Kamizuru Clan Headquarters
Ishikawa stood at the war table with maps of the Land of Iron's border region spread across its surface. Markers indicated their camp positions and patrol routes. A young shinobi burst through the tent entrance with mud splattered across his legs and chest heaving from exertion.
"Lord Ishikawa," the messenger said between gasps. "The northern camps have gone silent."
Ishikawa looked up from the maps. He had placed over three hundred shinobi across twelve camps along the border. They checked in every six hours without fail.
"Which ones?"
"All three in sector seven. Camp Fourteen, Fifteen, and Sixteen." The messenger pulled a scroll from his pouch and unrolled it with shaking hands. "They missed their dawn reports. We sent scouts to investigate Camp Fourteen two hours ago."
"And?"
"Everyone is dead, my lord. Twenty-four bodies. The scouts counted the pieces." The messenger's voice dropped lower. "Some were cut into so many sections they couldn't identify all of them. The ground was carved up like something had slashed through the earth itself."
Ishikawa walked around the table and examined the sector seven region on the map. Those camps formed a triangle that covered the main approach from the Land of Iron's central territories. He had positioned experienced squads there specifically because the Yotsuki might try to flank through that area.
"The Yotsuki?"
"The scouts said it wasn't multiple attackers. The pattern of destruction suggested a single individual moving through the camp. No signs of the Yotsuki's lightning techniques. No scorch marks or electrical burns." The messenger set the scroll on the table. "Just cutting wounds. Hundreds of them. Deep gouges in the earth arranged in crescent patterns."
Ishikawa picked up the scroll and read through the scout's report. The description matched nothing he had encountered in thirty years of combat.
"What about Camps Fifteen and Sixteen?"
"The scouts are checking them now. We should have reports within the hour."
Ishikawa studied the map and traced his finger along the route between the three camps. They formed a logical patrol path. If someone had hit Camp Fourteen first, they could reach the other two camps before dawn if they moved quickly enough.
"Send messengers to all remaining camps. Full alert status. No one travels alone. Double the sentries." He rolled up the scroll and handed it back to the messenger. "I want every available sensor-type shinobi scanning for unusual chakra signatures in that region. And send word to the main force. We need reinforcements at the border immediately."
The messenger bowed and turned to leave.
"Wait," Ishikawa said. "Did the scouts find any tracks? Any indication of which direction the attacker went?"
"The tracks led north into the mountains, my lord. Toward the Land of Iron's interior."
Ishikawa dismissed the messenger with a wave. He returned to the map and placed his finger on the area where the three camps had been positioned. The Land of Iron had allowed them to establish those camps as part of their agreement with the Daimyo. The slashing patterns reminded him of samurai techniques, but samurai weren't strong enough to accomplish something like this. Still, nothing was wrong with being suspicious.
Someone had just killed two dozen of his shinobi on Land of Iron soil. Either the Daimyo had broken their agreement, or something else was happening that he didn't understand yet.
---
Land of Iron, Daimyo's Palace
Shinji sat in the main hall with his advisors arranged on either side. Morning light filtered through the high windows and illuminated the polished wooden floors. A samurai in full armor knelt before him with his helmet tucked under one arm.
"Three camps have been destroyed?" Shinji leaned forward in his seat. "All of them Kamizuru?"
"Yes, my lord. Our patrols discovered the sites at dawn. No survivors at any location." The samurai kept his eyes lowered. "The destruction was extensive. We counted seventy-two dead in total across all three camps."
One of Shinji's advisors, an elderly man named Takeo, cleared his throat. "The Kamizuru will assume we broke our agreement. They will demand answers."
"I haven't broken anything," Shinji said. He looked at the samurai. "Did our forces engage them?"
"No, my lord. Our nearest patrol was three kilometers away from the closest camp. They heard nothing during the night."
Shinji stood and walked to the window that overlooked the courtyard below. Samurai practiced their forms in organized rows. Their movements synchronized perfectly. He had worked for months to establish the agreements with the Kamizuru clan. He couldn't let someone ruin his plans.
"Someone is trying to destabilize the region," Takeo said. "If the Kamizuru believe we sanctioned these attacks, they will retaliate. They might see it as an opportunity to break their own agreement and push deeper into our territory."
"I'm aware of the implications." Shinji turned back to face his advisors. "Send a formal message to the Kamizuru leadership. Express our condolences and make it clear we had no involvement in these attacks. Offer to assist in their investigation."
"They won't believe us," another advisor said. "Why would they? We're allowing them to use our land. We have every reason to want them gone."
Shinji returned to his seat and drummed his fingers against the armrest. The advisor was right. The Kamizuru would suspect his involvement regardless of what messages he sent. He needed to demonstrate his sincerity through action.
"Summon Okisuke," Shinji said.
The samurai who had delivered the report bowed lower. "The Mifune, my lord?"
"Yes. I want him here within the hour."
The samurai departed quickly and left Shinji alone with his advisors. Takeo shifted in his seat and adjusted his robes.
"Okisuke is young for such a task. He has become the Mifune only because of Michikatsu's absence. Will he be able to handle this?"
"Okisuke might be young, but since he is the Mifune, it's his duty," Shinji said. "And if not him, should I send you?"
Takeo became silent.
Fifty minutes later, Okisuke entered the hall and knelt before Shinji with fluid precision. He wore traditional samurai armor without decoration or embellishment. His katana rested at his side. Shinji had appointed him to the position of Mifune three months ago after Michikatsu had mysteriously vanished.
"You sent for me, my lord."
"Three Kamizuru camps were destroyed last night. Seventy-two dead. No survivors." Shinji watched Okisuke's face for any reaction. The young Mifune's expression remained neutral. "I need you to find out who did this and why."
"Do we have any information about the attacker?"
"Single individual, according to the evidence at the scenes. Extremely skilled with a blade based on the wound patterns." Shinji leaned back in his seat. "The Kamizuru will assume we're responsible. I need you to prove otherwise and identify the real culprit before this situation explodes into open conflict."
Okisuke nodded once. "I'll need access to the camp sites and permission to question any witnesses."
"You have both. Take whatever resources you need. I want daily reports on your progress." Shinji gestured toward the door. "The first camp site is in the northern sector."
Okisuke stood and bowed before turning to leave. He moved with the efficient economy of motion that Shinji valued. No wasted movement or unnecessary flourish.
"Okisuke," Shinji called out. The commander stopped and turned back. "Be careful. Whoever did this killed seventy-two trained shinobi in one night. Don't underestimate them."
"Understood, my lord."
Okisuke departed and left Shinji staring at the empty doorway. He had gambled on allowing a shinobi clan into his territory. Everything he did was for his goal. But now someone had turned his calculated risk into a potential disaster. If he couldn't identify and stop whoever was responsible, everything he had built would collapse.
---
Iron Forest, Land of Iron
Michikatsu waited in the clearing as moonlight filtered through the trees above. He had cleaned his sword thoroughly after the third camp. The blade gleamed in its altered state with its flesh covering smooth and the eyes along its length closed in rest. He had resheathed it hours ago.
Footsteps approached from the north. Michikatsu turned his head and tracked the sound with his upper set of eyes while his middle and lower sets scanned the surrounding forest for any additional movement. The footsteps belonged to a single individual who made no effort to conceal their approach.
Muzan emerged from the shadows between the trees. He wore a white suit jacket over a black shirt with his dark curly hair falling just past his shoulders. His red eyes caught the moonlight and reflected it back with an unnatural gleam. He stopped at the edge of the clearing and regarded Michikatsu with an expression that revealed nothing.
"You've been busy," Muzan said.
Michikatsu nodded once. He had eliminated three camps in the designated timeframe. Seventy-two Kamizuru shinobi lay dead across the northern border region. He had moved efficiently between each location and left no survivors to report what they had witnessed.
"The Kamizuru are alerted now," Muzan continued. He walked further into the clearing and stopped three meters away from Michikatsu. "The Daimyo's forces have discovered the camps. They're investigating."
"As expected."
Muzan tilted his head slightly and studied Michikatsu with those red eyes that saw far more than normal human vision allowed. The silence stretched between them for several seconds before Muzan spoke again.
"Good. Let them be suspicious of each other. We just have to break their alliance. Once we have done that, I shall reveal myself. You should also gather your old followers. Soon the rightful heir will claim what's his."