Yoko flashed forward with astonishing speed, reappearing just ahead of the merchant caravan. His sharp gaze swept across the chaos unfolding before him. Benimaru had already begun his rampage, tearing through the bandits with ruthless efficiency.
Benimaru moved like a phantom—his footsteps barely audible, his strikes precise and lethal. With every swift motion, a deep slash would materialize across the neck or chest of an unfortunate enemy, blood spurting before their bodies hit the ground. From time to time, he conjured blazing fireballs in his palms. With a sudden whoosh and a deafening boom, the projectiles exploded among clusters of bandits, incinerating six or seven at once and leaving many others scorched, writhing in agony.
Yoko watched this merciless display with a small, amused chuckle."Well, if he's putting on a show like that," he muttered to himself, "then what am I waiting for?"
Without another word, he extended his chakra into the surrounding trees. Dozens of leaves shuddered and snapped off their branches, suspended in mid-air for a moment before launching forward like razor-sharp kunai. The ambush was sudden, elegant, and deadly. The leaves darted through the air in unpredictable arcs, piercing necks, chests, and skulls. Screams echoed briefly before silence reclaimed them. In a single wave of motion, more than twenty bandits collapsed to the ground, lifeless. The attack came from all directions, leaving no room for the bandits to dodge or defend themselves. They hadn't even seen it coming.
With a deadly calm, Yoko began advancing toward the remaining enemies, his presence like a predator walking into a panicked herd.
The bandit leader, standing amidst the wreckage of his ambush, watched in growing horror. His eyes darted between the two boys—no, monsters—wreaking havoc on his forces.What in the hell…? he thought, his confidence crumbling. Where did these freaks come from? We didn't sign up for this.
A bead of cold sweat trailed down his temple. For all his years living as an outlaw, he'd never encountered anything like this. He'd built his reputation on intimidation more than violence—threatening travelers, collecting tolls, and occasionally roughing up those who resisted. Rarely did it come to actual bloodshed, and even then, it was more show than substance.
He regretted, now more than ever, that he had never managed to learn any advanced ninjutsu. Despite all his efforts, his strength remained plateaued at the level of a special Jonin. And those elusive, high-level techniques he had long coveted? They belonged to the great shinobi villages, places he knew better than to provoke.
Now, standing face to face with forces far beyond his comprehension, he realized with dreadful certainty: this was a battle he was never meant to survive.
...
About a month ago, a ninja stronger than the bandit leader had appeared before him without warning. The encounter was brief but brutal—the stranger easily overwhelmed him in combat, and several of his men were slaughtered in the skirmish that followed. Yet, instead of finishing him off, the intruder made an offer.
"If you can loot a high-value caravan," the ninja had said coldly, "and gather the resources I require within three months, I'll reward you with two A-rank Earth Release techniques."
It was an irresistible offer.
His chakra affinity was Earth, and high-level earth-based ninjutsu was exactly what he'd always lacked. The powerful techniques that once seemed forever out of reach were now dangling in front of him like a prize—if only he could meet the demand.
He had worked obsessively from that day onward. In the span of a month, he had already gathered nearly half of the required resources. As a token of good faith, the mysterious ninja had even handed over one A-rank Earth jutsu in advance. But there was barely any time to train in it properly. He had just begun scratching the surface of its potential when today's attack began… and now, it was already too late.
The two enemies before him weren't just skilled—they were devastating. And even with his new technique, he doubted he'd last more than a minute against either of them.
As panic twisted in the bandit leader's gut, Yoko advanced with calm, deadly precision. The rose he had been holding bloomed unnaturally before shifting form, its petals unraveling into a sinuous, thorn-covered vine. The elegant transformation belied its lethal purpose.
In Yoko's hands, the vine whip lashed out like a serpent. Each strike tore through the bandits in his path—flesh shredded, limbs severed, and blood spattered across the ground. Some enemies lost arms or legs in a blink; others collapsed instantly with gaping wounds carved across their chests or throats. The battlefield had become a garden of carnage, cultivated by the whip's rhythmic violence.
For fifteen relentless minutes, the massacre continued. Whether by chance or deliberate design, only the bandit leader remained alive in the aftermath. His body trembled as he stood alone, surrounded by the corpses of his men.
A short distance away, Benimaru and Yoko regrouped, their expressions unreadable. The flames on Benimaru's arms still flickered faintly, and Yoko's thorny whip coiled around his forearm like a living thing.
(Ai Generated image is in comments).
Their eyes met briefly before turning toward the final survivor.
Yoko broke the silence with a casual tone, "I counted forty on my end. How about you?"
Benimaru shrugged. "Same here. Forty."
Yoko's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Well then… looks like we've got a tie."
He gestured toward the lone bandit leader, who stood frozen just a few meters away, drenched in sweat and fear.
"How about we settle it with a tiebreaker?" Yoko suggested. "First one to finish him off wins."
Benimaru smirked and gave a silent nod.
The game was on—and the bandit leader, whether he knew it or not, had just become the final target in a deadly competition.
Yoko kept his eyes fixed on the trembling bandit leader. With a slight smirk, he tilted his head and said, "Hey, if you've got any last words, now's your chance. We're generous enough to let you speak before you die."
The bandit leader looked from Yoko to Benimaru, his face pale and drenched in sweat. There was no room left for escape, no more tricks to play. Death was inevitable. He took a shaky breath and, perhaps out of resignation or some last vestige of pride, began to speak.
He confessed to his crimes—his years of robbing and killing—and explained the change that had come over him after encountering that mysterious ninja. He told them how he had been defeated, humiliated, and then coerced into collecting resources under threat of death, all in exchange for powerful Earth Release techniques. His descent into deeper violence hadn't been a choice, he claimed, but a result of desperation… of survival.
Benimaru and Yoko listened quietly. They weren't shocked. Stories like this were all too common in the shinobi world. Powerful ninjas from major villages often manipulated or exploited weaker rogue elements like this. Bandits like him were easy targets—men with enough ambition to cause trouble, but not enough strength to protect themselves from those above them.
When the bandit finished speaking, a long silence followed.
Yoko exhaled softly and replied, "Well then… I'll grant you a quick death."
The ground around the bandit leader trembled as thorny vines burst forth with terrifying speed, snaking upward and coiling around his body. In an instant, he was encased in a cage of green and crimson, the vines tightening with a creaking, crushing force.
But Benimaru moved first.
In a blur, he was beside the bandit leader, his blade ablaze with vibrant orange flame. With one clean stroke, the sword sliced through the man's neck. Simultaneously, the crushing pressure of the vines constricted the rest of his body, causing it to collapse inward with a sickening crunch.
As the severed body combusted into flame, the head was spared. Benimaru had expertly controlled the fire, containing the heat so the head remained intact—whether for the bounty or proof of the mission's completion.
"I won," Yoko said flatly, brushing stray thorns from his sleeve.
Benimaru raised an eyebrow. "No, I won. It was my blade that took off his head. He died because of me."
Yoko frowned. "Correction—he was already being crushed by my vines. If anything, he died before your sword even touched him."
The two glared at each other, tension rising again—not from malice, but from the competitive fire that always burned between them. The argument escalated, voices overlapping as they each laid claim to the final kill.
They might have kept going if not for the sound of cautious footsteps behind them.
The merchants, who had hidden themselves in the carriage during the chaos, slowly stepped out. Word had reached them that the bandits were gone, and now they emerged, wide-eyed and awestruck at the carnage around them. Seeing the two boys—without a stain of blood and bickering—they quickly stepped in to calm things down.
With reluctant grumbles, Yoko and Benimaru finally let the matter drop.
Afterward, they turned their attention to the aftermath. Together, they methodically disposed of the bodies—hundreds of them strewn across the forest path. It was grim, exhausting work, but it had to be done before the caravan could safely move forward.
Only after ensuring the road was clear did they continue their journey, the scent of ash and blood still lingering in the air behind them.
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