One Month Later
The forest was silent except for labored breathing.
Muzan stood over the last enemy—a Nara scout clutching his bleeding side.
"Curse—" the Nara choked out.
Muzan's kunai punched through his throat.
The man gurgled. Went still.
Muzan straightened and surveyed the clearing. Four bodies. All dead within three minutes.
His breathing was controlled. Even. The fight hadn't left him winded.
He crouched beside the first body—the one he'd killed with Fire Style. The corpse was still warm, chest cavity opened by the jutsu's heat.
Muzan glanced around. No witnesses.
He bit into the charred flesh.
The taste was bitter. Burnt. But beneath it, that familiar rush of energy flooded through him. His muscles strengthened slightly.
He ate quickly and efficiently, as if what he was consuming wasn't human flesh at all, as if his act wasn't the same grotesque thing that would have made him vomit just by imagining it a month ago.
When he finished, he wiped his mouth and stood.
There was no hesitation or guilt in his eyes anymore. There was only an otherworldliness, as if he didn't belong to this world. Soft moonlight illuminated half his face. The other half was lost in the pitch darkness of night.
A month ago, this would have destroyed him. Now it was routine. After their last ambush mission, he'd been assigned to solo operations. The reason was simple—shortage. Many Uchiha had died, and for that reason, everyone had to spread thin so normal operations could continue.
Muzan formed hand seals. "Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu."
A sphere of flame erupted from his mouth and engulfed the bodies. Evidence erased. This was the ninjutsu Urashi had granted him after he and Toshiro successfully defeated an Ino-Shika-Cho squad. Normally, all Uchiha participating in the war received this simple jutsu, but Muzan only got it after earning their trust.
He watched the corpses burn for a moment, then turned and headed back toward camp.
---
The Uchiha camp had grown larger over the past month, but the number of shinobi had decreased. Soon, another reserve batch might join the war.
Muzan walked through it with purpose. Other shinobi nodded at him in passing. Some even greeted him by name.
He'd earned everyone's trust and respect. Twelve confirmed kills. Eight successful missions. Zero failures.
He found Toshiro near the command tent, studying a map.
"Muzan!" Toshiro looked up, grinning. "How are you?"
"I'm doing okay," Muzan said. "What about you?"
"Good, good." Toshiro's grin faded slightly. "You're getting scary efficient, you know that?"
Muzan didn't respond.
Toshiro sighed. "Anyway, briefing's in an hour. Big one. They're pulling in multiple squads."
"I heard." Muzan glanced at the map. "The Senju reserve camp."
"Yeah." Toshiro's voice dropped. "Location got leaked somehow. Lord Urashi wants it wiped out before they can reinforce their main force."
Muzan studied the map. The reserve camp was positioned deep in Senju territory. Getting there would be dangerous. Getting out would be worse.
"Who's leading?" Muzan asked.
"Miyako's team is confirmed. Ours too, obviously." Toshiro paused. "And Kenozo-san's team."
Muzan looked up. "Kenozo? Who's that?"
"He's a retired shinobi. Well, not retired anymore." Toshiro's expression darkened. "His sons died three days ago. Both of them. Senju ambush." He shook his head. "Old man came out of retirement immediately. Word is he's not planning to come back from this one."
Muzan understood. Revenge mission. Kenozo would push hard. Maybe too hard.
"What about the others?" Muzan asked.
Toshiro's face fell. "You didn't hear?"
Something cold settled in Muzan's chest.
"Masai died last week," Toshiro said quietly. "Senju patrol caught him during reconnaissance. Masai held them off so the others could escape." He looked away. "They brought his body back. Buried him yesterday."
Muzan was silent for a long moment.
Masai. The one who'd tackled him out of the fireball's path. Who'd joked about Toshiro's crush on Miyako. Who'd been built like a boulder and fought like one too.
Dead.
"I see," Muzan said.
Toshiro stared at him. "That's it? Just 'I see'?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know, man. Something?" Toshiro's voice rose slightly. "Masai saved your life once. Don't you feel anything?"
Muzan met his eyes. "He was a good shinobi. He died protecting his comrades. That's honorable."
"That's not what I—" Toshiro stopped himself. Took a breath. "Forget it. Just... don't forget him, okay?"
Muzan nodded.
He would never forget. He couldn't forget. So he'd bury it. Bury it deep inside where no one could see what was going on.
Toshiro studied him for a moment longer, then sighed. "Briefing in an hour. Don't be late."
He walked away.
Muzan returned to his tent.
Inside, he sat cross-legged and closed his eyes. Focused on his breathing. On the steady flow of chakra through his system.
A month ago, his reserves were pathetic. Now they were... adequate. Not exceptional, but enough to use Fire Style casually. But he couldn't refill his chakra without consuming another being that possessed chakra.
The demon physiology couldn't generate chakra on its own. Every time he consumed flesh, his body grew stronger, faster, more durable, and his chakra reserves would replenish.
He'd learned everything he could and improved himself significantly. Now it was time to return to the Land of Iron and take back what was his in the first place.
But the Uchiha had given him shelter. Training. A chance to get better. He owed them something for that.
One last mission. Then he'd leave.
He opened his eyes and checked his equipment. Kunai. Shuriken. Explosive tags. Wire. Everything in order.
Tomorrow, he'd help destroy the Senju reserve camp.
Then he was done.
---
The next evening.
Muzan stood in formation with the other squads. Fifteen shinobi total. The largest operation he'd been part of.
Amanai stood at the front of their squad—him, Muzan, Toshiro, Naroi, and a new member, Sayuri.
Masai's absence was palpable.
To their left, Miyako's squad. Five shinobi, all battle-hardened. Miyako's Sharingan was already active, tomoe spinning slowly as she surveyed the group.
To their right, Kenozo's squad.
Kenozo himself was an old man—maybe sixty, with gray hair and deep wrinkles. But his eyes were sharp. Cold. The eyes of someone with nothing left to lose.
His squad consisted of four younger shinobi, all watching their leader with obvious concern.
Front Commander Takeshi stood before them all.
"The Senju reserve camp," Takeshi began, his voice carrying across the formation. "Twenty shinobi. Supplies for their eastern front. Medical equipment. Weapons. Food." He paused. "Intelligence confirms the location. We strike at dawn tomorrow."
He unrolled a map.
"The camp is here. Forest terrain. Limited visibility. They'll have sentries, but not many—they think the location is secure." His finger traced a path. "We approach from three directions. Miyako's squad takes the north. Amanai's squad takes the west. Kenozo's squad takes the south."
Takeshi looked up. "Timing is critical. We hit simultaneously. Fast. Brutal. No survivors. No witnesses."
Kenozo stepped forward. His voice was rough, like gravel. "What about their reinforcements?"
"Nearest Senju outpost is two hours away," Takeshi said. "We'll be gone before they arrive."
"And if we're not?" Kenozo pressed.
Takeshi met his eyes. "Then we fight our way out."
Kenozo smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Good."
Miyako spoke next. "What's our extraction route?"
Takeshi traced another path on the map. "East. Through the valley. Rendezvous point here." He marked an X. "If you get separated, fall back to the secondary position here."
He rolled up the map. "We move out in one hour. Check your equipment. Rest while you can. This will be the largest strike we've attempted in months." His gaze swept across them. "Don't fail."
The formation broke apart. Squads dispersed to prepare.
Muzan checked his gear again. Everything was ready.
Toshiro sidled up next to him. "You nervous?"
"No."
"Liar." Toshiro grinned, but it was forced. "I'm terrified. Twenty Senju. If even half of them are dangerous..."
"They're no more than human," Muzan said. "And as long as they're human, they can die."
Toshiro blinked. "You've really changed, you know that?"
Muzan didn't respond.
Naroi joined them, sharpening his tanto. The rhythmic scrape of stone on metal filled the silence.
"Miss him?" Naroi asked quietly.
Toshiro didn't need to ask who. "Yeah."
Naroi nodded. "Me too."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Sayuri looked at them with confusion. She'd just completed her training at the Uchiha clan and was now participating in the war.
Then Amanai called them over. "Final check. Toshiro, sensor range?"
"Fifty meters, maybe sixty if I push it," Toshiro said.
"Good. You'll detect their sentries first. Call it out immediately." Amanai looked at Naroi. "You're fastest. You take point on enemy elimination."
Naroi nodded.
Amanai turned to Muzan. "Keep watch on the new girl, okay?"
"Yes."
Amanai's expression was serious. "This isn't like our usual missions. This is an assault. Expect heavy resistance. Expect casualties."
He paused. "Stay close. Watch each other's backs. And if things go wrong—if we're overwhelmed—retreat. Understood?"
They all nodded.
"Good." Amanai looked toward where Kenozo's squad was preparing. The old man was checking his equipment with mechanical precision. "Keep an eye on Kenozo's team. That man's looking for a place to die. Don't let him drag us down with him."
Muzan glanced at Kenozo. The old man's hands were steady, his movements controlled. But there was something in his posture. A finality.
He wasn't planning to survive this.
An hour later, they moved out.
Fifteen shinobi slipping through the forest like ghosts.
Muzan ran in formation with his squad, his body moving efficiently through the terrain. A month ago, he would have had to rely on his superior physique to keep up with the others. But now? Now he was proficient enough.
Sayuri kept pace beside him. She'd been glancing at him every few minutes for the past twenty.
"Muzan-san," she said quietly.
He didn't look at her. "What?"
"Is it true you killed a Nara on your first mission?"
"Yes."
"And you've completed eight solo missions since then?"
"Yes."
A pause. "That's... impressive."
Muzan said nothing.
"I heard you trained for only a week before joining combat," Sayuri continued. "How did you—"
"Focus on the mission," Muzan cut her off.
"Right. Sorry." She was quiet for maybe thirty seconds. Then: "Do you think it'll be scary? The assault?"
"Probably."
"Have you been in an assault before?"
"Once."
"Was it scary?"
Muzan finally looked at her. She was young—maybe fifteen. A single tomoe Sharingan. Probably awakened from some extreme trauma.
"Fear keeps you alive," he said. "Use it."
Sayuri nodded, then bit her lip. "Can I stay close to you during the fight?"
"Stay close to Amanai. He's the squad leader."
"But he's scary—"
"I'm scary too." Muzan's voice was flat. "Even though he looks scary, he's stronger."
"Still," Sayuri said softly. "I'd feel safer near you."
Muzan caught the way her cheeks colored slightly, even in the darkness.
Toshiro, running ahead of them, glanced back with a knowing smirk.
Muzan ignored both of them.
They ran in silence for another ten minutes.
Then Sayuri spoke again. "Muzan-san, can I... ask you something?"
"No."
"Oh. It's just, your face is—" She stopped herself. "Never mind."
"My face is what?"
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
Muzan studied her briefly. She was staring straight ahead now, refusing to meet his eyes.
He'd noticed other shinobi staring at him over the past month. Mostly women. Sometimes men. The demon blood had made him inhumanly beautiful—pale skin, sharp features, striking eyes.
It was useful for distraction in combat. Annoying everywhere else.
"After this mission," Sayuri said quietly, "maybe we could—"
Muzan raised his fist.
The entire squad stopped instantly.
Ahead, through the trees, the Senju camp was visible.
Amanai moved up beside him. "Good eye."
Toshiro closed his eyes, concentrating. "Two sentries. One northwest, one south. Both about forty meters out."
Naroi was already moving before Amanai gave the signal.
Muzan turned to Sayuri. Her face was pale. Her hands trembled slightly on her kunai.
"When it starts," Muzan said quietly, "don't freeze. Don't think. Just move."
She nodded.
Naroi reappeared. Blood on his tanto. "Clear."
The three squads converged on their positions—Miyako's to the north, Kenozo's to the south, Amanai's to the west.