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[NNSS] Chapter : 07
🕑 Added 2025-09-26 18:00:02 +0000 UTCThe instant Shinmi unleashed the wind release jutsu, the ground beneath his feet gave way.
A mud-slicked hand shot up from the earth, clamping around his ankle like an iron vise.
“Damn it—!”
His pupils shrank as a powerful force dragged him downward. The soil swallowed him whole like a living creature, until only his head remained exposed above the surface.
He stared in disbelief as the “Roshi” riddled with poisoned senbon dissolved into a puff of white smoke, dissipating into the morning air.
Earth Release: Headhunter Jutsu.
And… a Shadow Clone.
Jōnin?!
Shinmi writhed furiously, but the mud crushed tighter around him. Then pain erupted in his abdomen, sharp and merciless.
“Ugh—!” His face twisted in agony.
Wooden spikes had pierced his organs, sprouting violently from within. Veins bulged with invasive fibers, spreading through his bloodstream, stabbing into flesh with every heartbeat. From the wounds, more branches grew, shredding him from the inside.
“Cough—!”
Blood sprayed from his lips, dripping onto the mud. Crimson welled from his nose, ears, and eyes, soaking his chin before spattering the earth.
“Puppet jutsu… poisoned senbon… Sunagakure’s style.”
Roshi stepped into view, looming above him. His gaze was steady, unreadable. “So, a rogue ninja?”
He crouched slightly, his tone flat and precise. “The villagers only found a fraction, didn’t they? Where’s the rest hidden? Not on your person…” His eyes narrowed. “Do you have any last words? A reason for defecting? It would help the report.”
His voice remained calm, almost bored. “If not, I’ll just make one up.”
Shinmi’s eyeballs bulged, bloodshot veins spiderwebbing across them as the wood tore him apart inside. He forced his mouth open, only to spit up bloody foam. A rasping, broken voice squeezed from his throat.
“Too… too… tiring… can’t… see… hope…”
Sandstorms… each year worse than the last.
Missions growing fewer.
The Daimyō cutting the military budget again.
War… endless, thankless war.
And yet—weak, ordinary merchants lived safer, more prosperous lives than shinobi who bled for their nations. Why? Why did the powerful toil, suffer, and die, while the powerless enjoyed peace?
He couldn’t stand it.
He had fled during the chaos of the Third Great Ninja War, lying low until Anbu confirmed his “death.” He built carefully: recruiting men, targeting weak points, stockpiling wealth. All to buy freedom. All to one day retire quietly.
The plan had been flawless.
He would discard the restless followers when the time came.
He would silence the villagers if needed.
A villa in the Land of Tea… he could see it even now. White walls, red roof. Camellias in the sea breeze. Waking each day to warm sunlight.
Now… everything crumbled.
His breath came ragged. His blurred vision fixed on Roshi, who stood like a black silhouette against the pale morning light.
A flash of steel.
Shinmi’s head tumbled to the ground.
Roshi retrieved a sealing scroll from his chest, unrolled it, and placed the severed head upon it. His hands blurred through seals. Light shimmered, and the head vanished, leaving only a pattern of fading runes.
Protocol. When encountering a foreign rogue shinobi, the head must be sealed and returned. Intelligence could sift through it for secrets. Perhaps there would be a bonus. At worst, a standard bounty.
As the glow faded, footsteps echoed at the gate.
Itachi emerged, his young face calm.
“Settled?”
“Yeah.” Roshi rose, dusting off his hands.
“As you instructed, I finished negotiations with Kisuke and the elders. I made it clear: Konoha will keep silent about what happened here. Officially, the bandits were annihilated by you and me.”
He produced a small cloth pouch. “They turned over valuables as compensation. I accepted them on your behalf.”
Roshi tucked the pouch away. “Good. Sweep the stronghold. See if this Sunagakure rogue left anything worth taking.”
He glanced at the corpses scattered across the ground. “As for the cleanup—leave it to the villagers.”
Originally, the bodies were meant to serve as proof of the mission’s success for the Land of Rivers.
Now, that was no longer necessary.
The severed head of a Sunagakure rogue-nin was more than enough.
Konoha’s intelligence division would identify him as the mastermind, and the mission’s completion was beyond dispute. What began as a mere C-rank assignment had escalated far beyond expectations—the death of a trained shinobi was proof of that.
Itachi walked toward the scattered remains of the dismantled puppets, careful not to approach the main body directly. His hands flashed through seals, summoning a shadow clone.
The clone advanced cautiously, extending one finger to the wooden frame. The moment it brushed the surface, the wood shimmered faintly, blooming into a bluish-purple stain.
Poison.
Not strong enough to dispel the clone outright, but dangerous all the same. Itachi willed his duplicate forward, speeding up its movements. Carefully, it pried open the puppet’s chest cavity and retrieved a sealed scroll hidden inside.
The scroll itself was clean.
Even so, Itachi had the clone unroll it and test for traps before allowing his real body to step closer. Only when he was sure it was safe did he examine it with his own hands.
“Senpai, it’s a sealing scroll,” Itachi reported quietly. “Blood-sealing type.”
Roshi’s eyes gleamed knowingly. “Then the rest of the valuables should be inside.”
He wasn’t versed in unsealing techniques. That would have to wait until their return to the village. For now, he pulled out a small specialized tube, collecting a sample of Shinmi’s blood and sealing it carefully.
Blood was the key.
Chakra was a fusion of physical and spiritual energy. Once refined, traces of it remained in a shinobi’s very cells. That’s why blood could be used as a summoning medium—or, in this case, to break the blood-seals created by its owner. So long as the blood still retained vitality, a sealing expert could unlock it.
Roshi tucked the scroll into his tool pouch, then swept the stockade one final time. Satisfied that nothing was left behind, he dusted off his hands and turned to the boy beside him, a rare, easy smile spreading across his face.
“That’s basically it. The mission's wrapped up. All that’s left is filing the report.”
Itachi stood quietly, his face as unreadable as still water.
Roshi blinked, then snapped his fingers as if remembering something. “Oh, right. Before we head back, want to stop by Koizumi Town?”
“…Visit?”
The eight-year-old tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in faint puzzlement.
“The mission’s done,” Roshi said with a grin, patting Itachi lightly on the shoulder. “Can’t just go home without winding down a bit.”
“Yes, Senpai,” Itachi replied evenly.
Roshi crouched until their eyes were level, his voice firm but gentle. “This isn’t an order. So don’t give me a soldier’s answer. Just tell me if you want to go or not.”
The boy was silent. The morning wind stirred the air, carrying both the metallic tang of blood and the fresh scent of grass and soil. His gaze drifted past the broken fence, following the faint outline of the trade route winding down the mountain.
“…Dango?” he asked at last, almost a whisper.
Roshi’s grin widened. “Excellent idea.”
He rose, stretching lazily as the first sunlight traced the edge of his silhouette. “Then let’s head down to Koizumi Town and try their dango. And while we’re at it, we’ll bring back some local specialties too.”
