The valley matched the map exactly. It was narrow, with steep walls on both sides covered in dense vegetation. The terrain was perfect for an ambush.
Muzan crouched on the western ridge, hidden behind a cluster of rocks. Below, the dirt road wound through the valley floor like a scar.
Amanai was ten feet to his left. Naroi and Masai were spread out further down the ridge. All of them were silent. All of them were waiting.
Across the valley, Miyako's squad would be in similar positions on the eastern ridge. Muzan couldn't see them. That was the point.
The moonlight pierced through the array of clouds and illuminated the valley.
Muzan kept waiting. He got bored very soon. Most shinobi fights lasted no more than minutes, but the preparation could take up to days.
An hour passed.
Then another hour passed.
"Where are they?" Masai's voice was barely a whisper.
"Patience," Amanai said.
Another thirty minutes crawled by.
Then a faint rumble sounded in the distance. Wheels rolled on dirt.
Muzan's body tensed. His hand moved to his kunai pouch.
The rumble grew louder.
Three wagons came into view, pulled by horses. They moved slowly, their wheels creaking.
Muzan scanned them. No visible guards walked alongside. No outriders accompanied them. Just the wagon drivers—three of them, one per wagon.
It seemed too easy.
His eyes narrowed. The wagons were covered with canvas. Anyone could be hiding inside.
The convoy rolled forward and entered deeper into the valley.
Amanai raised his hand. The signal meant to wait.
The first wagon passed their position. Then the second wagon passed.
Amanai's hand remained raised.
The third wagon was almost past them when Amanai's hand dropped.
Ichiro appeared on the road behind the convoy. His hands flew through seals. "Earth Style: Earth Wall!"
The ground erupted. A wall of stone burst upward and blocked the road they'd entered from.
The wagon drivers reacted instantly. They reacted too quickly.
They weren't civilians.
The canvas on all three wagons exploded outward. Shinobi poured out—six, seven, eight—more than intelligence had predicted.
"Now!" Miyako's voice rang out from the eastern ridge.
Both Uchiha squads descended.
Muzan jumped. The ground rushed up. He landed in a crouch with his kunai already drawn.
A Sarutobi shinobi turned toward him, hand reaching for a weapon.
Muzan's body moved before his mind caught up. The kunai punched through the man's throat.
Blood sprayed hot across Muzan's face.
The man gurgled. He fell.
Muzan yanked the blade free and stepped back.
His hands were steady.
Around him, the ambush exploded into chaos.
Amanai blurred between two Sarutobi, his tanto opening throats with surgical precision. Naroi's blade flashed in rapid arcs. Masai crashed into an enemy like a battering ram and drove him into the wagon with enough force to splinter wood.
On the opposite side, Miyako moved through three opponents in seconds. Her Sharingan tracked every movement before it happened. Asuka and Ichiro flanked a fourth opponent and coordinated their strikes with practiced efficiency.
Muzan's attention snapped back as another Sarutobi rushed him. The woman had short hair and killing intent in her eyes.
Three shuriken flew at him. They came fast.
Muzan twisted. One whistled past his ear. Another grazed his shoulder. The third he caught.
The woman's eyes widened slightly.
Muzan threw it back.
She dodged, but it forced her trajectory. Her movement became predictable.
She closed the distance with a tanto and slashed at his midsection.
Muzan leaned back. The blade missed. She followed with a thrust.
He sidestepped and caught her wrist. He twisted.
The bone snapped.
She screamed.
His kunai found her ribs three times.
She dropped.
He felt no hesitation.
A massive shadow fell over him.
"Partial Expansion Jutsu!"
An Akimichi stood before him. His fist swelled to the size of a boulder and came down like a siege weapon.
Muzan threw himself sideways. The impact cratered the ground and sent dirt and rocks exploding outward. The shockwave knocked him off balance.
Before the Akimichi could follow up, Naroi's tanto opened the back of his knee.
The giant toppled.
Naroi's blade punched through his eye socket.
"Keep moving!" Naroi was already running.
Muzan pushed himself up and ran toward the nearest wagon.
A Sarutobi was climbing out. Muzan grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into the wagon's edge. The wood cracked. The man's nose shattered. Muzan slammed him again. The man went limp.
He dropped the body and turned.
A kunai flew at his face.
He jerked his head. It grazed his cheek and drew blood that quickly healed, hidden by darkness.
A young Sarutobi stood fifteen feet away. He was already throwing another kunai.
Muzan caught it mid-flight and whipped it back in one motion.
The Sarutobi dodged. Muzan was already closing the distance. Three strides. His knee drove into the man's gut.
The Sarutobi folded. Muzan grabbed the back of his head and brought his knee up into his face.
Teeth shattered. Blood sprayed.
The man collapsed.
Muzan's breathing was controlled and steady.
Something had changed. He wasn't thinking anymore. Just reacting. Moving. Surviving.
"Muzan! Behind you!"
He spun.
A massive fireball hurtled toward him.
Masai tackled him from the side. They hit the ground hard as the fireball screamed overhead and slammed into the wagon. Wood exploded. Fire erupted. Heat washed over them.
"Pay attention!" Masai shoved him away.
Muzan rolled to his feet.
Across the battlefield, Miyako engaged what looked like the convoy leader—a Sarutobi jonin. Their blades clashed in a blur. Sparks flew with each impact.
"Amanai!" Miyako's voice cut through the chaos. "The leader!"
Amanai disengaged from his opponent with a vicious slash across the man's throat and blurred toward the jonin.
The Sarutobi saw him coming. His hands flew through seals. "Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!"
A dozen small fireballs scattered in all directions like a shotgun blast.
Amanai wove through them at inhuman speed. One singed his arm. He didn't slow.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat.
Now it was two on one.
The jonin was skilled and fast. His blade moved in precise arcs and deflected both attackers simultaneously.
But even he couldn't hold forever.
Miyako feinted high. The jonin blocked.
Amanai struck low. His kunai slipped through the gap and buried itself in the jonin's side.
The man gasped. He stumbled.
Miyako's tanto flashed.
The jonin's head hit the ground before his body did.
The remaining Sarutobi saw their leader fall.
"Retreat!" one of them shouted.
But the Earth Wall still blocked the exit. The Uchiha surrounded them.
"Surrender and you live!" Miyako called out.
The Sarutobi looked at each other.
Then they charged.
It was over in seconds.
Muzan moved through the chaos like water. A Sarutobi came at him with a sword. Muzan ducked under the swing and drove his kunai up through the man's jaw. Another threw shuriken. Muzan deflected them with a kunai in each hand and closed the distance before the man could draw another weapon. His blade opened the man's throat.
He made no wasted movement. He felt no hesitation.
Just survival.
When the dust settled, the valley was silent except for crackling fire.
Muzan stood in the middle of the carnage. His clothes were soaked with blood—some his, most not.
Bodies lay everywhere. Fifteen. Maybe twenty.
All were dead.
He looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood.
They weren't shaking.
His breathing was steady.
He felt nothing.
Is this what it means to survive?
"Status!" Amanai barked.
"Minor injuries," Naroi reported.
"Same," Masai said.
Ichiro checked his squad. "Kenji took a kunai to the shoulder. Nothing serious."
Miyako's gaze swept the battlefield. Her Sharingan was still active. "Good work. Search the wagons. Take anything useful. We have ten minutes before we move."
The squads split up and rifled through the wreckage.
Muzan didn't move immediately. He just stood there and stared at the bodies.
Twenty people were dead. In less than five minutes.
He'd killed how many? Five? Six?
The numbers didn't matter anymore.
Amanai approached. "You did well."
Muzan nodded slowly.
"This is what war is," Amanai said quietly. "Not honor. Not glory. Just killing until one side can't fight anymore."
He placed a hand on Muzan's shoulder. "You're not holding back anymore. Good. That hesitation would've gotten you killed."
Muzan looked at him.
Amanai's expression was neutral. "Whatever you needed to accept, you've accepted it. Now you might actually survive this war."
He walked away to help search the wagons.
Muzan stood alone among the dead.
The hollow feeling in his chest remained.
But now it felt like armor instead of absence.
He'd crossed a line he couldn't uncross.
He'd do it again. And again. However many times it took.
Because that's what survival demanded.