War can bring death to a shinobi, but it can also force them to grow at an unnatural speed.
Hagoromo aside, the other three members of this squad were ordinary students less than a year ago. Now, they were functional killing machines.
During their graduation exams, Kurenai Yuhi had been easily provoked by Hagoromo's words; now, such a thing would never happen. It wasn't that she was fully mature, but she was finally walking the path toward it.
Regardless of their personal feelings, as long as they were in this unit, they had to obey Hagoromo. In this squad, Hagoromo's words weren't suggestions or opinions—they were orders.
Communication between the four was sparse. Aside from Asuma and Kurenai, Hagoromo and Aoba Yamashiro remained mostly silent. Aoba's silence was likely due to his personality; Hagoromo's was due to the weight of his role as squad leader. He felt the heavy responsibility of command.
When he was just a subordinate, he was free—as long as the mission was completed, he had no worries. Now, every decision he made held the lives of four people in the balance.
In an environment where enemies could appear at any second, he stayed sharp and perpetually vigilant.
Reconnaissance units like Hagoromo's operated independently within their assigned sectors. This meant no reinforcements. Whatever they encountered, they had to solve themselves. Their mission was on a fifteen-day rotation: monitor the movements of the Hidden Rain and report back to the command and intelligence departments.
Once Hagoromo announced the start of the mission, the three quickly finished their food and double-checked their gear. They wore uniform black tactical outfits—no flashy red clouds here—complete with hoods. These suits were specifically chosen for the Land of Rain; they needed to be waterproof.
"Let's clarify today's objective," Hagoromo said, spreading a detailed map on the ground. The three immediately gathered around.
"We move out from Outpost B and head north. We'll avoid the main Hidden Rain activity zones and their usual patrol routes. Once we reach Landmark D, thirty to fifty kilometers out, we cut west to enter the Land of Rain undetected."
"Once inside, our primary goal is to scout the enemy's forward camps. We need to confirm if their numbers are increasing or decreasing."
As he spoke, Hagoromo's finger traced their route, highlighting key waypoints. In a stealth mission like this, caution was the only currency that mattered.
"Any questions?" Hagoromo asked.
Aoba and Kurenai shook their heads. In a high-tension mission, you speak only if necessary.
Asuma, however, pointed to the map. "One question: what's the extraction plan after the objective is met?"
He hit the nail on the head. Infiltration is useless if you don't make it back alive.
"Three options," Hagoromo replied. "Plan A: if we remain undetected, we return the way we came. Plans B and C are for if we're compromised.
Depending on the situation, we bypass to the south through the Land of Rivers or north through the Land of Grass. Rivers is an ally, so we can move freely there. Grass is currently leaning toward us due to frequent invasions from the Land of Earth. Both routes offer some level of safety."
Of course, Hagoromo knew it wasn't that simple. If they were spotted, any escape would be a nightmare.
Hagoromo folded the map, tucked it into his pouch, and picked up his blank white mask. He snapped it onto his face and pulled his hood over his head. The others followed suit.
The fire was doused. The four stood up and shared a silent nod. Hagoromo's voice came through the mask, slightly muffled:
"Mission begins. Move out."
He pushed aside the camouflage and vanished into the rain. The three followed instantly. Their movements were swift, their footsteps swallowed by the roar of the storm.
After seven days together, the squad had formed a clear impression of their leader: Hagoromo was, above all else, clear-headed. A good brain was more important for a captain than raw power.
They respected him. While their total mission count was higher than his, Hagoromo's file showed two S-rank missions. Furthermore, a well-informed person like Asuma had certainly heard rumors of the "White Yaksha" and what that title implied.
They moved in a single file: Hagoromo in the lead, followed by Asuma, then Kurenai, with Aoba bringing up the rear.
Hagoromo scanned for signs of movement, but the torrential rain washed away any tracks within minutes. They moved steadily until Hagoromo suddenly raised his hand, signaling a halt.
The storm was interfering with his sensory range. Just as he was about to signal a suspected ambush, the attack arrived.
Shuriken!
Hagoromo tilted his head, the steel whistling past his ear. They were compromised. He abandoned the hand signals and barked a short, sharp command:
"Attack!"
In a contested zone like this, an encounter between different factions meant a fight to the death. There was no talking, no testing—only killing blows.
Hagoromo lunged forward before the word even left his lips. Asuma was right behind him. Staying low and moving fast, Asuma locked onto an enemy based on the trajectory of the shuriken.
The enemy didn't retreat. Seeing two Leaf ninjas charging, they met them head-on.
Fast! was Asuma's first thought.
But Hagoromo was faster.
While still ten meters away, Hagoromo's Lightning Style flickered. Arcs of electricity danced through the raindrops, and his speed surged instantly. The beauty of seal-less ninjutsu was in the pacing; Hagoromo's rhythm changed so abruptly the enemy couldn't react.
He closed the gap in a heartbeat. Leaping from a low crouch, his right foot—carrying the full momentum of his sprint—slammed into the enemy's neck.
Even on the soft, muddy ground, the force was so great the enemy was smashed into the earth and then bounced back up. The mud couldn't absorb the impact of a strike that heavy.
One hit. The enemy was either dead or incapacitated. Hagoromo didn't even stop to look; he knew Asuma was right behind him.
Asuma didn't have the flashy lightning, but he was ruthless. As the enemy's body was still suspended in the air from the bounce, Asuma arrived and delivered a follow-up kick to the head.
Then another.
One, two. One, two. Like a rhythm of death. The rain hissed. The lightning crackled. No words were spoken. Only the sound of boots finding their mark in the mud. A devil's dance in the dark.
The three strikes were a blur. The enemy ninja was already dead.