Because the Hagumi clan had lost all ability to resist external danger, once all surviving members regrouped, they followed the stream deeper into the primeval forest.
For wandering shinobi like them, it was wiser to trust in the natural barriers of the land than in their own dwindling strength.
A fragmented, rugged terrain—dense trees, cliffs, rivers—offered far better protection than any weapon or jutsu could.
Truth be told, Hagumi Genshin would have been far safer and freer if he had left the clan behind to live on his own.
But he never even considered it.
Over the past year in this harsh world, these ordinary people had helped him again and again.
Without their support, he would never have survived to this day.
A man could grow cold—but not heartless.
One could lower one's standards—but never discard them entirely.
Since everyone called him "clan leader," Genshin accepted that role without hesitation.
The forest had no proper paths, so their journey was slow and grueling—
each step felt like carving a road through the wilderness with their bare hands.
Five days later, they crossed a mountain; two days after that, they reached a secluded valley nestled among uneven foothills.
It was nearly the heart of the forest.
The valley was surrounded by trees and mountains, veiled in thick foliage.
Even a skilled sensory ninja would have trouble finding traces of them here.
There were only a little more than ten of them left, and even if they stayed for weeks, their presence would barely scar the land.
Genshin stood on a massive tree root that bulged from the ground like a coiled serpent, studying the terrain carefully.
Then he placed his palm on the trunk beside him—a tree so thick it might as well have been a wall—and said:
"This is the place."
Of course, such an environment wasn't suitable for permanent settlement.
But they didn't need permanence—just a temporary haven to rest and recover.
Surrounded by endless green and the raw, untamed scent of the wilderness, none of them complained.
On the contrary, it was in such desolate places—where no human would willingly come—that they finally felt safe.
The frantic terror of constant flight slowly gave way to a fragile sense of calm.
Once the camp location was chosen, they began building simple shelters.
They used the forest itself—massive roots, hollow trees, half-fallen trunks—
cleared the lower ground of dead leaves and branches, and stretched roofs of woven vines and leaves overhead.
It wasn't complicated.
A mesh of vines, layered with leaves, was enough to keep out wind and rain.
Soon, one by one, the makeshift huts stood complete.
Well, to be honest—they were shacks, nothing more.
Just as they finished building, a medium rainfall swept over them.
But there was no time to rest.
Everyone who wasn't injured split into two groups—
one went hunting and foraging,
the other fished in the nearby stream.
They had long since exhausted any outside supplies; only by relying on the forest's abundance could they continue to live.
In the end, what allowed shinobi to survive was not superior strength or endurance—
but skill in fishing and hunting.
Freshwater fish, wild game, and forest fruits provided everything they needed to endure.
It was early autumn, the weather still mild.
For now, the cold was not their enemy.
As clan leader, Genshin was afforded small privileges even under these harsh conditions.
He didn't have to join the hunting parties, and his shelter was built slightly higher up—dry ground with a wide view.
Now he sat beneath the rough canopy, watching the rain fall, lost in thought.
Where could the Hagumi clan go from here?
To be honest, with their remaining numbers and strength, there was no way they could rise again in this world of ninja.
Forget their humble bloodlines and lack of talent—even if he somehow had ten Kakashis under his command…
Well, fine. Ten Kakashis could probably turn the ninja world upside down.
But for a small, weak group like theirs, the most realistic path was to submit to a stronger power.
Yet submission without trust would only make them pawns—expendable, forgotten, and dead.
Better to survive in the cracks between giants than die as someone else's cannon fodder.
Despite everything, Genshin wasn't entirely pessimistic.
It wasn't because of unshakable willpower, nor any foresight of the future—
it was simply because they had already hit rock bottom.
When you've fallen this far, any movement at all is an ascent.
Or perhaps, as he thought dryly,
I've already lost everything—why bother fearing shame or death now? At worst, I'll just die on my feet.
After a while, he made up his mind.
The rain passed quickly.
By dusk, it had stopped, and the others returned with fish and wild meat.
They began to cook, smoke, and roast their meager harvest.
Genshin chose a dry patch of ground and lit a bonfire.
When the food was ready, he called all sixteen remaining members to gather around the flames.
They were pale, weary, and worn—but alive.
And in times like these, being alive was victory enough.
The grief of near extinction lingered behind every gaze, but they didn't speak of it.
Genshin sat on a tree stump beside the fire.
Next to him was a crudely carved wooden bowl filled with a few chunks of fish and broth.
He took a sip—the soup was thin, tasting more of pine from the wooden bowl than of oil or flesh.
No one spoke.
For a brief moment, there was peace.
Then, setting his bowl aside, Genshin cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Though we've escaped pursuit, our situation remains dire."
"The wars between clans show no sign of ending. In such chaos, a weak group like ours could vanish in an instant."
"But tonight, I don't want to dwell on hardship. Nor do I wish to curse fate or wallow in despair."
"What I want to say is—survival follows its own logic. If we find the right path, our chances of living will rise."
"We seek to live—not merely to linger."
"A person must have spirit—not lofty pride above the crowd, but the simple resolve of being human."
"We are not corpses that happen to move."
He paused, his voice lowering.
"The truth is… with so few of us left, the Hagumi clan is already extinct in all but name."
"If we are to survive—not as pawns, but with our own will intact—we must draw in new strength, and grow."
"We must act with restraint—strong enough to defend ourselves, but not so bold as to draw the wrath of greater powers."
"For us, the clan no longer matters."
"The Hagumi name holds no ancient glory, no noble bloodline, no proud history to defend.
Yet many of our kin have died for that name."
"So I say—let what is dead remain dead.
Let us abandon what we must, so that something new may be born."
He rose to his feet suddenly, eyes blazing in the firelight.
"From this day on, we will no longer act under the name of the Hagumi clan.
From now on, I will call myself Hajime,
and you—no longer bound by blood or name—are simply wanderers who share a fate and a will to live."
Then, with clear, steady conviction, he declared:
"We…
seek not victory, only survival;
fear not death, only oblivion;
crave no dominance, only peace;
wield no cruelty, only patience;
carry hope, hidden in shadow;
guard our flame—
beneath the ashes."
"From this day forward, we are Ashes."
As he spoke, Hajime removed the forehead protector from his brow and tossed it into the fire.
The symbol of the Hagumi clan glowed bright in the heat—
then, slowly, melted away.