Time blurred as three days passed. The Kamizuru Clan had no moment of rest during this period. They were fighting against an invisible enemy. The enemy was a ghost. Only four camps remained from the original sixteen.
The oil lamp cast shadows across the map that was spread on the wooden table. Kamizuru Suzumebachi stood with his hands planted on either side of the parchment and studied the positions marked in red ink. Twelve camps were gone. Twelve red X marks stained the map where operational bases should have been.
Two hundred and sixteen shinobi were dead.
Suzumebachi had served as Ishikawa's right hand for twelve years. He had led missions into hostile territory and survived ambushes from enemy clans. He had fought in conflicts that left dozens dead on both sides and emerged victorious every time. But this was different. This enemy had systematically destroyed twelve camps in less than three weeks and left no survivors to report what had happened.
"The patrols are in position," Kamizuru Jibachi said. He commanded Camp Four and stood to Suzumebachi's left with his arms crossed over his chest. His camp had lost six men to a skirmish with Yotsuki scouts two days ago. "Triple layered perimeter. We'll know if anything approaches."
Suzumebachi nodded without looking up from the map. The four remaining camps had consolidated their forces at this location. Camp Four was under Jibachi's command. Camp Seven was under Kamizuru Hachimitsu. Camp Nine was under Kamizuru Kurobachi. Camp Eleven was under Kamizuru Dokubachi. One hundred and sixty-eight combat-ready shinobi were gathered in one place.
It was the largest concentration of Kamizuru forces outside the main compound.
"What about the trap formations?" Suzumebachi asked.
Hachimitsu stepped forward to point at several locations on the map. She was young for a camp commander at twenty-eight but had proven herself capable during the initial deployment. "We've planted explosive tags in concentric rings around the perimeter. The outer ring will alert us to his approach. The middle ring will force engagement. The inner ring is our kill zone with the heaviest concentration of firepower."
"He won't care about the traps," Kurobachi said. She commanded Camp Nine and had the sharpest tactical mind among the four commanders. Her voice was flat and analytical. "The other camps had already tried all sorts of traps. Even though these traps were activated, none of them could stop the attacker. All of them were destroyed overnight with total casualties."
Suzumebachi straightened and looked at each of the four commanders in turn. They were good shinobi with years of experience and successful mission records. Camp Four had lost six to Yotsuki attacks. Camp Seven had lost nine. Camp Nine had lost four. Camp Eleven had lost five in various skirmishes over the past month. But none of them had faced Kokushibo.
None of them had survived an encounter with the ghost that killed entire camps.
"Camp Three had sixty-eight shinobi when the attack came," Dokubachi said. He commanded Camp Eleven and was the oldest of the four commanders at forty-three years. Gray streaked his hair and old scars marked his face from decades of combat. "The morning patrol found them all dead. Every single one. Most had been cut in half. Some had been decapitated. A few looked like they had been struck by dozens of blades simultaneously."
The room fell silent. Suzumebachi had read the reports until he could recite them from memory. Every destroyed camp showed the same pattern. The attacks came at night. Every shinobi died. The wounds were consistent across all sites. The wounds were crescent-shaped cuts that sliced through bone and armor with equal ease.
"We have no intelligence on the enemy," Suzumebachi said quietly. "No survivors. No witnesses. No information beyond the fact that he attacks at night. If we had to guess, the attacker might be a samurai."
"We know one more thing," Jibachi said. "He's systematic. He destroyed the camps in positional order with few exceptions. Camps One through Twelve are gone. We're Camps Four, Seven, Nine, and Eleven. We survived because we weren't in sequence."
"It seems he doesn't care about us finding his pattern," Kurobachi added. "Camps Thirteen through Sixteen were destroyed after we gathered here. He seems to even want us to gather together."
Suzumebachi's jaw tightened. The enemy was taunting them. But they couldn't actively pursue him because of the Yotsuki Clan.
Tonight will be different. The attacker would face one hundred and sixty-eight shinobi instead of isolated camps of forty or fifty.
"What's our defensive strategy?" Suzumebachi asked.
"Layered response," Hachimitsu said. She traced lines on the map with one finger. "Outer perimeter sensors will detect his approach and give us advance warning. Middle ring traps will slow him down and force him to reveal his techniques. Inner ring is our main combat force arranged in overlapping formations. No matter which direction he approaches from, he'll face coordinated attacks from multiple angles."
"The middle ring traps didn't slow him at Camp Twelve," Dokubachi said. "They found a crater where the explosive tags detonated. All forty-three shinobi were dead inside their defensive positions. He walked through the explosions and killed everyone anyway."
Suzumebachi's hands pressed harder against the map table. The wood creaked under the pressure. Every strategy they discussed had already failed at previous camps. The explosive traps hadn't worked. The defensive formations hadn't worked. The numerical advantage of sixty-eight shinobi at Camp Three hadn't worked.
What if one hundred and sixty-eight wasn't enough either?
"We don't have a choice," Suzumebachi said. His voice came out harder than he intended. "Clan leader Ishikawa is going to the capital to negotiate with the Daimyo. We can't request reinforcements without abandoning our mission here. We have four camps and one hundred and sixty-eight shinobi. When the attacker comes tonight we use everything we have."
The commanders nodded but their expressions showed the same doubt that gnawed at Suzumebachi's chest. They had reviewed the reports. They knew what happened to camps that tried to fight. But they also knew that running wasn't an option. The Kamizuru Clan didn't retreat.
"Review the defensive positions one more time," Suzumebachi ordered. "I want every shinobi to know their exact location and role when the attack begins. No confusion. No hesitation. When he appears we hit him with coordinated strikes and don't stop until he's dead."
The commanders departed to check on their teams. Suzumebachi remained alone in the command tent and stared down at the map. Twelve red X marks indicated destroyed camps. Four black marks showed current positions consolidated into one location. Blue marks represented sensor networks and trap formations.
It looked solid on paper. But Camp Three had looked solid too. So had Camp Twelve with their explosive formations and defensive positions.
They had all died anyway.
Suzumebachi's hands shook slightly as he reached for the reports stacked beside the map. He had read them dozens of times but forced himself to review them again. Every detail mattered. Every piece of information might reveal some weakness or pattern he could exploit.
Camp One was destroyed on the night of the new moon. Forty-two casualties. The wounds were crescent-shaped. No survivors remained.
Camp Two was destroyed three nights later. Fifty-one casualties. The wound patterns were the same. No survivors remained.
Camp Three was destroyed during a storm. Sixty-eight casualties. Guards were on duty. Defensive formations were active. No survivors remained.
The pattern continued through all twelve camps. The time between attacks varied from one to four nights. The camp sizes ranged from thirty-seven to sixty-eight shinobi. Some had been on high alert with active defensive formations. Some had been caught during routine operations. None of it mattered.
They all died.
Suzumebachi set down the reports and rubbed his eyes. The sun had set two hours ago and full darkness covered the camp. Fires burned at regular intervals to provide light but they only pushed the shadows back a few meters. Beyond the firelight the world was black and empty.
Kokushibo was out there somewhere. He was waiting for the right moment to attack.
The name had spread through the remaining camps after the sixth destruction. Kokushibo meant Black Death Eye. Someone had coined it and the name stuck because it fit perfectly. In the darkness of night wherever Kokushibo looked, death followed. Every camp that caught his attention was destroyed. Every shinobi who saw him died.
Suzumebachi wondered if he would be able to meet this Kokushibo tonight. Even though he had decades of experience, the fear of the unknown still made him shudder.
He pushed the thought away and focused on preparations. Fear wouldn't help him survive. Only careful planning and disciplined execution mattered now.
The night air was cold when he stepped outside the command tent. Stars filled the sky above and cast faint light across the camp. Shinobi moved between positions in organized patterns that showed proper training and discipline. Fires burned at regular intervals. The camp looked secure and ready.
But Suzumebachi couldn't shake the feeling that none of it would matter.