Land of Iron, Northern Sector - Camp Fourteen
Okisuke got off his horse at the site of what was once Camp Fourteen, his stomach churning. The morning sunlight created long shadows over the devastation, accentuating the destruction. He had brought twelve samurai from the palace, and as they moved cautiously around the camp, their faces grew increasingly pale.
The ground bore massive, deep gouges that seemed like claw marks from a colossal beast, stretching for meters in crescent shapes. Some of the indentations were so deep that Okisuke could have laid down in them and vanished from sight. The overlapping slashes created a chaotic landscape of destruction.
Dismembered bodies lay scattered across the camp, making identification nearly impossible. Okisuke focused on counting body parts rather than whole corpses. An arm still grasping a kunai was found ten meters from its owner's torso, while a head lay against a tree root, eyes wide open. Remains appeared to be distributed throughout the clearing as if someone had methodically disassembled individuals and scattered their parts around.
This is my investigation, Okisuke thought, feeling the weight of his new role after only three months as Mifune, following Michikatsu's mysterious disappearance. Everyone was aware of his youth and watched to see if he would rise to the occasion.
He knelt beside the nearest dismembered section and inspected the wound where the man had been split from shoulder to hip. The cut was so immaculate that he could see the distinct layers of tissue, muscle, and bone. The blade had penetrated through the body and into the earth, creating one of those deep furrows. He measured it with his fingers and noted it was at least a meter deep.
He instantly recognized the technique. Chakra flow along a blade extends its cutting range by projecting its edge through concentrated energy. Okisuke himself could send chakra crescents from his sword to slice targets several meters away, a fundamental skill that defined samurai.
But this surpassed anything he had encountered. The furrows extended for over thirty meters in a single seamless arc, showing no signs of weakness. The depth indicated that chakra flow had been sustained at maximum intensity over that entire distance, cutting through earth as effortlessly as flesh. Even the most practiced samurai he knew could barely manage half this range before their projected edges veered off.
This can't be possible. The chakra reserves needed to maintain such projection would be… His thoughts stumbled over the calculations. He had rigorously studied theoretical limits during training. Energy expenditure increases exponentially with distance, which is why even masters could only project effective cutting edges up to fifteen or twenty meters.
"My lord," one of his samurai called from a distance, tension evident in his voice. "You must see this."
Okisuke approached where the samurai stood beside a collapsed tent. The tent had been sliced neatly in half with its support poles, both sections collapsing with edges as clean as if cut with scissors. The samurai pointed to a tree behind the ruined tent, where three parallel cuts had sliced through the trunk at different heights, allowing daylight to shine through the gaps where wood had been removed.
"Who can do this?" the samurai murmured.
Okisuke shook his head. They were observing chakra techniques performed at a level that shouldn't exist. While master samurai could extend their cutting range through years of training and natural ability, maintaining such power across thirty meters while simultaneously creating meter-deep furrows required chakra reserves and control that seemed supernatural.
His second-in-command, Hayato, approached calmly from the northern edge. The older samurai had gray streaks in his dark hair and a pale scar running from his left brow to cheekbone. He had served under three Mifune and had more combat experience than any other in Okisuke's command.
"The perimeter sentries were killed first," Hayato reported, gesturing towards the northern tree line. "Six bodies are positioned at regular intervals around the camp's outer edge. All were cut down before they could raise any alarm."
"How do you know that?"
"None show defensive wounds. They died at their posts without drawing weapons or taking combat stances." Hayato scanned the area. "The attacker entered from the north and moved through the camp in essentially a single continuous pass. The bodies form a distinct path from the northern entry to the southern exit."
Okisuke followed his gaze, trying to discern the pattern. The bodies did seem to line up loosely, suggesting a meandering path taken by an attacker who hadn't stopped to confirm kills, cutting down everyone in their way with consistent speed.
"One person did all of this?" Okisuke's voice raised slightly, incredulous. Twenty-four trained shinobi slain in moments by a single attacker who hadn't even slowed.
"The cut patterns maintain consistency throughout the site," Hayato replied, crouching beside a furrow. "Identical depth, angle, and residual chakra signature. These advanced chakra flow techniques are executed by an individual with exceptional mastery." He held his hand above the furrow without making contact. "I've never seen this level of skill outside historical accounts of legendary figures."
Okisuke knelt alongside him, observing the furrow closely. It was flawlessly smooth and uniform across its length.
"Could this be one of our own samurai?" Okisuke pondered quietly. "Someone from the Land of Iron who turned against the Kamizuru?"
Hayato rose, brushing dirt from his hands, maintaining a neutral expression, yet Okisuke noticed hesitation.
"It's possible, based on the technique signatures," Hayato said after a moment. "These display recognized samurai methods rather than shinobi techniques. The chakra flow patterns affirm that. But the skill level limits the list of potential suspects significantly."
Okisuke wanted to inquire just how limited it was, but he could see from Hayato's demeanor that he wasn't ready to elaborate. The older samurai knew or suspected something that he wasn't yet ready to share.
For the next two hours, they meticulously documented everything, counting the dead and recording their positions. Others measured the furrows and mapped their locations, while several examined residual chakra signatures, confirming Hayato's observations of consistency and power.
By midday, they mounted their horses and rode to Camp Fifteen, three kilometers east through a narrow mountain trail in dense forest, reaching it within an hour.
Camp Fifteen displayed the same systematic destruction: deep crescent gouges, bodies disassembled with precise efficiency, and every wound exhibiting the identical chakra flow control. Okisuke counted twenty-three dead this time.
Hayato inspected the bodies with meticulous attention, comparing cuts and measuring angles.
"The timing sequence is exceptionally precise," Hayato announced. "These camps were attacked within hours of each other, according to blood coagulation rates and temperature. The attacker moved swiftly enough to strike all three camps in one night."
"How is that even possible?" Okisuke calculated the distances and terrain challenges. "These camps are kilometers apart in mountainous terrain."
"Enhanced physical abilities through chakra reinforcement would enable rapid movement," Hayato explained. "But maintaining such continuous enhancement for several hours while executing these techniques requires chakra reserves far beyond normal human levels."
What are we facing? Okisuke felt a chill despite the afternoon heat. Everything indicated that the attacker was less human and more like a supernatural force.
They finished documenting Camp Fifteen by late afternoon and rode to the third site. Arriving at Camp Sixteen as the sun set, Okisuke counted twenty-five dead, all displaying the same chilling pattern, the same impossible skill.
His samurai set up torches to continue their work into the night. As Okisuke navigated the camp, he tried to reconstruct the attacker's movements based on the body placements and chakra flow cuts. The path curved through the clearing, passing directly through where the tents had been clustered.
Hayato worked near the southern edge, where it appeared the attacker had exited. He crouched beside a particularly deep furrow, focused on something Okisuke couldn't see. Hayato remained still for several minutes, hand hovering above the cut. Okisuke noticed his shoulders tense, and it appeared he was experiencing a moment of realization.
Slowly, Hayato stood and turned back toward the camp, his expression causing Okisuke's stomach to twist. Something had shifted in his demeanor, replacing neutrality with a disturbingly controlled fear.
He approached Okisuke with even more measured steps, as if repressing his reactions.
"My lord, we must return to the palace immediately and prepare our formal report," Hayato said carefully. "We have enough information to brief the Daimyo."
"Did you find something specific?" Okisuke asked directly.
"The evidence aligns with our findings from the other sites," Hayato responded, carefully neutral. "Advanced chakra flow techniques executed by someone with remarkable skill. The Daimyo needs to know we're up against a samurai whose abilities exceed anything within our current forces."
Okisuke scrutinized Hayato's face, sensing a deeper truth hidden beneath the professional front. Hayato had identified something significant in those cut patterns, something that had sparked an immediate understanding, yet he withheld details.
"You recognized something specific about these patterns," Okisuke said flatly.
Hayato's face remained impassive, but his hands briefly clenched into fists before he consciously relaxed them.
"I recognized the core chakra flow techniques, my lord, as any trained samurai would," Hayato replied with measured tones. "But the specific execution patterns and level of mastery are beyond my ability to articulate at this moment. I need time to review our findings and consult historical records before making any definitive statements about the attacker's identity."
His response was technically accurate but deliberately vague. The older samurai had seen something that concerned him more than he was ready to discuss, and his hesitance suggested he feared the implications.
"Understood," Okisuke said after a moment of tense silence. He turned to his other samurai and raised his voice. "Mount up. We return to the palace tonight."
They rode through the night, arriving at the palace compound by dawn, their horses exhausted from the rapid pace. Okisuke dismissed his men to rest. Hayato bowed and left with the others, but Okisuke noticed that he headed directly for the palace archives instead of the barracks.
What did you see, Hayato? What do you know that you aren't sharing? Okisuke watched his second vanish into the archive building, feeling the weight of his inexperience. A more seasoned Mifune might have recognized what Hayato had discerned. A more experienced leader would possess the knowledge and authority to demand answers.
Yet Okisuke was now the Mifune, faced with the reality of seventy-two dead at the hands of someone who exceeded all conceivable limits. He needed answers before more lives were lost and before his brief credibility slipped away entirely.
Determined, he turned toward the palace to prepare his report for the Daimyo, trying to suppress thoughts of the type of monster capable of slaughtering seventy-two trained fighters in one night without incurring any injury or slowing down.