Three days had elapsed since Hayato's incident in the archives. In that period, six additional Kamizuru camps had been obliterated, each reporting complete casualties. The assaults displayed a pattern indicating careful strategy instead of random brutality, with news of each camp's demise reaching the others within hours.
Kamizuru Suzumebachi stood in the command tent, his hands firmly placed on either side of a map laid across the wooden table. Red ink indicated the locations of the camps that had previously operated—sixteen marks in total, with eight crossed out. The remaining eight camps had pooled their resources into two camps, each consisting of the original four.
Now, nearly a hundred shinobi had assembled here, marking one of the largest concentrations of Kamizuru forces outside the main base. Suzumebachi had commanded operations in the Land of Iron for twelve years under Ishikawa's direct oversight, enduring ambushes, conflicts with rival clans, and missions deep within enemy territories. However, this situation was different. This enemy wiped out entire camps overnight, leaving no survivors to recount the events.
"The patrols are established," Kamizuru Jibachi announced, stationed to Suzumebachi's left with arms folded. He oversaw Camp Four and had recently lost six men in a clash with Yotsuki scouts two days prior, leaving his camp down to thirty-one operational shinobi. The other three camps had faced similar casualties due to routine operations and skirmishes over the last month.
"What about the trap setups?" Suzumebachi asked.
Kamizura Hachimitsu stepped forward, pointing to several marked spots on the map. At just seventeen, she commanded Camp Seven and had proven her worth during the initial deployment. "We've positioned explosive tags in concentric rings surrounding the perimeter. The outer ring will alert us to any approach, the middle ring will force engagement, and the inner ring is designed as a kill zone with the most concentrated firepower."
"The traps failed at Camp Twelve," noted Kamizuru Kurobachi, commander of Camp Nine, recognized for her sharp tactical insight. Her voice remained flat and precise. "The morning patrol uncovered a crater where the explosives went off, and all forty-three shinobi inside their defenses were dead. It was as if the attacker strolled through the explosions and slaughtered everyone."
Suzumebachi straightened and turned his gaze collectively to the four leaders. Though they were seasoned shinobi with successful missions under their belts, none had encountered this unprecedented enemy. They struggled to fathom how someone could systematically destroy their camps day after day, leaving no survivors.
Kamizuru Dokubachi, leader of Camp Eleven and the eldest at forty-three, cleared his throat. "Camp Three had sixty-eight shinobi when the attack occurred. The morning patrol found all of them dead—many were cut in half, others decapitated. Some appeared to have been struck by multiple blades at once."
The room fell quiet. Though Suzumebachi could recite the casualty reports from memory, hearing Dokubachi describe the horrific injuries intensified his anxiety. Each destroyed camp bore similar crescent-shaped cuts that cleaved through both bone and armor without resistance.
"Two hundred and sixteen lives lost, a toll exceeding our losses from the past three years. And we remain in the dark about our enemy."
"We have almost no intelligence on the enemy," Suzumebachi murmured. "No survivors, no witnesses, only the knowledge that the attacks occur at night. The patterns of the cuts suggest advanced chakra flow techniques, indicating we might be facing a samurai instead of a shinobi."
"We do have one critical insight," Jibachi added. "This enemy is methodical. He destroyed the camps in a roughly sequential manner, with few exceptions. Camps One through Twelve are gone. We are left as Camps Four, Seven, Nine, and Eleven. Our survival thus far is merely because we weren't in sequence."
Suzumebachi agreed with a nod. The enemy was forcing a confrontation, but the Kamizuru were unable to pursue aggressively due to the Yotsuki Clan's ongoing operations in the region. Ishikawa had traveled to the capital to negotiate with the Daimyo about the situation, leaving Suzumebachi without reinforcements or clear directives aside from maintaining a defensive posture.
"If this fails, every shinobi here is finished, and the Kamizuru presence in the Land of Iron will collapse altogether. Lord Ishikawa is relying on us to hold the line until he secures assistance from the Daimyo."
"What is our defensive strategy?" Suzumebachi inquired.
Hachimitsu traced paths on the map with her finger. "We'll implement a layered response with overlapping fields of fire. The outer perimeter will host sensor formations every thirty meters. Upon detecting movement, an alarm will sound, and everyone will assume combat positions. The middle ring will have explosive tags clustered to funnel the enemy toward ambush points. Our primary combat force in the inner ring will be arranged in three-man units with clear sight lines and backup positions. Regardless of which direction the attacker approaches, he'll face simultaneous assaults from multiple fronts."
It sounded logical. Yet Camp Three had employed defensive formations as well, and all thirty-eight shinobi met their end nonetheless.
"The middle ring traps require redundancy," Dokubachi insisted. "Camp Twelve's explosives detonated but didn't deter him. We must assume he can withstand direct explosive hits and plan for that."
"We should also prepare for the likelihood that he can circumvent the sensor net," Kurobachi cautioned. "Camp Five had active patrols when it was destroyed. The outer guards were the first to fall, yet they didn't raise an alarm—they died too swiftly."
A chill sweat broke out on Suzumebachi's back despite the cool night air. Every recommendation resonated, but they were all reactive strategies designed to address the scant understanding they had of the adversary. They were attempting to defend against an unknown threat, and the eight destroyed camps illustrated that no defensive strategy had proven effective thus far.
"We don't have a choice," Suzumebachi declared, his voice more forceful than he meant. "Lord Ishikawa is negotiating with the Daimyo. Requesting reinforcements would mean abandoning our mission here. We have four camps consolidated in one location, totaling one hundred sixty-eight shinobi. When the attack comes, we must use everything in our arsenal until the enemy is defeated."
The commanders nodded, though apprehension flickered in their eyes.
"Review the defensive positions one last time," Suzumebachi ordered. "I want every shinobi to know their precise location and role when the attack begins. No confusion, no hesitation. The moment he appears, we unleash everything we have."
The commanders dispersed to brief their teams. Alone in the command tent, Suzumebachi gazed at the map. Eight red X marks indicated fallen camps, while four black marks denoted current positions merged into one site. Blue marks represented sensor networks and trap formations arranged in concentric circles surrounding the camp.
He found his hands trembling as he reached for the casualty reports piled beside the map. He had reviewed them countless times yet found no insight.
Camp One fell on the night of the new moon, resulting in forty-two casualties. The wounds were crescent-shaped cuts that severed torsos, limbs, and heads with equal precision. No survivors were left to recount the attack.
Camp Two succumbed three nights later, with fifty-one casualties. The wound patterns mirrored those of Camp One, indicating the same attacker and method. Again, no survivors remained.
Camp Three was destroyed during a storm, resulting in sixty-eight casualties. Guards were on duty and defensive formations were activated, yet they too fell. The patrol that discovered them reported that some bodies had been severed by singular strikes that sliced through armor effortlessly. No survivors existed.
The trend continued across all eight devastated camps. The intervals between attacks varied from one to four nights. Camp sizes ranged from thirty-seven to sixty-eight shinobi. Some had been on high alert with active defenses, while others were caught during routine operations. Defensive measures made no difference.
They all met their end.
Suzumebachi set the reports down and rubbed his eyes, his vision blurring from studying the documents under lamplight too long. The sun had set two hours prior, and darkness enveloped the camp. Fires flickered at regular intervals to provide light and warmth but only pushed the shadows back minimally. Beyond the firelight, the night loomed dark and empty.
Somewhere outside, the enemy waited for the opportune moment to strike.
Pushing away from the table, Suzumebachi approached the tent entrance. The cool night air bit at him as he stepped outside, his breath visible in the chilly air. Stars dotted the sky above, casting faint light across the camp where shinobi moved methodically, reflecting their training and discipline. Fires burned in set intervals, and the perimeter sensors remained active, with the trap formations ready and armed.
The camp appeared secure. But Suzumebachi knew from the reports that semblances of security were deceptive. Camp Three had looked secure as well, with sixty-eight shinobi and active defenses—yet it had fallen.
"If a hundred shinobi aren't enough, nothing will matter. We'll simply add our bodies to the casualty list."
He banished the thought, concentrating on the factors he could control. The defensive positions were as robust as possible. The commanders grasped their roles. The shinobi were seasoned and well-trained. If the attack came that night, they would fight with all their might.
Whether that would suffice was a question Suzumebachi struggled to answer.