Hagumi Genshin was forced out of concealment, stumbling slightly as he reappeared in his enemies' sightlines.
In truth, that enemy's self-detonation hadn't been a wrong move—just poorly timed. Against the Mayfly Technique, the best counter was always a wide-area jutsu. No matter how perfectly one hid or how quickly one moved underground, a massive, indiscriminate strike was the surest way to crush everything beneath it.
A kunai sliced through the mist with a thunk, burying itself in Genshin's shoulder. Blood spattered out—but the searing pain cleared the explosion's lingering haze from his mind, bringing him abruptly back to focus.
Out of the fog, a shadow lunged. Steel flashed from his blind spot.
"Earth Release!"
The attacking shinobi shouted the warning to his remaining comrades. In his mind, Genshin's strange ability could only be some form of Earth Release—stealth, movement, and assassination all rolled into one.
Of course, that assumption was wrong. Completely wrong.
Genshin drove his left foot forward to stabilize himself, twisted his waist and arched his back—barely slipping past the decapitating slash. The blade still grazed his arm, leaving a shallow cut that stung sharply.
His opponent flipped the knife into a reverse grip and immediately swung again. Genshin twisted sideways, ducking under the counterstroke by a hair's breadth.
Each glint of that blade drew his focus tighter. He could feel the edge's chill grazing his skin, sharpening his senses until his breathing grew long and steady.
But the relentless back-and-forth left him off balance. As his upper body tilted backward, he threw one arm down to brace himself against the ground—just managing to stop from falling.
Then came the kick.
The enemy's foot slammed into his abdomen, driving the air from his lungs and sending him flying backward.
His spine struck a jutting boulder with a sickening crack, the shock locking up his breath. But he didn't waste a heartbeat worrying about pain. Instinctively, he rolled to the side—
Clang!
The short blade cleaved down exactly where he'd been. The attacker pressed forward, giving Genshin no room to counter.
He rolled several more times, dodging the rapid strikes while forcing his body upright. At last, he regained his stance—face-to-face once more.
The enemy's movements were sharp, swift, precise. Every cut targeted Genshin's torso, never straying from the centerline.
A taijutsu specialist.
The unrelenting pressure wasn't meant to kill outright—it was meant to pin down his hands, to keep him from forming seals.
Smart. Just not smart enough.
After all, Genshin had never been known for his ninjutsu prowess. So what had kept him alive on battlefields until now?
Certainly not luck.
The enemy was a mere chūnin. Not nearly skilled enough to suppress another shinobi's techniques entirely.
And no rhythm could stay perfect forever.
The instant the attacker's breathing hitched—barely perceptible—Genshin slipped aside from a slash, and his right hand flicked down, pulling a kunai from his pouch.
When the opponent lunged in again, blade reversing from a slash into a stabbing thrust—Genshin swung his kunai upward.
Clang!
Metal met metal with a shrill ring. The kunai's ring loop caught the edge of the short sword's blade. Genshin twisted his wrist sharply, locking the weapon in place, then yanked in the same direction the enemy's strength was pushing.
The short sword flew from his opponent's grasp. In that same motion, Genshin released his kunai and pulled the enemy forward by the momentum—
Then drove his knee up into the man's gut.
The thud was dull and deep. The impact folded the attacker in half, blood spraying from his mouth. His legs buckled; he staggered backward, barely able to stand.
Pain twisted his face, features knotting together. He looked up just in time to see Genshin's hands come together—the final seal snapping into place.
Fire Release: Phosphorus Flame Technique!
The air rippled with heat distortion. Orange-red flames surged forth—not a single stream but countless uneven tongues of fire, each one dragging a long tail like a streak of burning water thrown from a basin.
The taijutsu shinobi had no chance to dodge. He didn't even manage a proper reaction before the fan-shaped burst engulfed him.
The flames clung to him like liquid oil, impossible to extinguish. His screams tore through the forest—high, shrill, desperate. The phosphorus intensified as it fed on flesh, the brightness swelling until his voice broke.
Within twenty seconds, the cries stopped. His limbs twitched weakly, then stiffened. In moments, what had been a man was nothing more than a blackened husk, melding into the fire that consumed him.
Genshin didn't spare the corpse a glance. His eyes shifted toward the last remaining enemy.
That one had started to rush forward to help his comrade—but froze mid-step as he witnessed the infernal blaze.
The look in Genshin's eyes wasn't hatred. It wasn't rage. There was no joy, no sorrow. Only an icy stillness so profound it devoured warmth itself.
It wasn't the gaze of someone looking at an enemy.
Nor even the gaze of someone looking at a person.
It was the gaze one gave to a thing already dead.
The last shinobi's composure shattered. He was just a genin. Overwhelmed by the suffocating dread of watching his comrades die one by one, he broke.
He turned and ran.
He didn't make it far.
With a quiet thwip, a kunai pierced his heart from behind.
He was younger than Genshin. Just a boy, really.
But mercy didn't change the truth of this world.
If you didn't kill—someone else would kill you.
"Wh–what… kind of secret art… k-killed our… captain…?"
The genin's voice trembled as he fell, confusion and disbelief etched across his face. The captain's death had marked the start of their downfall; his meaningless end had doomed them all.
"Secret art?"
Genshin paused, tilting his head. Then, after a moment of thought, he shook it lightly.
"No. I didn't use any secret art."
"Just ordinary ninjutsu."
The last of the steam—born from clashing water and fire—finally dispersed. Genshin's damp hair clung to his forehead; his clothes hung heavy with moisture.
The fight hadn't lasted long, nor had it been especially fierce—but it had drained him completely, every nerve stretched to the limit.
Still, the mission objective was complete.
Genshin drew in a deep breath, letting the cold, damp air cool the heat in his lungs.
Then he turned, already thinking ahead.
He still had to go help his comrades.