Forty miles.
For a ninja, that's nothing.
Even with Konoha's forests riddled with traps, the Kumogakure–Sunagakure coalition still reached Kikyo Mountain in half an hour.
Konoha was wrapped in mountains and thick woodland — a natural fortress and the perfect battlefield for those who knew how to use it. And in the forest, no one fought better than Konoha shinobi.
But the enemy came prepared. Elite squads surged ahead, pouring chakra into large-scale jutsu that ripped open Konoha's barriers in violent bursts of fire, lightning, and sand. This wasn't a random assault but it a coordinated strike from both fronts. The longer they lingered, the greater the risk of being crushed between Konoha's forward forces and reinforcements from the rear.
Once the first line fell, the invaders broke formation, splitting into squads, then detachments, then battalions, flowing through the forest like a tide aimed squarely at Kikyo Mountain.
Break through there, and only Kikyo Castle stood between them and the village. Every step deeper would carve a heavier wound into Konoha.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…
Bang, bang, bang…
Hidden kunai and shuriken whistled through the air, exploding tags ignited in flashes, and concealed jutsu snapped to life without warning.
The forest erupted with detonations and screams, its springtime vibrance swallowed by the chaos. Blood darkened the dirt. Frightened animals tore through the underbrush, and fleeing the madness.
The traps did their work, but they were finite. Once spent, there was nothing left to slow the coalition's approach.
By the time they reached Kikyo Mountain, the enemy still numbered twelve hundred — two hundred more than Konoha's defenders — and their momentum was unbroken.
Konoha, however, had the edge in elite power. Even the Hokage himself had joined the fight. And when it came to defending their home, every shinobi fought without hesitation, ready to die if necessary.
The battle snapped instantly into a brutal, close-range grind — each side giving no quarter, each exchange a gamble with death.
High above in the Uchiha defense area, Gen crouched on a thick branch, his form blending into the bark with a camouflage technique. Silent and patient, he let several enemy groups pass beneath without so much as twitching.
I can't take the strong head-on yet. Pick the weak, harvest their souls, then move freer.
The technique wasn't native to Konoha but had been stolen from Iwagakure during the long war, a prize the Uchiha clan had mastered.
Minutes passed. Then, a three-man Kumogakure squad slipped into view.
Three shuriken spun from the shadows like sparks off steel.
"Careful!"
The leader — dark-skinned, about seventeen — twisted mid-step, blade flashing as he caught the glint of metal, knocking the incoming shuriken aside with a sharp ring. But his teammates weren't so quick; steel bit deep into their lower backs, drawing startled cries as they collapsed to the ground.
Gen moved the instant their balance broke, his sword glinting as he surged toward the surviving defender. The Cloud ninja, rather than retreat, launched himself from the branch to meet the attack head-on.
For a moment, they crossed paths in midair and Gen's eyes flared crimson, two tomoe spinning. The boy froze, his body betraying him, sword arm falling slack as his gaze dulled under the Sharingan's pull.
Steel whispered through flesh. Blood scattered in the air. The shock jolted the boy from the illusion, but by then he was tumbling to the ground, pain stealing his voice until it emerged as a strangled scream.
Gen didn't finish them. Not yet.
Landing lightly, he formed seals even as he moved, his hands completing the jutsu the instant his feet touched the ground.
Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique.
The three Cloud Genin stiffened, their expressions twisting as phantoms filled their minds — visions they would do anything to escape. Fear locked them in place.
Gen reached for them with the Soul-Soul Fruit's power, the air bending subtly around his will. One by one, faint blue souls and glowing white orbs of life tore free from their bodies, sinking into him like rain into dry earth.
The three collapsed in unison, limp as discarded puppets. To mask the truth, Gen drove his blade cleanly into hearts and throats — battlefield kills, nothing unusual in the chaos of war.
In the quiet of a hollowed tree trunk, he laid his shuriken and sword across his lap.
Soul infusion.
Small white orbs — not just life, but fragments of soul — bled from his palm and sank into cold steel.
The weapons stirred. Black shuriken and silver blade blinked open strange, glistening eyes.
"Mom, mom, mom…"
Gen's jaw twitched. "I'm a man. Don't call me mom. Or dad. Or anything except..." He paused. "Master."
"Master, Master, Master…"
Satisfied, he nodded. "Good. Now shut up, close your eyes, and only speak when I say."
The weapons obeyed instantly, their strange eyes sealing shut.
Perfect. His shuriken could now hunt and strike with unerring precision; his sword could fly and attack on its own. The only way to stop them was to drain their life span or destroy the vessel holding their soul. Otherwise, they would never stop.
A devastating ace, but one to keep hidden.
Even the Uchiha, famed for deadly precision, would question living weapons. Shuriken skill had limits; "summoning beast" wouldn't convince anyone.
He could have made these long ago using his own soul, but wasting it on ordinary weapons felt wrong. If he ever used his own essence, it would be for a blade on the level of Kusanagi or better still, elemental Homies.
BIG MOM from the pirate world had monstrous strength and a soul to match, each feeding the other. Gen's soul, for now, was far less.
So he would grow it. Harvest. Forge his spirit into a weapon before shaping his ultimate trump cards.
With his transformed shuriken and sword stored away, Gen slipped back into the forest. Hunting season wasn't over.
Kill quick, and no mercy.