Lock stood over the fallen Hyūga, chest rising and falling as he let out a long breath. The boy's body was twisted in death, his pale eyes glassy with shock and unwillingness.
He touched the spot where the Hyūga's strike had grazed him earlier. If the boy's Gentle Fist had fully connected, he might not be standing now. But in the chaos of the smoke screen, the blow had missed its mark, glancing off without shutting down his chakra points. Luck—pure luck—had decided the outcome of that fight.
Even talent and strength mean nothing if fortune turns its back on you, Lock thought grimly.
He crouched, staring at the body. Hinata Toshiaki—young, proud, but already wielding the Hyūga clan's secret techniques. A direct heir, judging from his mastery of Rotation. Killing him was no small matter.
Lock clenched his fist. The Hyūga will never forgive this if they discover it. Even the Hokage would side with them over me.
His gaze fell on the boy's eyes—Byakugan, pale and lifeless now. Power that could pierce walls, unravel genjutsu, and expose every secret. For a fleeting moment, desire stirred in his chest.
But he forced it down. "Not mine to touch," he muttered. "That path only leads to death."
Dragging the Hyūga's corpse beside the two fallen chūnin he had slain earlier, Lock set about clearing the scene. He erased footprints, scattered dirt over bloodstains, and finally gathered the three bodies into a single pile. For a moment, he considered staging it as if they had killed one another, but discarded the idea just as quickly. Too many details could give him away.
Instead, he struck flint to tinder. Flames roared to life, devouring cloth, flesh, and bone alike. The acrid stench rolled through the Forest of Death, climbing into the night sky.
Lock stood watching, the firelight dancing across his face. From his pouch, he pulled out the three scrolls he had taken—two Heaven, one Earth. Among them was the Hyūga's scroll, a piece of the set he needed.
But his instincts screamed caution. "If there's even the slightest tracking seal on these, it'll lead straight back to me."
One by one, he tossed the scrolls into the blaze, watching them curl and blacken. His heart ached at the loss, but survival meant more than promotion.
Minutes passed. He crouched in the shadows of the trees, motionless, watching for any sign of pursuers. None came. No Anbu, no other candidates—only silence broken by the crackle of fire. When the flames finally burned down to embers and bone fragments, he allowed himself to exhale.
Settling into a high branch, he pulled a soldier pill from his pouch and swallowed it dry. The bitter chalky taste coated his tongue, but soon warmth spread through his veins, his chakra coils surging back to life. He rested in silence as his body knitted itself back together, waiting for his strength to return.
Half an hour later, Lock opened his eyes. His chakra had risen to more than half, enough to fight again if needed. Below, the fire had consumed nearly everything, leaving little more than scattered ash.
Good. No trail, no witnesses.
When two other genin stumbled across the clearing during that time, they had taken one look at the scorched ground and hurried away without investigating. Their fear of the unknown played into his hands.
At last, Lock rose. "Time to move."
He slipped through the trees toward the central tower. The forest whispered around him, every step measured, every breath controlled.
Luck favored him again on the way. He came across another examinee—wounded, bloodied, barely able to stand. When Lock demanded his scroll, the boy surrendered it without resistance. It was a Heaven scroll, exactly the one Lock needed.
"Stay away from the tower," Lock warned flatly, sliding the scroll into his pouch. "In your state, you won't survive the others waiting there."
The genin nodded mutely and staggered off in the opposite direction, too broken to resist.
Now, Lock carried nearly a complete set. Only one Earth scroll remained between him and the tower's gates. He allowed himself the faintest of smiles.
If I had kept the Hyūga's scroll, I'd already be finished. But I'd rather live than gamble with death.
Hours later, another sight stopped him cold. A body lay sprawled across the forest floor, cut open with merciless precision. Another examinee—dead. His blood stained the roots of the trees, still fresh.
Lock knelt briefly, scanning the wounds. Whoever had killed this one was efficient, ruthless, and close by.
His hand drifted to the kunai at his belt.
The Forest of Death was living up to its name.
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