These children were all disciples he had taken in—talented, hardworking, and earnest. He had poured everything he knew into them, and watching them improve day by day gave birth to a feeling he had never experienced before.
It felt like... hope.
"Good, you've both done well." He patted their heads with a smile. "Go eat; we continue tomorrow."
The two cheered and ran off, full of energy. Nanshi watched their retreating backs, his smile slowly fading. He didn't know how long these days would last.
The Daimyo's hostility, the greed of the nobles, the prying eyes of other hidden villages... the Daodao-Zhong was like a small boat in a massive storm, liable to capsize at any mont.
But he had no regrets. He believed that with his strength and the potential of these children, they would eventually bring a new dawn to the Land of Waterfalls.
Night fell.
Bonfires were lit in the valley as the youths gathered to sing, laugh, and share their evening al. Nanshi sat alone on a high ledge, staring at the stars, lost in thought.
Suddenly, he bolted upright. A faint, nearly imperceptible chill of killing intent drifted through the air.
"Enemy attack—!"
Before his voice could settle, dozens of dark figures surged into the camp from all directions. Kunai and shuriken rained down like a localized storm; the first screams rang out instantly.
"Shinobi! It's the Leaf!" "Form ranks! Protect the children!"
Nanshi unsheathed his long blade, moving like a lightning bolt toward the nearest shadow. With a flash of steel, a black-clad ninja collapsed. But more shadows sward in. Each was formidable, their coordination seamless—the hallmark of seasoned elites.
Root.
Nanshi realized it imdiately. It was Konoha's Root. The Daimyo had indeed hired foreign shinobi. But why would the Leaf intervene in this internal affair?
"Kill them all. Leave no one alive!"
A cold voice commanded from the darkness, and the battle turned into a massacre. Nanshi's swordsmanship was lethal, every strike claiming a life, but his followers were mostly teenagers.
They had the forms he taught them but lacked true life-or-death experience. Against Root's elite, they were lambs to the slaughter.
"Teacher, save !"
A piercing cry made Nanshi's heart shudder. He turned to see two of his favorite disciples being cornered by two Root agents.
To call it an "attack" was generous; it was an execution. Their clumsy Substitution Jutsu and close-quarters sword skills ant nothing against high-level ninjutsu.
In an instant, they were torn apart, their broken bodies falling into the mud.
"No!"
Nanshi charged like a madman, his blade sweeping in a wide arc to force the killers back. He reached for his disciples, but their bodies were already cold, mangled beyond recognition.
"Don't die!" Nanshi's voice trembled, his eyes turning a feral, bloodshot red. "AAAHHHH!"
He exploded into motion, his blade becoming a blur of silver as he cut down the three closest Root agents. Yet the slaughter continued.
The Root ninjas were emotionless machines, ignoring pain as they systematically reduced the number of surviving youths to a re handful.
The screams, the clash of steel, and the roar of fire blurred into a chaotic white noise. Nanshi felt a crushing realization: he had been wrong. He had been wrong from the very start.
It wasn't until his old veterans, stationed near the "insect holes," arrived that the tide finally turned.
The battle raged until dawn. When the first light touched the valley, the world was silent, carpeted in corpses. Of the two hundred teenagers, fewer than five remained. Nanshi's original core mbers were at half-strength.
On Root's side, of the twenty-four elites sent, only the four strongest Jonin managed to break out, and even they were severely wounded.
Nanshi stood in the middle of the carnage, leaning on his sword for support. He was soaked in blood—none of it his own. His eyes were hollow. He had won. He had traded half his veterans' lives to take down twenty of the enemy's best.
But there was no joy. These children, so not even ten years old, were supposed to be the future. Now, there was no "after."
He knelt slowly and closed the eyes of the girl he had praised just the day before. A weak voice called out. One of his original followers crawled toward him, covered in wounds. "Leader... what do we do now?"
Nanshi was silent for a long ti. "Relocate. Move the base."
He looked toward the direction of Takigakure, but he couldn't bring himself to move toward it. He couldn't jeopardize the plan, and he was too ashad to crawl back and beg for help.
"Leader... aren't you going to find that Lord?" the follower asked.
Nanshi shook his head and said nothing. As the survivors retreated, the morning sun illuminated the pale bodies.
Soon, swarms of insects erged from the hidden hives, consuming everything—flesh, bone, clothes, and armor. By noon, the valley was empty, as if the battle had never happened.
Konoha: A Comrcial Street
Ryuji Ida stood in front of a new storefront, smiling at the bustling crowds. Yesterday, he had finally passed the village's screening and, as a "cross-border rchant," purchased the rights to a shop: The Myriad Nations Boutique.
"Don't push! There's plenty for everyone!"
"As expected of the Land of Fire," he muttered, counting his earnings. "Rich enough to bleed gold."
Ichiro Kuroshaki pushed through the crowd, his face grim. "Mr. Ryuji, we have a problem."
Ryuji's heart skipped a beat. He led him inside. "What is it?"
"Root," Ichiro whispered. "Danzo sent twenty-four elites to wipe out the Daodao-Zhong. Twenty died. Only four returned, heavily wounded. Word is, Danzo is in a towering rage."
Ryuji gasped. Twenty elites dead? Was Nanshi truly that powerful? "And then?"
Ichiro's expression darkened further. "Danzo is passing the contract up to the main office. The candidate being discussed to lead the next strike on the Land of Waterfalls is... the White Fang."
Ryuji's face turned paper-white.
Sakumo Hatake. The legend. The man whose blade was said to be faster than the Sharingan. The man with a 100% mission success rate. The man who made the Great Nations quake.
If the White Fang was going, Nanshi was as good as dead.
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