The forest clearing held four corpses and the smell of cooling blood.
Muzan wiped his kunai on the Nara scout's jacket and stood. His breathing was steady. The fight had lasted three minutes from first contact to the scout's death gurgle. He'd moved through the engagement the way he'd been trained—check corners, control distance, finish quickly.
He crouched beside the first body. The one he'd killed with the fireball technique. The man's chest cavity was opened and charred, flesh blackened at the edges where the flame had burned hottest.
Muzan glanced around the clearing. Empty. No witnesses.
He bit into the charred meat.
The taste was bitter and burnt, but underneath it something else flooded through him. Energy. Strength. His muscles tightened and his chakra reserves filled like water poured into a cup. He ate methodically, the way he'd eat ration bars during a march. The taste didn't matter. The function did.
When he finished, he wiped his mouth and formed the hand seals Urashi had taught him after the Ino-Shika-Cho mission.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu."
The sphere of flame engulfed the bodies. He watched them burn for thirty seconds, then turned and headed back toward camp.
The walk took twenty minutes. His legs moved automatically through the familiar terrain. His mind was quiet. A month ago, eating human flesh would have destroyed something inside him. Now it was logistics. Fuel for the engine.
He'd killed twelve people this month. Eight successful missions. Zero failures. The numbers were clean and simple.
The Uchiha camp sprawled across a cleared section of forest. More tents than last month, but fewer shinobi moving between them. Muzan walked through the main path and other soldiers nodded at him. Some said his name.
He found Toshiro near his tent, hunched over a map spread across a wooden table.
"Muzan!" Toshiro looked up and grinned. "Mission went clean?"
"Four targets. All dead."
The grin faded slightly. "You say it like you're reporting inventory counts."
Muzan didn't respond.
Toshiro sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Briefing's in an hour. Big one. They're pulling in three full squads."
"One of the Senju reserve camp. It's a small one."
"Yeah." Toshiro's voice dropped. "Location got leaked. Lord Urashi wants it wiped before they can reinforce the main force." He tapped the map. "Deep in Senju territory. Getting there's going to be dangerous. Getting out's going to be worse."
Muzan studied the marked position. The camp sat in a valley surrounded by dense forest. Limited approach routes. Easy to defend if they were alert.
"Who's leading?" Muzan asked.
"Miyako's team is confirmed. Us, obviously." Toshiro paused. "And Kenozo-san's team."
"Don't know him."
"He retired five years ago. Came back three days ago after the Senju killed both his sons." Toshiro's jaw tightened. "Ambush during a reconnaissance run. Word is he's not planning to survive this one."
Muzan understood. A man with nothing left to lose would push forward when he should retreat. Would take risks that endangered everyone around him.
"What about our squad?" Muzan asked.
Toshiro looked away. His hand stilled on the map. "You didn't hear?"
Something cold settled in Muzan's chest.
"Masai died last week." Toshiro's voice went flat. "Senju patrol caught him during reconnaissance. He held them off so the others could escape." He pressed his palm against the table. "They brought his body back. We buried him yesterday."
Muzan stood still. Masai. The one who'd tackled him out of the fireball's path during his first real mission. Who'd joked about Toshiro's obvious feelings for Miyako. Who'd been built like a boulder and fought like one.
Dead.
"I see," Muzan said.
Toshiro's head snapped up. "That's it? That's all you're going to say?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know, something!" Toshiro's voice rose. "Masai saved your life. Don't you feel anything about this?"
Muzan met his eyes. "He was a good shinobi. He died protecting his comrades. That's worth respecting."
"That's not—" Toshiro stopped himself and took a breath. His hands were shaking slightly. "Forget it. Just don't forget him. Okay?"
Muzan nodded.
He wouldn't forget. He'd bury it with everything else that needed burying. The memories would stay locked down where they couldn't interfere with function.
Toshiro studied him for a long moment, then shook his head. "Briefing in an hour. Don't be late."
He walked away.
Muzan returned to his tent and sat cross-legged on the floor. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. On the steady flow of chakra through his system.
A month ago his reserves had been pathetic. Now they were adequate. Not exceptional, but enough to use basic fire techniques without collapsing. The demon physiology didn't generate chakra naturally. Every time he consumed flesh, his body grew stronger and his reserves replenished. Temporary fuel that required constant feeding.
He'd learned what he could from the Uchiha. Improved himself as much as this place allowed. Now it was time to return to the Land of Iron and take back what belonged to him.
But the Uchiha had given him shelter. Training. A chance to survive and grow stronger. He owed them something for that.
One last mission. Then he was done.
He opened his eyes and checked his equipment. Kunai. Shuriken. Explosive tags. Wire. Everything in order and within easy reach.
Tomorrow he'd help destroy the Senju reserve camp.
Then he'd leave.
---
The next evening, Muzan stood in formation with fourteen other shinobi. The largest operation he'd been part of since arriving at the camp.
Amanai stood at the front of their squad. Muzan, Toshiro, Naroi, and Sayuri formed the rest of the line. The new girl had joined after Masai's death. She'd completed her training at the main Uchiha compound two weeks ago.
Masai's absence felt like a missing tooth. Something that should be there but wasn't.
To their left stood Miyako's squad. Five shinobi, all with the hard edges that came from surviving too many battles. Miyako's Sharingan was already active, the tomoe spinning slowly as she surveyed the group.
To their right was Kenozo's squad.
Kenozo himself looked about sixty. Gray hair, deep wrinkles, sharp eyes that held nothing but cold purpose. The eyes of a man who'd already decided how this would end.
His squad consisted of four younger shinobi who kept glancing at their leader with obvious concern.
Front Commander Takeshi stood before all three squads. He was a broad man with scars crossing his face and hands that never stopped moving.
"The Senju reserve camp holds twenty shinobi," Takeshi said. His voice carried across the formation without shouting. "Supplies for their eastern front. Medical equipment, weapons, food." He paused. "Intelligence confirms the location. We strike at dawn."
He unrolled a map and weighted the corners with stones.
"The camp is here." His finger stabbed the marked valley. "Forest terrain, limited visibility. They'll have sentries, but not many. They think the location is secure." His finger traced three paths. "We approach from three directions. Miyako's squad takes the north. Amanai's squad takes the west. Kenozo's squad takes the south."
Takeshi looked up. "Timing is critical. We hit simultaneously. Fast and brutal. No survivors, no witnesses."
Kenozo stepped forward. His voice was rough like gravel sliding over stone. "What about reinforcements?"
"Nearest Senju outpost is two hours away. We'll be gone before they arrive."
"And if we're not?" Kenozo pressed.
Takeshi met his eyes. "Then we fight our way out."
Kenozo smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Good."
Miyako spoke next. "Extraction route?"
Takeshi traced another path on the map. "East through the valley. Rendezvous point here." He marked an X with charcoal. "If you get separated, fall back to the secondary position here." He marked another X three inches away on the map.
He rolled up the map and the stones clattered against the table. "We move out in one hour. Check your equipment. Rest while you can." His gaze swept across them. "Don't fail."
The formation broke apart. Squads dispersed to their preparation areas.
Muzan checked his gear again. Kunai in the thigh pouch, shuriken in the hip pouch, explosive tags in the chest pocket. Wire coiled in his left sleeve. Everything accessible and ready.
Toshiro sidled up next to him. "You nervous?"
"No."
"Liar." Toshiro grinned but his hands were tapping against his legs. "I'm terrified. Forty Senju. This could go bad fast."
"We can die the same as anyone else," Muzan said.
Toshiro blinked. "You've really changed. You know that?"
Muzan didn't respond.
Naroi joined them, running a whetstone along his tanto. The rhythmic scrape of stone on metal filled the silence between them.
"You miss him?" Naroi asked quietly without looking up from his blade.
Toshiro didn't need to ask who. "Yeah."
Naroi nodded. "Me too."
They stood in silence.
Sayuri approached from the side. She'd been watching them for the past minute, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Miss who?"
"Masai," Toshiro said. "He was our teammate before you joined."
"Oh." Sayuri's face fell. "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," Naroi said. He kept sharpening his blade.
Amanai called them over. "Final check. Toshiro, what's your sensor range?"
"Fifty meters, maybe sixty if I push it."
"Good. You'll detect their sentries first. Call it out the moment you sense anyone." Amanai looked at Naroi. "You're our fastest. You take point on eliminating sentries."
Naroi nodded and slid his tanto into its sheath.
Amanai turned to Muzan. "Keep watch on Sayuri. She's new to this."
"Understood."
Amanai's expression hardened. "This isn't like our usual missions. This is an assault. Expect heavy resistance. Expect casualties." He paused. "Stay close. Watch each other's backs. If things go wrong and we're overwhelmed, you retreat immediately. Understood?"
They all nodded.
"Good." Amanai glanced toward where Kenozo's squad was preparing. The old man was checking his equipment with mechanical precision, each movement exact and controlled. "Keep an eye on Kenozo's team. That man's looking for a place to die. Don't let him drag us down with him."
Muzan watched Kenozo work. The old man's hands were steady but there was something final in the way he moved. Like a man preparing for a ceremony he'd already decided would be his last.
An hour later, they moved out.
Fifteen shinobi slipped through the forest in practiced silence. Muzan ran in formation with his squad, his body moving efficiently through the terrain. A month ago he would have struggled to keep pace. Now his muscles knew the rhythm of sustained movement through difficult ground.
Sayuri kept pace beside him. She'd been glancing at him every few minutes for the past twenty.
"Muzan-san," she said quietly.
He didn't look at her. "What?"
"Is it true you killed a Nara on your first mission?"
"Yes."
"And you've completed eight solo missions since then?"
"Yes."
She was quiet for a few seconds. "That's impressive."
Muzan said nothing. The trees passed in steady rhythm.
"I heard you only trained for a week before joining combat," Sayuri continued. "How did you learn everything so fast?"
"Focus on the mission."
"Right. Sorry." She went quiet for maybe thirty seconds. Then, "Do you think it'll be scary? The assault?"
"Probably."
"Have you been in an assault before?"
"Once."
"Was it scary?"
Muzan finally looked at her. She was young, maybe fifteen, with a single tomoe Sharingan that marked some trauma in her recent past.
"Fear keeps you alive," he said. "Use it."
Sayuri nodded and bit her lip. "Can I stay close to you during the fight?"
"Stay close to Amanai. He's the squad leader."
"But he's intimidating and—"
"I'm worse." Muzan's voice was flat. "Amanai's stronger and more experienced. Stay near him."
"Still," Sayuri said softly. Her cheeks colored slightly even in the darkness. "I'd feel safer near you."
Toshiro, running ahead of them, glanced back with a knowing smirk.
Muzan ignored both of them and focused on the path ahead.
They ran in silence for another ten minutes. The forest grew denser and the moonlight barely penetrated the canopy.
Sayuri spoke again. "Muzan-san, can I ask you something personal?"
"No."
"Oh. It's just, I wanted to say that your face is—" She stopped herself. "Never mind."
"My face is what?"
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
Muzan had noticed other shinobi staring at him over the past month. Mostly women, sometimes men. The demon blood had changed his appearance in ways that drew attention. Pale skin, sharp features, striking eyes that didn't quite look human anymore.
It was useful for creating hesitation in combat. Annoying everywhere else.
"After this mission," Sayuri said quietly, "maybe we could talk more? I'd like to know—"
Muzan raised his fist.
The entire squad stopped instantly. Fifteen shinobi froze in place without a sound.
Through the trees ahead, the Senju camp was visible. Firelight flickered between the trunks and the faint sound of voices drifted through the darkness.
Amanai moved up beside Muzan. "Good eye."
Toshiro closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. Sensing. "Two sentries. One northwest, one south. Both about forty meters out from the camp perimeter."
Naroi was already moving before Amanai could give the signal. He slipped between the trees like a shadow and disappeared into the darkness.
Muzan turned to Sayuri. Her face was pale and her hands trembled slightly on the kunai she'd drawn. Her Sharingan was active but the single tomoe spun erratically.
"When it starts," Muzan said quietly, "don't freeze. Don't think too much. Just move and stay alive."
She nodded but her breathing was too fast.
Naroi reappeared thirty seconds later. Blood stained his tanto and he wiped it clean on his sleeve. "Clear."
The three squads converged on their positions. Miyako's team slipped north through the trees. Kenozo's team moved south with the old man at the front. Amanai led their squad west toward their designated approach vector.
Muzan's heart was steady. His breathing was controlled. Tomorrow he'd leave this place and return to the Land of Iron.
But tonight, he had one last debt to pay.