Chapter 57 – Spoils of War
Watanabe's eyes were filled with disbelief. He had counted on the shield buying him just an instant—enough to retreat behind his puppet.
But he never expected Nan's technique to be so devastating, shattering the puppet's defense in a single blow and delivering a fatal strike.
Nan watched as blood spilled from Watanabe's lips. With unwillingness burning in his eyes, the puppet master collapsed to the ground. Nan's own heart stirred with complicated emotions.
This marked the seventh life he had taken.
In his previous life, fresh out of medical school, he had sworn an oath—never to harm a single life, in any way.
During the heat of battle he hadn't thought much about it. But now, with the silence of victory settling in, he realized he had already broken that vow.
Yet… it didn't weigh heavily on him. That oath belonged to another life. Here and now, this was a world where war meant kill or be killed. He felt no guilt.
Quietly, Nan dragged Watanabe's body beside that of the jonin he had slain earlier, laying father and son side by side.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Look at me… what a kind person I am."
Then, he remembered—there was still one survivor.
His gaze shifted toward the sensor-type genin, the boy he had trapped in genjutsu earlier. The child still stood there slack-faced, utterly lost in illusion.
He couldn't have been more than ten years old—barely fresh from the Academy. In his previous life, that would have been the age of a primary schooler, far too young to be sent on missions of assassination and pursuit.
Nan chose not to kill him. Not out of mercy, but because there was no need.
That boy no longer posed a threat.
Besides, Nan's performance today was already too overwhelming—two jonin and six lower-ranking shinobi slain by a single combatant. If not for the final duo discovering his presence thanks to the sensor, he might have dispatched them just as easily.
If he were to wipe them all out, people would start whispering. And whispers could eventually point toward the Mangekyō Sharingan.
Better, then, to leave a survivor. One who could spread the tale exactly as Nan wanted it told. A controlled narrative: Nan, the genius shinobi with unmatched cunning—not a wielder of hidden powers.
From start to finish, the battle had unfolded largely as he had planned. Six had fallen to his ambushes. The last two had forced him to reveal more, but not beyond what he could explain away.
He had employed almost every tool at his disposal—his mastery of four elemental natures, the techniques he had learned from Orochimaru and Tsunade, the jutsu he had developed himself, and even basic Sharingan illusions.
And yet, as the dust settled, he stood virtually unharmed.
Only his right arm throbbed faintly from the strain of the Chidori Monster Fist. His clothes were streaked with sand, blood, and ash, but not a single wound marred his flesh.
His chakra, which had nearly bottomed out, now surged fuller than ever thanks to the Yin Seal he had unlocked mid-battle.
Though the Chidori Monster Fist had consumed little, he could feel the excess chakra beginning to dissipate, as chakra always did when left unused.
Ninja training, after all, wasn't about hoarding chakra—it was about honing the body's ability to produce it, much like building muscle. Strength could grow, but it could never be stockpiled.
Unwilling to waste what remained, Nan swiftly wove the seals and re-sealed the surplus into his Yin Seal.
Only then did he finally glance around the battlefield, strewn with corpses. A thought crossed his mind:
"Perhaps I should gather some trophies."
His gaze fell on the four puppets of the elite jonin puppet master. They were formidable constructs—too valuable to leave rotting on the sand.
A flicker of excitement stirred in him.
In his previous life, Nan had suffered from a peculiar kind of savant syndrome. Beyond medicine, he had spent his free hours voraciously consuming knowledge—biology, chemistry, physics, mechanics, computer science, and more.
Learning wasn't just a hobby; it was a compulsion. Without it, he felt restless, as though life itself had lost meaning.
Now, with these puppets lying before him, his scholar's curiosity awoke.
Nan had always been fascinated by puppets—these intricate, mechanical weapons unique to Sunagakure. During the fight, he had deliberately avoided destroying them.
Of the four, only the defensive puppet had taken some damage when its carapace was shattered by his strike. The other three remained completely intact.
Searching Watanabe's body, Nan found the sealing scroll used to store the four puppets and resealed them inside.
After that, he checked the belongings of every fallen enemy—including the still-unconscious genin—but there was nothing of real value. Which made sense. Who would bring unnecessary items on an assassination mission? At most, they carried weapons, a few supplies, and a small amount of money.
Nan had no interest in the crude ninja tools of the Sand shinobi. In the end, all he took was a little cash and the four puppets.
As for the corpses, he didn't bother destroying them. For the same reason as before—he wanted evidence left behind.
The surviving boy hadn't seen too much, but the battlefield itself would speak volumes. Everything pointed to Nan being nothing more than an exceptionally talented ninja—not someone with some hidden, coveted power.
Especially when it came to those lurking in the shadows—Madara and Black Zetsu—Nan couldn't afford to give them a reason to take interest in him.
Continuing on the road back toward Konoha, Nan didn't sense anyone tailing him. It seemed Suna had believed those eight assassins would be more than enough and hadn't prepared a follow-up plan.
Still, one question gnawed at him: How had Suna learned of his movements in the first place?
This mission was highly classified. Only the four members involved and the Hokage himself should have known the details. Minato, Kakashi, Tsunade, and the Third—none of them would ever leak such information.
The only plausible explanation was a spy hidden among Konoha's higher-ups—or worse, someone within Konoha who had deliberately leaked intel, hoping to use Suna to get rid of him.
At that thought, one name surfaced in his mind.
"Could it be… Danzō?"
It was well known in the original timeline how much that old schemer despised the Uchiha. It was unlikely that Suna could easily plant spies so deep in Konoha's leadership. Which left betrayal from within.
But why him? Had he already drawn Danzō's attention somehow? What reason would the man have to move against him now?
Nan pondered all the way down the road but found no clear answer. Perhaps he had simply shone too brightly, been valued too highly by the Third, and thus triggered Danzō's paranoia.
Heaven is jealous of talent, Nan thought bitterly. The gifted always attract envy.
By the time he was two-thirds of the way home, he finally sensed one of his Flying Thunder God markers still lingering near Konoha.
That confirmed it—his mastery of the technique wasn't yet suitable for combat, but for travel, it already gave him a decisive advantage.