A few emaciated wild dogs lingered at a distance, letting out low hungry whines, yet none dared approach this place wrapped in death. Even so, a small figure appeared at the edge of the battlefield, wrapped in rags barely fit to cover his body as he crawled carefully among corpses and wreckage. His mud-smeared face showed he was only twelve or thirteen, and his eyes, bloodshot from hunger and fear, flickered with desperate focus.
"Soldier Pill, medicine, food… where are they, where?" he muttered without thinking.
He knew the place was dangerous and full of traps like Explosive Tag, and death could come at any moment. But he had no choice. His merchant father had been caught in the fighting between Konoha and Kumogakure months ago, leaving not even a body behind, and now only he remained with a feverish mother and a five-year-old sister.
His story was not unique. Land of Hot Water, once a wealthy land famous for hot springs and trade, had long since been ruined by the tug-of-war between Kumogakure and Konoha. The tragedies once seen in Land of Rain now played out again and again here, with towns destroyed, fields abandoned, and people driven from their homes.
The clearest difference between Land of Hot Water and Land of Rain was that the latter still had Hanzo and Amegakure standing up for it, while Tangyin Village had long been called the "Village That Forgot War." Whether it was the leaders of Tangyin Village or the Daimyo of Land of Hot Water, all chose to cover their ears and close their eyes to the war between Land of Fire and Land of Lightning, praying only that Konoha and Kumogakure would leave sooner.
This boy risking his life to search bodies on the battlefield was just one of countless people with no way out. His family had run out of food days ago, his mother's illness worsened, and his sister no longer had the strength to cry. He could only gamble by coming to the edge of this hell, hoping to find something to eat, something to heal, or something worth trading.
Trembling, he crept toward a relatively intact Kumogakure Ninja corpse and fought down his fear and nausea. Using a stick, he carefully pried open the body's Ninja Tool Pouch to search inside. It was at that moment a voice spoke.
"Hey."
The calm voice came from behind him without warning. His body froze in an instant, as if his blood had turned to ice. He did not even dare turn around and only raised his hands stiffly as he stammered, "M my lord, please spare me. I am not a Ninja, I took nothing, I will leave right away, right away…"
He thought he had run into a Ninja clearing the battlefield, yet the expected scolding or attack did not come. Instead, a long strip of black bread appeared at the edge of his vision, and the familiar yet long-missed smell of baked grain reached his nose. This kind of bread was made simply from flour, water, salt, and yeast, with no sugar or oil, and was so hard it had to be soaked before eating, but it filled the stomach and kept well.
"Gulp."
Saliva flooded his mouth, and his dry throat swallowed on instinct. He turned his head carefully and glanced back out of the corner of his eye. What he saw was not a vicious Ninja, but a bespectacled young Ao man in plain clothes, wearing a gentle smile that made people relax.
Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, and the old-fashioned round glasses were fogged with water, making him look a little bedraggled. The only unusual thing was a strange necklace at his neck, an iron piece shaped with a round outside and a triangle within.
"Hungry?" Yakushi Kabuto smiled at the boy and pushed the black bread closer, almost to his nose. "Do you want to eat?"
The boy's heart raced as temptation and fear battled inside him. At last, he reached out with shaking hands and snatched the bread, clutching it to his chest as if afraid it might vanish. "Th thank you, sir…" he said softly, then asked with cautious fear, "What do you want me to do?"
"Do you want to never go hungry again?" Yakushi Kabuto slowly squatted to meet his gaze and asked gently, "Do you want someone to protect you and your family?"
A flash of longing crossed the boy's eyes before deeper wariness replaced it. "If you do, then join us," Kabuto said with an oddly persuasive smile. "Believe in our lord and join the faith. We have food, and many companions like you who have lost their homes."
"Fa faith?" the boy repeated blankly.
"Yes, the faith," Kabuto nodded, his smile unchanged. "Though some people outside like to call us the 'Jashin Cult.'"
Jashin Cult?!
The words made the boy shudder violently, nearly dropping the bread into the blood-soaked mud. The Ninja of Tangyin Village and the elders of Land of Hot Water had told stories of the Jashin Cult countless times. In those tales, its followers were madmen who sacrificed living people and ate flesh, monsters even the Ninja of Tangyin Village feared.
"You I…" Horrifying images filled his mind, and his face turned as pale as white. He stared at the bespectacled Ao man and braced one hand behind him, instinctively trying to pull away. Yet the gentle smile, the lifesaving bread in his arms, and the sincere tone did not match the stories he had heard.
"Do you still believe the lies of the Daimyo of Land of Hot Water and the leaders of Tangyin Village?" Kabuto shook his head with a sigh. "They said they would protect us too, but if they had, why would you and I be here?"
"If you do not believe me, then come and see who we really are," he said, standing up without waiting for an answer and walking away.
The boy watched his back recede as fear and the instinct to survive tore at him. In the end, the desire to live and to keep his family alive overcame everything else. Clutching the bread, he struggled to his feet and followed Kabuto step by step, leaving the blood-soaked field behind.
Kabuto led him through the forest to a higher hilltop. From there, the view was clear, showing the brightly lit and heavily guarded camp of Kumogakure to the north and the equally tense camp of Konoha to the south. Hundreds of people already stood on the hill, dressed in uniform black clothes like a silent flock of crows in the rain.
They held identical sickles and stared fixedly at the camps below. In their eyes burned hatred and longing that sent a chill down the spine. At the edge of the cliff stood a not particularly tall figure with gray hair, a small sickle hanging from his wrist like an ornament.
He faced away from them, as if unaware of their arrival, gazing at the blood-soaked land below as though admiring a work of art made from death. "Is that the Evil God… the leader of the faith?" the boy whispered, his heart pounding as he saw the reverence in the others' eyes. The figure looked ordinary, yet the cold aura around him made instinctive fear rise.
Kabuto stepped forward and stopped behind the figure, bowing his head respectfully. "Cult leader."
The gray-haired man seemed to come back to himself. "Oh, Kabuto is back?" Hidan asked with a grin. "How did the information gathering go?"