"A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinion of sheep."
— Tywin Lannister (Game of Thrones)
--
The first day passed quietly, or as quietly as it could with a merchant family. Otis walked at the front. Behind him was the merchant's carriage. His wife, Hana, peeked out from the carriage window now and then, checking on their son Ren, who seemed to have an infinite supply of questions.
"Why do ninja always wear headbands?"
"Is chakra like food?"
"Can that big white bear use jutsu too?"
Yuki snorted, offended by the mere suggestion.
Takeshi immediately shushed his son, muttering something about manners and not provoking giant animals.
That night, they camped under open skies. Otis, as the Jōnin in charge, delegated the night watch with his usual logic
"Yuki, you're on the first half. Samurai, second. And nobody wakes me up unless there's an emergency."
Yuki protested with a low growl until Otis added, "You either guard, or you don't eat tomorrow."
That solved it. Yuki huffed, shook its massive head, and finally lumbered away.
The samurai took the second half of the night. Otis, meanwhile, slept like a rock, not a single care in the world. On alternating nights, though, he forced himself to stay awake, because Yuki would sulk and refuse to move otherwise.
By the end of the second day, the road began to change. The trees thinned, the border of the Land of Grass wasn't far now.
The caravan stopped near a wide old tree by the roadside. The shade was perfect for lunch. The servants busied themselves with cooking, while Ren chased fireflies that weren't even there. The samurai cleaned their blades in silence, the metallic sound mixing with the bubbling stew.
Otis crouched near the fire, lazily stirring a pot of rice. Yuki was asleep beside him, tongue lolling out slightly — looking far too peaceful for something that could crush a horse.
Then Yuki's ear twitched. Its eyes snapped open.
Otis didn't even glance up. He just said quietly, "Yeah, I feel it."
His hand pressed against the ground. Chakra spread from his palm like ripples on water, tracing through the earth, the trees, the air. His expression didn't change, but the muscles in his jaw tightened.
Invisible to the others, but clear as daylight to him, dozens of chakra signatures, circling like wolves.
"…We've got company," he said.
The samurai immediately straightened, hands on their hilts.
"How many?" one of them asked.
"Too many for it to be a simple attack," Otis replied, standing up. "Everyone, the enemy has already surrounded us. Get ready."
The samurai moved quickly, steel whispering as their katanas left their sheaths. Hana grabbed Ren and pulled him close. Yuki stood up slowly, its fur bristling, a low growl rolling through the ground like thunder.
Otis stepped forward, eyes narrowing. His chakra flared.
The earth beneath him trembled—then a sudden crack echoed as a massive pillar of earth shot upward, carrying him several meters above the ground. From there, he could see far beyond the tree line.
He stood atop the pillar, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. He squinted, channeling chakra into his eyes. His vision sharpened, allowing him to see vast distances like an eagle.
"They're surrounding us," he muttered. "Sloppy formation… but there's too many for civilians to handle."
Scattered across the grasslands, through the haze, he could make out rough figures — unmarked armor, uneven stances, forehead protectors. Their gait screamed bandits, most of them.
A few figures stood still — posture too controlled, too precise. Their chakra flared faintly, like shinobi… or at least trained fighters.
Otis's lips curved slightly, but it wasn't a smile.
"Frontline's made of bandits," he said to himself, "but the real fun's hiding in the back."
He crouched low, wind brushing through his loose hair and the wolf pelt draped across his shoulder. He cracked his neck once and looked down at Yuki. A grin crept across his face.
"Guess lunch's postponed."
There were at least eighty of them — eighty men encircling the caravan, lurking between trees and shrubs like hungry wolves. They thought they were the hunters.
They were wrong.
He raised one hand.
Chakra flowed through his arms, and the air around his hand shimmered faintly. Then, tiny stones no larger than a coin began to form around his fingers, shaping themselves out of thin air, drawn from pure chakra and the dust in the air. They floated in an orbit around his palm.
Otis exhaled.
"Let's clean the weeds."
He steadied his right hand, a few stones resting on his open palm, then he flicked them one by one with his other hand.
Flick flick flick
The first pebble shot like lightning, slicing through the air with a faint whistle before colliding with a distant skull. A muffled crack echoed from the forest.
Then another.
And another.
The bandits didn't even see it coming. The projectiles rained on them, smashing into skulls, ribs, and knees.
But Otis kept the force in each throw just enough to take them out of the fight, not their lives. He knew most of them — if not all were likely forced into this.
The bandits dropped instantly. Others staggered forward, clutching their faces or stomachs, groaning in disbelief.
"W-what the hell—?!" one screamed, right before another pebble cracked against his temple.
Below, Yuki had already joined the fray. The great white bear roared, tearing through the underbrush like a storm. Otis had ordered her not to kill, so she didn't.
But mercy didn't make her gentle.
She slammed bandits into trees, bones rattling from the impact. One swipe of her paw sent men spinning through the air, crashing into bushes with panicked yelps. The forest echoed with the sound of breaking branches and bones.
Some bandits even wet themselves at the sight of her barreling toward them.
The samurai near the carriage froze, their hands tightening around their blades as sweat poured down their faces. They couldn't even see the enemy, they only heard the distant, horrible thuds, the screams that followed, and the eerie whistle of stones cutting through the air.
One bandit managed a shaky battle cry — and fell face-first a second later.
Otis didn't move from his spot. His eyes scanned the area
Takeshi muttered under his breath, "This… this is a Jōnin?"
Meanwhile, deep inside the forest, a few hundred meters away, a group of shinobi crouched low in the shadows, their leader watching the chaos unfold through the trees.
A man crouched on a thick branch, mask pulled down to his chin. His name was Taro Kensei, once a Jōnin of the Land of Grass.
Now, he was a sellout — a shadow who worked for the daimyō, cleaning up political 'problems.'
And today's "problem" was simple: make sure that merchant Takeshi's jewelry shipment never reached the capital.
He had hired these bandits through the back channels, a cheap way to disguise a hit. The Daimyo of the Land of Grass had been negotiating a trade contract with the merchant Otis was guarding. If that merchant succeeded, Taro's lord would lose control over the jewelry supply routes.
So, the solution was simple — make it look like a bandit robbery.
A tragic accident. No one would question it.
There was also a personal reason Taro hadn't shared with anyone. The merchant's wife, Hana, had refused the daimyō's advances months ago. She had chosen her husband, a simple trader, over power and status.
Taro was sure that was the real reason. That rejection still burned.
Now the daimyō planned to ruin everything she held dear, all while pretending it was a random attack.
Taro spat into the dirt, watching the clearing ahead.
"Should've just taken the offer," he muttered. "Now I gotta make it look like bandits did it."
Everything was going as planned — until…
Taro's eyes widened as he looked toward the horizon. Through the gaps in the trees, something unnatural towered above the canopy — a pillar jutting out of the ground like a spear aimed at the heavens.
He squinted. Was that… a person on top of it?
"…What the hell is that?" he muttered.
Before anyone could answer, the forest erupted in screams.
The bandits below them were collapsing.
One by one, their bodies hit the ground with dull thuds. The air filled with panic and confusion.
"Stop!" he shouted suddenly, standing up. "Stop advancing! Take cover!"
His voice rang through the forest, but it was already too late. His hired thugs were dropping like flies, one after another.
He could barely hear his own men over the chaos.
"W-what's hitting them?! Arrows? Traps?"
Then came a sharp cry. One of his shinobi clutched his shoulder, blood streaming down between his fingers.
"Rocks! It's— it's fucking rocks!"
Taro's fury mixed with disbelief.
"Rocks?! You're telling me—"
Another stone zipped past his head, embedding itself deep into a tree trunk with a sound that didn't belong to something so small.
He blinked. "…What the hell kind of jutsu is that?!"
"Boss! He's targeting us too!"
Taro cursed, ducking behind a boulder. "Of course he is, idiot! Take cover and locate his position!"
His men scrambled for cover behind trees and rocks — but even there, they weren't safe.
A pebble struck the nearest one through the shoulder, spinning him mid-air before he crashed to the ground with a sickening crunch.
One of his subordinates pointed shakily upward. "Uh… about that…"
Taro followed his gaze.
Up there, above the treeline, a lone figure stood atop a pillar of rock reaching toward the clouds. He looked small from this distance, but the air around him felt heavy, oppressive.
Even from here, Taro could feel it, the figure was looking right at him.
"...You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
Back near the caravan, the screams were dying down.
The ground was littered with the bodies of bandits—not dead, but definitely not moving anytime soon.
Otis crouched atop his pillar, scanning the forest. He could feel the remaining chakra signatures moving erratically. Panic had set in among them, it seemed.
The real shinobi were taking cover now, but their formation was already broken.
He smirked faintly.
"Always the same," he muttered.
He jumped down, the wind howling around him.
Boom!
The ground cracked where he landed, dust rippling outward.
Everyone flinched as something dropped from the sky.
"Stay with the caravan," Otis said, brushing dust off his shoulder. "I'll clean up the leftovers."
Yuki emerged from the forest, having finished off the bandits on her side.
Ren peeked out from behind the cart. "Mister Otis… are they all gone?"
Otis didn't look back. "Not yet."
And then he shot into the forest toward the enemy's location, with Yuki following close behind.
--
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