The severed head rolled across the ground, its face still twisted in pain and confusion—almost as if mocking the absurdity of what had just happened.
For the enemy, this was the very definition of "capsizing in the gutter." No matter how confident a shinobi might be in their own power, there would always come a moment of reversal—a fatal reminder that arrogance demands its price.
Shock came first, then fury. A rain of shuriken whistled through the air toward Hagumi Genshin.
But he had expected this. The moment his feet hit the ground, chakra burst beneath him like a gale, propelling him behind the trunk of a thick tree for cover.
Thwip, thwip, thwip!
The shuriken struck the dirt, then peppered the tree's outer bark in a neat, deadly spread along the line of his movement.
One enemy shinobi, however, didn't join the volley. Instead, he watched Genshin's movement closely, forming hand seals with swift precision. A few steps to the side—and suddenly, Genshin's new position was exposed right within his attack arc.
Water Release: Water Bullet Technique!
A massive sphere of water surged toward him.
Yet Genshin remained calm. After a full year in this world, he might not be a veteran, but he'd at least acquired a shinobi's instincts.
His hands came together naturally, fingers weaving through the seals with fluid confidence.
Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!
A blazing orb of fire—over two meters across—shot forward to meet the incoming water head-on.
Among Fire Release–using clans, there was little difference between these techniques—similar seals, similar chakra flow, even similar names: Grand Fireball, Great Fireball, Explosive Fireball, Flame Bullet, Great Fireball Technique… All variations of the same destructive principle.
Fire clashed with water. The flames hissed out, and the water exploded into steam. A sharp, continuous sssshhhhh filled the forest as dense, white vapor billowed outward, flooding the area and blinding sight on all sides.
The enemy's sensory ninja wasn't with this unit—making the battlefield far more favorable to Genshin. The obscured vision erased their numbers advantage, and stealth was his specialty.
He pressed a hand against the tree trunk beside him. Mayfly Technique—activate.
Like a swimmer submerging beneath a lake's surface, his body sank soundlessly into the wood, merging with it until no trace remained.
Relying on memory, Genshin moved swiftly through the interwoven network of roots and trees, soon emerging behind the water-style user who'd just attacked him.
Without warning, he appeared. The shinobi happened to be backing up, his spine pressed firmly to a tree trunk—a sound defensive habit when visibility was limited.
Unfortunately, this time it would kill him.
Genshin's upper body slid out from above, ghostlike. His right arm snaked around the man's neck, locking tight, while his left arm swung down and drove his elbow forward again and again—twenty, thirty times in merciless succession—slamming into the man's chest with the rhythmic dull thud of flesh and bone giving way.
Each blow was mechanical, efficient, and utterly devoid of emotion.
In an instant, the man's torso collapsed inward; his organs were nothing but paste.
Genshin's form vanished once more into the earth.
The longer the battle went on, the more he could feel his body changing. Before, every time he used ninjutsu, he could sense something being torn out of him—a draining, hollowing sensation, as if his very essence were being consumed by his chakra.
He would always end up feeling dry, brittle, and weak.
But now it was different. Now, the longer he fought, the more alive he felt. His cells seemed to hum with energy, every fiber surging with vitality.
If before he'd been "flat," now he was at least 36D.
A sudden, ridiculous analogy—but it fits.
And in that absurd thought came a sharp, terrifying clarity.
Maybe ordinary humans simply weren't meant to be shinobi. Chakra didn't just draw on life—it devoured it.
"Who's under attack? Report your status and location!"
A voice shouted through the mist.
Speaking aloud in this kind of environment was a mistake. Genshin instantly homed in on the sound and darted toward it.
"Three left," he counted silently.
But just as he approached, a faint sizzle caught his ear. Something wasn't right.
"Damn—it's a trap!"
In the next instant, the shinobi ahead of him grinned—a savage, crazed expression. His hands blurred through the final seals.
Genshin vanished, diving into the ground with Mayfly just as realization struck him.
The man had used himself as bait, luring Genshin in. Dozens of explosive tags covered his body, already pre-ignited, their paper edges curling with heat.
A flash of white light split the air.
BOOM!
The blast tore through the forest. The shinobi's body, the leaves, even the soil around him vaporized in the explosion. Several thick trees snapped like twigs and collapsed, creaking as they fell.
From within a cracked trunk, Genshin's body was forced out by the concussive wave. He had avoided the core of the explosion but couldn't completely evade the shockwave. His form flickered into view.
The detonation's sheer force even dispersed the thick steam, revealing the battlefield once more.
Such disregard for one's own life—so casual, so unthinking—it was almost unimaginable.
That man hadn't even understood how Genshin had killed his comrades. He'd merely sensed their deaths, estimated Genshin's movement speed from rough guesses, and decided to gamble his life on a hunch.
No, not a gamble. That wasn't bravery—it was numbness.
To sacrifice your own life on incomplete information, hoping for a random chance to hit your target—how was that any different from suicide?
And worse, his self-detonation hadn't even hit. Genshin's trajectory had almost been caught by the blast, but his constant vigilance had saved him.
The enemy's death had achieved nothing.
Life, it seemed, was worthless.
And death—perhaps—was the only thing that still felt real.