This is a Bonus Release Chapter after getting to 50 Power Stones. Thanks a lot everyone!
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Even in killing, Sasuke was merciful.
Not to the so-called free folk, or wildlings—a name people south of the Wall called them, and one he was more inclined to use.
A thousand different ways to butcher them came to his mind. He could have sliced them to pieces with his Kusanagi. Burnt them alive with any number of fire jutsu in his repertoire. Brought down the fury of the heavens with his signature lightning dragon.
But he was merciful to the four huddled children watching from the edge of the clearing, and to the girl behind him who had already been traumatized enough for one day. To keep them from witnessing his full might, he kept things simple.
The first wildling impatiently lunged at him from the left without waiting for any of his comrades to make a move at the same time. A costly mistake in a normal fight against a marginally superior enemy.
Against Sasuke, such things make no difference. Death was the only certainty.
The wildling's two dirks struck high and low, aiming to punch holes in his stomach and neck. Sasuke simply stepped into his guard, using just enough speed to stun him, and launched an open-handed blow against the man's neck.
A wet crack echoed in the clearing. The man's eyes widened to saucers, his mouth opened as if to let out a pained scream, but nothing came out. He fell to his knees, the dirks dropping beside him.
A collapsed trachea killed wasn't as dramatic as showers of blood and burned carcasses, but it killed people just the same, and it was less damaging to young children.
That's something he could attest for himself. Why didn't Itachi just do the same thing when he massacred the Uchiha? Sasuke would've grown up to be a less broody child if that had been the case.
A makeshift spear was already heading toward his back, but Sasuke easily spun out of the way and used his momentum to backheel kick his new attacker. The kick struck the man on the side of his face, and another loud crack sounded when his neck snapped to the side.
This wildling dropped to the snow like a puppet when their chakra strings were cut, dead before he could blink. Sasuke nodded to himself. Necks it is, he decided.
The man with the collapsed trachea was still convulsing on the ground, his face growing purple by the second. Bad way to go. Sasuke didn't care much about the man's suffering, but he might as well make this as clean as possible.
He went on the offensive.
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Dacey POV
Dacey's eyes shone as she watched the strange man dismantling the wildlings without even using the sword at his hip.
Ever since she could walk, her mother had brought her to Mormont Keep's courtyard to train with practice weapons and straw dummies. Even before that, Dacey's first memories were seeing her cousin Jorah practice in the yard.
She could remember watching in awe as two Mormont guardsmen traded blows using sword and shield against her cousin. It felt like a scene from the Age of Heroes to her young mind. The clashing of steel ringing like a song. Jorah's feet shuffling and darting back and forth like a skilled dancer.
That began her fascination for anything related to fighting and war. Usually, those weren't pursuits afforded to ladies of the realm, but life was different in Bear Island. Land and living were rough this far north, and the woman had to be cut from the same cloth.
Her mother, a warrior in her own right, had always encouraged Dacey's fighting spirit, and most of her time was spent either watching the Mormont guards sparring or her own practice with her small training mace.
Still, despite spending countless hours watching the best warriors of her island training at arms, she had never seen someone fighting like the man with the strange eyes.
Dacey blinked as she looked at him again. Weren't his eyes red and purple just a minute ago? She shook her head. People didn't have colorful eyes, not matter how cool they would look.
Another wildling fell beside the man after a spinning kick to the head, a move she didn't even know was possible. He was so much faster and more nimble than any warrior she'd seen.
The four wildlings left seemed to grow weary as their attempt to box in the man by spreading out failed. But that didn't seem to matter to the strange man. Instead of waiting for them to attack him again, he dashed forward toward Mara.
The woman hesitated, crossing her twin bronze axes in front of her to defend herself, only for the man to go low and throw her off her feet with a sweep of his leg. Mara fell hard on the snow, gasping, and the man didn't hesitate to stomp on her neck in a brutal killing blow.
Dacey almost cheered out loud, but the pain in her broken nose kept her from crying out in joy. A dark satisfaction rose in her chest at seeing Mother Mara dying like a bug beneath the man's feet.
And so easy, she thought. One of the best woman warriors Dacey's ever seen, even one who was a horrible bitch to her, had been taken out by the man like it was nothing.
The rest of the fighting wasn't anything different.
Dacey struggled to follow his movements as he ducked a wild swing from a wooden club and came up punching the chin of a wildling, who fell down like a sack of potatoes.
The last two wildlings didn't try to fight. One turned to flee, but the man quickly overtook him and twisted his neck from behind before he got three steps away. The children beside Dacey gasped and cried at the loud cracking sound, turning away in fear, but she could tear her eyes away even if she wanted.
Skair was the last man standing, frozen in the middle of the clearing. When the man turned to look at him, the tall wildling fell to his knees and dropped his great axe to the ground.
His face was drawn in a mask of horror. "Mercy!" he cried. "Please have mercy on me!"
The man walked calmly toward him. He didn't say anything as Skair kept pleading, tears streaming down his face. Dacey had never taken Skair for a coward from the few weeks she had been around him since they took her, but he showed his true colors now.
"Please, I'll do anything! I'll help you conquer the free folk," he promised when there was no response. "You'd be a god here. Worshipped. I can help you! Please have mercy!"
When the man stopped in front of the wildling, Skair looked up fearfully at him, mouth opening and closing suddenly without words.
After a moment of silence, the man issued his response.
"No," he said, and using only one hand he ended the last wildling in the clearing.
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