...
Takemura Hamlet was small.
Smaller than Murakami expected, in fact.
The entire settlement consisted of perhaps two dozen buildings clustered around a central road. Most were simple wooden structures built for practicality rather than appearance.
Comprehensively, the Hamlet consisted of a stable, a blacksmith, several homes and one roadside inn large enough to accommodate travelers passing through the region.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
So it was nice surprise that the arrival of a convoy immediately drew attention with several villagers emerging from nearby buildings while children watched curiously from a distance.
The civilians accompanying the wagons visibly relaxed.
For them, this was the first real stop since leaving Konoha.
For the shinobi, it was merely a change in terrain.
The Jonin leader gathered everyone shortly after arrival.
The convoy had been parked inside a fenced storage yard attached to the inn.
The wagons were arranged in a defensive triangle with enough space between them to maneuver if necessary.
Murakami approved of the setup. It was simple, practical and easy to defend.
The Jonin looked over the assembled Genin then said. "We leave at first light."
No complaints followed.
"Until then, standard security rotation." He continued as his gaze swept across them. "The convoy remains under protection at all times."
Several Genin nodded.
One from the vanguard team raised a hand. "You think somebody would attack here?"
The Jonin's expression remained unchanged. "I think my job is to assume they might."
The Genin lowered his hand.
"Hatake's team takes first watch."
Sakumo nodded once.
"My team takes second." The Jonin continued. "Haruki's team takes third."
Hideki sighed dramatically. "Of course."
The Jonin looked at him. "Would you prefer first?"
"...No."
"Then stop complaining." He rebuked coldly.
A few of the other Genin laughed, causing Hideki to look personally betrayed.
Murakami simply ignored him and filed away the schedule.
Third watch meant roughly the final portion of the night, from around two in the morning until dawn.
Not ideal.
But not particularly problematic either.
The briefing ended shortly afterward and the settlement became livelier as the night settled.
The inn quickly became the center of activity with voices drifting from within as travelers, merchants, and off-duty escorts gathered for food and conversation.
Murakami had little interest in any of that.
After completing a round of the settlement's perimeter, he returned toward the convoy.
Several of the civilian drivers had gathered around a small cooking fire beside the wagons.
"...heard Kanzashi received another shipment from the capital last week."
"That means the fighting's getting worse."
"When isn't it?"
A few tired laughs followed.
One of the older drivers noticed Murakami passing by.
"Oi, shinobi-kun."
Murakami stopped.
The man held up a wooden bowl. "Stew?"
Murakami looked at it, then at the man, then back at the bowl. "...Why?"
The driver blinked in confusion. "Because I'm offering you food?"
The driver had met his fair share of Shinobi and he knew a vast majority had a kink that made them weird, but those were older Shinobi who have been steeped in blood.
He didn't expect to find a young shinobi already on the path of having some loose screws in the head. He could only sigh internally while observing the young shinobi.
Murakami on the other hand considered the man's words to be reasonable.
It was one thing to show kindness, and another to show kindness when there was no need to do so.
"Then thank you." He said and took the bowl of stew.
They were on a mission, and although the convoy had already been screened before departure.
The probability of deliberate poisoning was low.
Not impossible.
Merely low.
Still, he didn't allow his suspicion to show and sat down in a nearby crate, under the watch of the old driver who chuckled as he sat down.
"You're a strange one."
Murakami accepted that assessment without argument. He had already lost count of how many times he'd heard that.
Nearby, Hideki had somehow become involved in a conversation with three wagon drivers despite having known them for less than an hour.
"...and then I punched the training post so hard it snapped."
One of the merchants raised an eyebrow. "You did not."
"I absolutely did."
"You broke your hand, didn't you?"
Hideki paused. "...that's not important."
Laughter erupted around the fire while Murakami quietly ate his stew.
Across the convoy, Sora sat beside one of the wagon wheels reading through a folded route map he had somehow convinced one of the merchants to lend him.
The scene was oddly peaceful.
Almost enough to forget there was a war and they were on an escort mission to deliver war supplies.
Almost.
A soft thud drew Murakami's attention upward. Someone had landed atop the nearest wagon.
Hatake Sakumo.
The white-haired boy settled onto the roof without a word and stared toward the distant darkness.
For several moments neither spoke. Then Sakumo glanced down. "The stew good?"
Murakami looked at the bowl. "It contains potatoes."
"...And?"
"It would be difficult not to be good."
For a brief moment, something that might have been amusement flickered across Sakumo's face, but it vanished almost immediately.
Silence settled between them once more and neither seemed particularly bothered by it.
Murakami continued eating while Sakumo sat atop the wagon roof, his gaze drifting across the yard and surrounding settlement.
After several moments, Sakumo's eyes shifted. "They're unusual."
Murakami looked up.
Sakumo was looking at the two rods secured across his back.
Murakami followed his gaze. "The rods?"
Sakumo nodded.
Most shinobi carried kunai, some carried swords and a few specialized in larger weapons.
Very few carried what appeared to be two metal rods everywhere they went.
"I practice bukijutsu," Murakami answered.
Sakumo nodded slowly.
That explained the presence of the individual weapons, not necessarily why they were rods.
But even if he was curious, he didn't press further and Murakami appreciated that.
People often felt compelled to ask unnecessary questions when curiosity got the better of them.
Sakumo apparently did not.
After a moment, Murakami asked one of his own. "Kenjutsu or ninjutsu?"
Sakumo's gaze drifted toward the darkening horizon. "My family practices both."
A brief pause followed.
"Primarily a lightning-style sword style."
Murakami nodded once.
That explained quite a few things.
The Hatake Clan wasn't one of Konoha's larger clans, in fact, they were a clan of land owners and farmers, but even he had heard references to their swordsmanship.
Lightning Release paired naturally with blade techniques made their attacks fast, precise and extremely lethal.
It's no wonder he'll grow to be the White Fang.
Murakami's eyes drifted to the short sword on his back and wondered if he had gotten the White light chakra saber yet.
As for the details of the technique, Murakami had no intention of asking.
Every shinobi possessed their own methods and secrets and curiosity was natural, but digging was rude.
Incidentally, he wasn't all that interested in kenjutsu.
Swordsmanship was undeniably effective. Generations of shinobi and the standard samurai had proven that.
However...
It simply wasn't the direction he wished to pursue.
Compared to a staff, a sword offered fewer options for control, leverage, and non-lethal engagement.
For Murakami's purposes, the trade-off wasn't worthwhile.
The conversation lapsed once more.
Below them, Hideki was still somehow entertaining half the convoy with increasingly questionable stories.
"...and then the instructor said I lacked discipline."
One of the merchants snorted. "What did you do?"
Hideki pointed at himself. "Me? Nothing."
Nobody believed him.
Not even Sora. The dark-haired boy looked up from his map long enough to say, "You tied three training logs together and called it an 'advanced combat dummy.'"
Hideki looked offended. "It was innovative."
"It rolled down a hill."
"Tha… That's because gravity fears my genius."
Several people laughed at the comment while Murakami quietly returned his attention to the stew.
The atmosphere remained surprisingly relaxed and eventually the bowl was emptied.
Murakami stood and returned it to the older driver.
The man accepted it with a nod. "See? Didn't kill you."
"The night is still young." Murakami said then turned and walked away.
The driver stared at him for a short while then barked out a laugh. "Definitely strange."
Murakami accepted the assessment once again.
…
Time passed and the first watch began shortly afterward.
Sakumo's team dispersed while the white-haired boy dropped from the wagon roof and landed lightly.
Before leaving, he glanced toward Murakami. "Goodnight."
Murakami nodded. "Goodnight."
Then Sakumo disappeared into the darkness surrounding the convoy.
The hours passed quietly.
Soon enough, the first watch changed and the second watch began.
A few lights remained visible within the inn with most eventually disappearing.
Soon, it was the quiet hours before dawn and Murakami opened his eyes. It was time for the third watch.
Hideki groaned the moment he was awakened. "This is torture."
"It is guard duty," Sora replied.
"Torture disguised as guard duty."
Neither Murakami nor Sora felt compelled to respond.
A few minutes later the three of them had taken their assigned positions around the convoy.
The mid night air was cold but not uncomfortable.
Murakami stood atop one of the wagons and surveyed the surrounding darkness. The forest beyond appeared motionless under his senses as he expanded it carefully.
Nothing.
Exactly as expected.
Still, he continued observing periodically.
An hour soon passed.
Then another.
At some point, Murakami noticed movement near the storage yard entrance.
The scarred Jonin.
The man was making another inspection round.
Not his first.
Not his second either.
Murakami estimated it was at least the fourth time he'd personally checked the perimeter since arriving.
Interesting.
The Jonin noticed him watching and their eyes met briefly.
Neither spoke but the older shinobi nodded at him and continued his patrol.
Murakami filed the observation away.
The Jonin was competent. Experience has made him cautious. Perhaps excessively cautious, but in a mission like this during wartime, excessive caution was often preferable to the alternative.
The remainder of the watch passed without incident.
Eventually the darkness began to retreat as the eastern horizon brightened.
The settlement slowly awakened as lanterns were extinguished.
Doors were opened to welcome in the morning air while letting out the damp air from the night.
Horses were fed.
Drivers stretched stiff limbs and prepared for another day of travel.
One by one, the shinobi teams regrouped and the convoy began reforming.
Another day.
Murakami adjusted the straps on his arms, shin, shoulder and waist, securing the rods across his back then looked westward.
The journey had been uneventful so far and he suspected that would not last forever.
But for now, a new day awaited them.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
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