…
"You're awake."
A relieved voice interrupted Murakami's internal monologue causing him to turn his gaze to where it came from.
'Sora.' Murakami identified, then scanned his surroundings and found he was in a moving carriage. "How long was I passed out?"
"Not long, just over 4 hours now." Sora said casually then stood up from where he was perched. "How are you feeling?"
Murakami closed his eyes and immediately, the internal situation of his body became clear in his consciousness.
'Hmm, so this is how internal observation works on the body.'
He mused as he noticed the flickering ball of energy in his abdomen indicating that his chakra was present and recovered.
"I'm fine." he said and sat up. "What happened after I passed out?"
Sora paused briefly then began recounting what Takeda, the mission commander and the scarred Jonin concluded about his technique, measures taken, people lost and condition of the escorted supplies.
Murakami listened with rapt attention then concluded that other than potentially explaining himself to the two Jonin, nothing really concerned him.
"And Hideki?" Murakami asked, recalling that he had been stabbed through. Although it wasn't lethal, it was still something of concern.
"He's fine. Sakumo-kun applied a medical salve on the injury and bandaged his shoulder. As long as he doesn't exert his left arm during this period, he shouldn't have a problem." Sora replied and Murakami nodded and stood up.
"Shouldn't you rest a bit more?" Sora asked as he saw Murakami standing. "You performed a high level Ninjutsu for the first time. That must've drained you a lot, right?"
Murakami paused for a brief second then shook his head. "I'm fine."
Because he really was fine.
Perhaps it was due to his recent breakthrough, but Murakami didn't feel he needed to rest any longer than he already had.
He could still feel the faint presence of the fatigue on his body, but he wasn't weakened by it.
"..." Sora just speechlessly watched him as he stepped out of the carriage.
The caravan rolled on along the road with sunlight filtering through clouds that hadn't quite decided to clear.
A genin near the front noticed him first, then a second, walking parallel to the lead wagon, slowed his pace half a step as Murakami passed.
By the third or fourth carriage, a few others had noticed him and the whispers had started.
"That's him? The one who—"
"Don't point, idiot—"
"I heard the whole hill moved. Like the earth just answered him."
"Yeah, apparently it's a new technique."
"Killed the squad captain too. Buried him under it."
"What a monster."
Murakami heard every word but gave none of it his attention.
A familiar figure detached itself from a cluster of escorts near the supply wagons and jogged over.
"Murakami." Sakumo called out as he fell into step beside him, his expression caught somewhere between relief and scrutiny. "You alright?"
"I'm fine." Murakami responded in the same flat, unembellished answer he'd given Sora, because it was still true. "Hideki?"
"Resting. Two carriages back." Sakumo studied him a moment longer, like he was waiting for a crack to show somewhere.
Unfortunately, none did. "Want to see him?"
Murakami nodded.
"Alright, come with me."
Murakami followed him to a carriage at the rear.
The carriage smelled faintly of antiseptic and medicinal herbs.
Upon entering, he found Hideki lying propped against a folded blanket, his left shoulder wrapped tight, the rest of him sprawled with the particular looseness of someone trying very hard to look fine and not quite managing it.
His eyes opened the moment the carriage dipped under Murakami's weight.
"You're up." A pause, his gaze flicking over Murakami with something like genuine concern buried under the usual sarcasm. "You good? You were out cold for hours, and walking around like that, are you sure you're—"
"I'm fine." Murakami said it the same way he'd said it twice already that day, not reassurance, just fact. "You?"
Hideki snorted, then winced at the motion. "Hurts like hell. Can't move the arm. Sakumo's salve helps, but—" he gestured vaguely at the bandages, "—mostly I just get to lie here and think about how a chest wound is somehow still less embarrassing than getting knocked out by your own jutsu."
"At least you're talking."
"Low bar." But there was a faint, tired smile under it.
Just then, a knuckle rapped twice against the carriage frame before either of them could continue. A young shinobi leaned in, expression carefully neutral.
"Murakami-san. Takeda-san requests to see you."
Murakami glanced once more at Hideki, who waved him off with his good hand. "Go, I'm not dying."
Murakami nodded, stepped out of the carriage and fell into step behind the young shinobi as they made their way toward the front of the caravan.
Takeda sat atop the roof of the lead carriage, one leg dangling over the edge, scanning the tree line with the kind of loose alertness that came from years of doing exactly this.
"Sensei, I've brought Murakami-san."
Murakami's eye twitched.
'..San?'
He glanced sideways at the young shinobi, who couldn't be more than fourteen, if that. Murakami himself was twelve, barely creeping toward thirteen.
And yet here he was, addressed with the honorific reserved for someone notably his senior.
He filed the thought away without comment and looked up.
Takeda was already looking down at him.
"Kaito never mentioned he had a genius student under him." His tone was unreadable, somewhere between amusement and something heavier. "And to think he sends you on such a mission despite knowing the risks."
Murakami said nothing.
He didn't understand what either sentence was meant to accomplish, whether they were compliments, accusations, or simply observations spoken aloud for the sake of being spoken.
So he offered nothing back.
Takeda's mouth curved faintly at the silence. He patted the space beside him.
"Come sit."
Murakami nodded once, then leapt in a single clean motion that carried him from the dirt road onto the moving carriage roof, where he settled beside the Jōnin without so much as a stumble.
"How are you feeling?"
The fourth time today. Murakami kept his expression even. "I'm fine."
"And the mission? How do you feel about it?"
He considered the question for a moment, not because it was difficult, but because he was deciding how much truth to spend on it.
"The supplies made it through. We lost people we shouldn't have, but fewer than we would have without intervention. I'd call that an acceptable outcome, even if it's not a clean one."
Takeda nodded slowly, as if filing the answer away somewhere.
"And killing? How do you feel about that?"
Murakami went quiet.
'It wasn't complicated,' he thought. There was no deeper anguish to excavate, no buried trauma waiting to surface now that someone had finally asked.
Either those men died, or he did.
He hadn't been particularly interested in the second option, so he'd made certain of the first.
That was the entirety of it.
It was not cruelty or triumph, just arithmetic that had resolved in his favor.
If he was any weaker, he would've been among the few that shouldn't have been lost.
He opened his mouth.
"It is what it is," he said. "They attacked with the intent to kill. I made sure they couldn't. I don't think there's much more to feel about it than that."
Takeda studied him for a long moment, the kind of look that indicated that a lot was being weighed behind those eyes, then nodded again.
"That's good enough."
"The technique," Takeda continued, gaze drifting back toward the road ahead. "The one you used. Care to explain it?"
Murakami shook his head. "I don't fully understand it myself yet. I'd rather not speak on it until I do."
"Fair." Takeda accepted that without pushing, which Murakami noted with some relief. "I understand."
For a while, the Jōnin said nothing else, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the road curved out of sight.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, like the tone of a man laying out a map rather than making conversation.
"You're young enough that you probably don't have a real sense of what's happening out there beyond what gets passed down secondhand. So let me give you the shape of it."
He gestured vaguely northward. "Iwa's been pushing hard along our western border for the better part of a year now, Ōnoki's people don't commit to a front unless they think they can hold it, and right now they think they can hold this one."
"They're patient and stubborn. That's what makes them dangerous."
"Kumo's worse in a different way. The Raikage's forces don't care about holding ground, they care about bleeding everyone else dry before committing to anything decisive."
"Hit, vanish, let the other side overextend chasing ghosts."
He exhaled through his nose, something between a sigh and a scoff.
"Kiri's the wildcard. Internally, they're barely holding themselves together, too many factions, too much suspicion, blood limits turning into excuses for purges as much as war crimes. You never know if you're fighting Kiri's army or just whatever's left of it that week."
"And Suna—" he shook his head, "—Suna's just trying to survive the season. Wind country doesn't have the resources to fight a real war and everyone knows it, including them. They make alliances of convenience and break them the moment convenience runs out."
"And Konoha?" Murakami asked.
Takeda's expression didn't change. "Konoha's holding the center. Hokage-sama's out there himself, which tells you how thin we're stretched, a Kage shouldn't need to be on the front line, but here we are."
"Danzō, Kagami, Tōrifu, Koharu, the rest of Lord Second's old squad, they've been doing more fighting than directing lately." He paused. "Everyone's overextended. Everyone's improvising. There's no grand strategy anymore, just villages trying not to be the first to break."
He looked down at Murakami, something almost grim in his eyes.
"It's not a war anymore, kid. It's just chaos with flags on it."
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Like what you read? Vote and Add to library for more. Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.
I'ma be writing and posting on my patr@on page for a while. Interested individuals can check it out here. I've got extra chapters there.
[email protected]/This_Young_Lord