Two weeks passed since Ken started sparring with Guy.
Guy's taijutsu was relentless. Every strike was direct, every movement stripped of hesitation. Watching him fight, Ken briefly considered investing more into taijutsu himself.
The thought didn't last.
Taijutsu favored specialists. Those who committed everything to it. On real battlefields, fights weren't clean. There were no rules to respect and no forms to maintain. Distance, terrain, tools, and timing decided outcomes.
Ken preferred not to let enemies close in the first place.
The real progress showed elsewhere.
Mud Wall and Mud Ball both crossed into Adept.
The change was immediate.
The first time Ken raised a wall, it didn't form at his feet. It erupted several steps away instead, directly in the path of an incoming strike. The timing wasn't perfect, but the placement was deliberate.
That hadn't been possible before.
Mud Ball followed the same pattern. With tighter compression, it hit harder and flew straighter. With looser control, it traveled farther. At times, it felt less like throwing mud and more like firing a crude earth bullet.
Control replaced raw output.
There was another shift as well.
Ken no longer needed to slam his hands into the ground. As long as his feet maintained contact, forming seals was enough. Redirecting chakra away from his hands took focus and time, but the technique still answered.
That alone expanded his options.
Now, the limitation wasn't power.
It was shape.
Once his chakra shaping improved, flat walls wouldn't be necessary. Curved barriers. Angled defenses. Walls that guided force instead of stopping it.
Ken exhaled slowly, dirt clinging to his boots.
Step by step.
This path suited him.
Money, however, didn't wait.
Three days later, Ken went to the mission office.
He chose a requested assignment. Bandit clearing again. The pay was higher, and the destination was Nokumora, a small village about half a day from Konoha, tucked between forest and hills.
The village looked tired when he arrived.
The chief met him at the entrance, an older man with a stooped back and hands that wouldn't stop shaking. He ushered Ken inside and spoke in a low voice.
"They came months ago," the man said. "At first, they asked for money. Protection."
Ken listened without interrupting.
"We paid," the chief continued. "We thought it would end there. But every visit cost more. And when someone couldn't pay…"
His voice faltered.
"They took daughters. Wives. Said it was interest."
The chief bowed deeply. "Please. Save them."
Ken stood.
"I'll try my best," he said.
They prepared a small room for him near the edge of the village. Ken rested, ate lightly, and waited.
The bandits came the next day at noon.
Ken watched from a distance.
Six men. Confident. Loud. They took the money without bothering to count it. Then they dragged away two women and a girl as the villagers lowered their heads.
Ken didn't move.
He waited until they left.
Then he followed.
He kept his distance, careful not to be seen. When the forest thickened, he knelt and pressed his palm to the ground.
Earth Ears.
Ripples spread outward.
Footsteps. Familiar. Concentrated.
He filtered further.
Heavy steps. Armed men. One main cluster.
And then—lighter movement. Uneven. Restrained.
Captives.
Ken opened his eyes.
The stronghold sat ahead, a half-collapsed quarry reinforced with wood. One main entrance. Guards posted carelessly, confident in isolation.
Ken backed away into the trees.
Night would be better.
He disappeared into the forest.