Remnants of martial law still lingered on the streets, not yet completely cleared, but that suffocating chaos had receded.
In a secluded corner near the Seafoam Inn, Shuji was handling the last loose end.
Genshoku's corpse wouldn't be brought back to the village—disposed of directly and cleanly. The fire burned vigorously as the youth watched expressionlessly while flames licked at the remains. No thick smoke, only faint crackling sounds and an indescribable burnt stench.
Before long, only a small pile of ash-white embers remained, scattered without trace by a gust of wind.
Komainu—or rather Meishoku's—life core was a lump of flesh. Since he seemed to know something about Orochimaru, it would be brought back to the village.
Gaishoku and Mizushoku were likewise contained in sealing scrolls for submission upon return.
They'd probably fetch some resources, or money.
After this battle, both Anko and Itachi's equipment needed repair and updating.
That commission fee from Hiroyama Makoto would be nowhere near enough. Upon return, he'd need to negotiate properly with the village about reimbursement for these expenditures.
Could the extermination mission and intelligence-gathering mission count as completed together under these circumstances?
Degarashi Port had by now recovered from martial law's chaos.
After the Black Erosion Group's raid failed and the Chasan Group lost its leader, they were just a bunch of ordinary people with some courage—no capability to face Degarashi Port's native forces' counterattack.
The Waisuke family had guarded their gates cautiously since martial law began, and still showed no intention of relaxing their defenses.
Local merchant associations had no desire to offend the daimyō. The Wasabi family was busy handling funeral arrangements for their dead and wounded, so no one bothered with the Waisukes.
Through the Wasabi family, Shuji obtained several core Chasan Group members from the fishermen's guild president, including the scarred former city gate guard captain.
He intended to try extracting some useful intelligence from them.
In a guest room at the Seafoam Inn, Shuji bent over his desk, compiling various intelligence materials collected during this mission.
Anko, responsible for interrogating those Chasan Group prisoners, walked in and slapped several papers with hastily recorded confessions onto the documents Shuji was organizing.
"A bunch of spineless cowards." Anko snorted, pulling over a chair and sitting with her usual casual sprawl, boots even propped on the table edge.
"Pissed themselves before the snake even crawled up their nostrils."
"They know jack shit. Scared to death of Komainu, only knew that guy used absolute force and ruthless methods to subjugate all forces at Yacha Slope."
"The stolen money—except for a small portion kept for the gang to buy booze and grain—the vast majority was taken away periodically by Komainu. As for what he did with it? Who he gave it to? No clue whatsoever. Black Erosion Group? They'd never even heard the name, just thought Komainu was some powerful wandering samurai."
She spoke rapidly, yet her gaze drifted somewhat, not landing on Shuji's face.
The room fell into brief silence, only the rustling of Shuji's pen across paper.
Anko's toes unconsciously swayed beneath the table. Her lips parted and closed several times. Finally, as if steeling herself for something, her voice dropped, carrying barely perceptible dryness: "Hey, Shuji..."
"That guy didn't say anything more about Orochimaru before dying."
The pen tip paused. Shuji raised his head, looking at her calmly.
"After we return, the village will receive some new intelligence."
"Mm... ah." Anko's shoulders sagged slightly as she turned her head toward the window.
Harbor wind blew in, stirring several strands of deep purple hair at her forehead.
"It's just—" Her voice was so light it seemed like talking to herself, or perhaps to the sea breeze outside. "I don't know why, but the moment I hear those three characters 'Orochimaru,' I... can't control myself."
She raised her hand, irritably raking through her hair. "I know perfectly well that being anxious won't help, but I just... want to immediately know something. Anything at all."
Shuji didn't stop writing, didn't look at her, only quietly listened.
Anko's gaze lost focus: "He sealed part of my memories and left a curse mark on my body."
"But he didn't kill me."
"Shuji, I seem to... remember something..."
"He didn't abandon me. I gave up following Orochimaru and chose to stay in the village."
She lowered her head.
"Konoha is my home, the place my parents lived... where all my comrades are."
"But after returning to the village, ANBU locked me up."
She seemed to feel again that sealed room's coldness and suffocation.
"That room had no windows. I lost track of time, only knew that after a while came interrogation, over and over..."
"The Hokage himself came later. He told me this was necessary for the village's safety, and also to answer to the friends and families of those Orochimaru had killed."
"Many people died by his hand—genin, chūnin, ANBU, even jōnin."
"This, I understand..."
But...
The words stuck in her throat, transforming into violent sourness that surged into her eyes.
Her vision instantly blurred. Hot liquid poured forth without warning, rolling down her cheeks. "Drip," "drip"—one drop after another splashed onto the dust-covered dark tabletop, blooming into small dark circles.
She suddenly pressed her forehead against the cold table surface, not wanting this wretched appearance seen.
The sound of pen scratching paper stopped.
Only suppressed, faint sobbing remained in the room.
A callused yet exceptionally warm hand gently landed on Anko's disheveled deep purple hair.
No excess words, only warmth transmitted from the palm.
Anko's body jerked rigid, then that suppressed sobbing seemed to pause an instant before surging more turbulently.
She didn't raise her head, only buried her forehead deeper into her folded arms, like an injured young beast finally finding shelter.
Shuji's hand remained quietly on her crown, feeling the subtle trembling beneath his palm.
——The Next Day's Dividing Line——
Morning light pierced thin clouds, spilling onto the Wasabi estate undergoing repairs. The ground cleared overnight showed no more shocking bloodstains, and even the air's heavy blood scent had greatly diluted. The busy figures of craftsmen and sounds of repairing wood proclaimed this family's efforts to recover from trauma.
Shizune's figure moved among the wounded. Her right hand was wrapped in thick bandages, yet her movements remained nimble as she focused on treating a severely wounded Wasabi guard's complex injury.
Seeing Shuji and Anko approach one after the other, she only hastily nodded before immediately returning to treatment.
Itachi was arranged in an especially secluded room deep in the estate.
Sunlight filtered through the paper door, casting soft light on the floor.
The youth sat propped against a cushion by the window. Though his face still carried pallor, his eyes were clear and bright, breathing steady—obviously out of danger.
Tsunade sat beside him.
"Just some residual foreign chakra mixed with natural energy that invaded his meridians. Troublesome, yes," Tsunade picked up the teacup beside her, "but it's been completely cleared now."
"Thank you for your efforts."
Chapters in advance there: patreon.com/Thaniel_a_goodchild