Having successfully won over Hiruzen Sarutobi, Nobunaga didn't have much time to celebrate.
His and Hiruzen's investigation had only just begun; they had only managed to pull on one thread of the clues, and Zixiao's people were still secretly tracking the communication channels between Danzo and Iwagakure.
Then, urgent reports from the Hidden Mist front arrived.
That evening, Nobunaga was in his office reading the intelligence sent by Zixiao.
Hiruzen sat opposite him, and neither of them spoke.
Shinnosuke's photo was spread out on the desk, taken when he returned to the village to report last year; he was standing in front of the Hokage Building, smiling carefreely.
When the door was burst open, Nobunaga looked up and saw Zixiao standing at the doorway.
His face was terrifyingly pale, as white as paper.
"The Hidden Mist front," Zixiao's voice was as raspy as sandpaper rubbing against stone, "The Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist."
Nobunaga stood up abruptly.
He remembered some things, things from a long time ago.
Before transmigrating, in those worn-out manga books and the anime he had watched countless times, he had seen this name.
The Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist.
And another name, linked with this one.
Might Duy.
He didn't think about anything; he didn't care about anything.
All that endurance, all that ruthlessness, all those words about needing to be patient—he threw them all behind him.
Now, he only wanted to save his brother.
After issuing the rescue order, he could no longer sit still.
He ran straight out of the office, down the stairs, and through the corridors.
Hiruzen shouted after him, but he didn't hear it.
Zixiao chased after him, but he didn't look back.
He ran out of the Hokage Building, through the streets, past the Training Ground, and out of Konoha's gates.
He ran very fast, so fast it felt like he was flying.
Chakra flooded into his legs, and the ground beneath his feet receded rapidly.
The wind whipped past his ears, sharp and cold.
He didn't know how long he had been running; he only knew he had to run, faster, even faster.
He didn't want to lose anyone else.
Shinku Yuhi was gone, Shinnosuke was gone; he couldn't lose Duy too.
Three days and three nights later.
He saw that light.
In the distance, on the horizon, a pillar of cyan light shot up into the sky.
That light was so bright it was blinding, as if it were about to burn through the sky.
Steam, cyan steam, burning like flames.
Nobunaga's pace slowed, then he stopped.
He stood on the hillside, watching that cyan pillar of light.
He knew what it was.
The Eight Gates Released Formation.
The Gate of Death.
His legs went weak, and he knelt on the ground.
The distant light grew brighter and brighter, then slowly faded.
The steam dissipated, leaving nothing behind.
Nobunaga knelt there, motionless for a long time.
The wind blew over, carrying the scent of gunpowder and blood.
The cry of a crow came from the distance, one after another, hollow and monotonous.
He remembered the first time Duy appeared before him, wearing that green jumpsuit, with thick eyebrows, a bowl cut, and eyes that were terrifyingly bright.
He had squatted by the Training Ground, looking up at Nobunaga and saying, "I don't really understand what you write, but I support you."
Then he ran off, shouting as he went, "Five hundred extra practice reps today!"
He remembered how Duy would give a thumbs-up every time they met, showing a smile that could even tan his teeth.
He remembered Duy saying, "Only by staying alive can one become stronger, and only by becoming stronger can one protect more people."
He remembered Duy squatting on the ground drawing with a twig, drawing a stick figure from birth to growing up to getting old, with a line of crooked characters written next to it—'A thousand push-ups a day.'
He remembered that night taking photos on the back mountain, Duy giving a thumbs-up, smiling carefreely.
That was the brightest smile he had ever seen.
Nobunaga stood up and continued forward.
He didn't walk fast; every step was heavy.
By the time he reached the battlefield, the fight was already over.
There were craters everywhere on the ground, blasted out by the Eight Gates.
Those craters were huge and deep, as if struck by meteors.
The corpses of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist lay on the ground in a mess; some were kicked to pieces, some were mangled, and some were kicked beyond recognition.
Nobunaga didn't look at them.
He was just searching, searching for that person.
He found him.
Might Duy lay beneath a large tree, covered in blood, his clothes in tatters, and his exposed skin covered in burn marks.
His eyes were closed, and the corner of his mouth held a smile, just like before.
Beside him knelt a young boy, wearing the same green jumpsuit, with thick eyebrows and a bowl cut.
That boy knelt there, holding his hand, trembling all over.
Might Guy.
Nobunaga walked over and squatted down beside Duy.
He reached out and touched Duy's face.
It was very cold and hard.
Nobunaga didn't speak.
He just squatted there, looking at Duy's face.
Guy was crying beside him, his whole body trembling, but he didn't make a sound.
Tears fell, dripping onto the ground, one by one.
That night, Nobunaga brought Duy's remains back to Konoha.
He didn't let anyone else help; he carried him on his back, walking back step by step.
The road was long, the sky was dark, and the wind was cold.
Duy lay on his back, very light, as light as a leaf.
Nobunaga remembered how every time Duy trained, he would do a thousand push-ups, a thousand squats, and run a hundred laps.
He was so strong, so powerful, but now he was so light.
He had used up all his strength, spent it in that final battle.
By the time they returned to Konoha, the sky was almost light.
Tsunade stood at the village entrance waiting for him, her eyes red.
When she saw Duy's body, her tears fell again.
She didn't say anything, just walked over and covered Duy with a white cloth.
Nobunaga placed Duy in the mortuary.
He didn't leave; he just sat beside him, leaning against the wall.
He remembered the last time Duy returned to the village to report; he had stood before him and said with a smile:
"Nobunaga, when I come back from the front line, I'll teach you the Eight Gates. Once you learn it, you'll be able to protect yourself."
He had said okay.
Duy said, "Then wait for me, I'll teach you as soon as I get back."
Then he left and never came back.
At dawn, Zixiao arrived.
He held a cloth bag and handed it to Nobunaga.
"Duy's belongings."
Nobunaga took it and opened it.
There wasn't much inside:
A faded green jumpsuit, a pair of worn-out Ninja shoes, and a small cloth bag containing a few coins.
And a letter.
Nobunaga took out the letter.
On the envelope was written "To Nobunaga," in crooked handwriting, like a child's.
He opened the letter and unfolded it.
The paper was very thin, its corners already curled, and on it was Duy's crooked handwriting—
"Nobunaga, by the time you see this letter, I might already be gone. Don't be sad; I've lived a very happy life.
When I was a kid, everyone said I was an idiot and that I couldn't become a Ninja. I didn't believe them; I trained desperately, for ten thousand hours, and finally became a Genin.
Then I met you, and you said you wanted everyone to have food to eat, clothes to wear, and to live with dignity. I believed you.
I've always believed. When peace comes, I want to teach all children Taijutsu.
So they can become strong without having to go to the battlefield, and protect others without having to kill.
Tell me, is this a good idea? — Might Duy."
Nobunaga looked at that letter for a long time.
The handwriting on the paper slowly blurred, and he raised his hand to touch his face.
It was wet.
He didn't know when he had started crying.