Chapter 4
The sky held no trace of the gloom that would define the future. The last rays of the sun glimmered over a small, Japanese-style settlement. A bloody aura hung over the surroundings—whether it was from the village itself or the sheer brutality of the era was hard to say.
In the courtyard of one house, the sharp sound of wood striking wood echoed repeatedly. A figure, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, was clearly deep in training. A woman sat in the shade, busy with her chores, occasionally watching the boy with a gentle yet melancholy smile.
"Guren, you shouldn't push yourself so hard. Your first mission is only a few days away," she said softly.
The boy lowered his wooden sword and allowed his breathing to steady. "I know, Mother," he replied.
This was Guren. Over the years, he had grown into a twelve-year-old, standing about 1.5 meters tall. As he began walking toward the house, trying to straighten his long hair that had become a mess during practice, his physique became clear. His bare torso showed a light muscularity unusual for a child his age—proof that his training wasn't in vain. That's me, by the way. Welcome back.
Guren looked at his wooden sword and felt a wave of unease. 'Yes, the first mission… They won't even tell me what it is, but for some reason, I have a bad feeling about this. Regardless, I've done what I can. I need to keep my body ready. My training has truly paid off.'
"You shouldn't overwork yourself either, Mother," Guren said, shifting his focus back to her. "By the way, is it clear when Father is coming back from his mission?"
His mother, Shiori, paused her work. She widened her smile, as if trying to mask the sadness in her eyes. "Don't worry, dear. I know I've only just recovered. Your father said he would be here before your first mission. So, he should be back by tomorrow."
A smile, the kind only a child should have, appeared on Guren's face. "Understood. Well, I'm going out for a walk for a bit." Shiori simply nodded in response.
As Guren wandered through the settlement, his thoughts refused to quiet down. In fact, it would be fair to say he hadn't stopped thinking since the moment he was born.
'From what I've gathered, not every clan member is born with this second heart—the Hiyaku,' he mused, observing the clan members passing by. 'A portion of those who are born with it die, unable to withstand the burden. I suspect this body was meant to die too, as the Hiyaku was incredibly weak at birth. But as I grew and my body strengthened, some of those birth defects vanished. Still, I'm likely just average in terms of talent.'
Walking through the area, it was impossible not to notice the oppressive atmosphere. People like Shiori were a rarity in this clan. He suspected that while people in the future might hesitate to enter the Uchiha settlement, they wouldn't even dare set foot in the Chishio grounds. Whether it was the endless cycle of missions and war that turned them into this, or something else entirely, remained a mystery to him.
'I just hope this isn't an inherent effect of the bloodline,' he thought anxiously.
Eventually, Guren left the settlement and arrived at a familiar clearing. Even in this violent era, the areas surrounding clan settlements were considered relatively safe, barring wild animals. Nearby was a river, some reed-woven buckets, and fishing rods. Since the age of six, he had used this spot both for fishing and as a secret training ground away from prying eyes. He had already mastered tree-climbing and water-walking, practiced certain clan techniques, and experimented with his own theories.
Thinking about those theories, the potential of his bloodline left Guren in awe. Even as mere concepts, the things he believed he could achieve were staggering.
'A blood version of the Hydrification technique, blood clones, jutsus for physical reinforcement, sensory jutsus to detect blood, techniques to accelerate healing, using blood for Genjutsu or even as a medium for Fuinjutsu… In an age where shinobi tools are so expensive to produce, creating weapons from blood alone could change everything.'
Of course, the clan had made progress in some of these directions, but it was impossible for a child like Guren to know just how far. He recalled the techniques he had been practicing—the 'Blood Needle' and 'Clotting'—which were the basic choices given to children at age six. Both were D-rank techniques, clearly simplified versions of something more advanced. While an ordinary person might not see it, Guren could imagine the clan's elites healing wounds as fast as they appeared and launching endless spears of blood.
'Despite the primitive level of knowledge in this era, the purity of the bloodline ensures the power ceiling remains high,' he analyzed. 'The techniques are just simpler. But being simple doesn't mean they aren't functional or destructive.'
With chakra control far beyond his peers and years of physical conditioning to overcome his initial weakness, Guren was finally able to use his bloodline abilities with ease. 'I don't know what mission the clan will give me, but I must be ready,' he decided, yet that nagging feeling in his gut refused to disappear.
Finishing his daily routine, he caught a few fish and set off back toward the clan.