothing," she said before vanishing into the hall.
Takeshi remained in the bath a few more minutes. Then he whispered, more to himself than to anyone:
"Kumo's already released the hounds. Let's see how long they last... in the rain."