"How?"
Hatake Gintama's voice was low, steady, cutting through the still air. His sharp eyes scanned the surrounding Amamiya scouts crouched among the trees.
"No intel worth dying for, Captain," one ninja whispered back. "They were just… surveying the terrain."
"Surveying?" Gintama frowned. "Since when do Kaguya dogs care about maps?"
The others shifted uneasily. Everyone knew the Kaguya's reputation—loud, reckless, and too proud to even spell 'strategy.' The fact that they were scouting the same forest they'd fought in last week meant only one thing.
"They're learning," Gintama muttered. "And that's a problem."
He gestured sharply. "Spread out. If they're probing the land, their alert squads won't be far. Eyes open, mouths shut."
A faint nod rippled through the squad. Then, like smoke swallowed by the mist, the twenty Amamiya shinobi vanished—silent flickers between the trees. Moments later, the forest was empty again, only the rustle of leaves whispering where death had passed.
By dawn, the five Kaguya scouts had not returned.
And in wartime, "no return" meant only one thing: they're gone.
The Kaguya camp stirred like a kicked beehive. Losing a patrol so close to the front was an insult, not just a threat. Within the hour, a second squad was sent to investigate.
They didn't come back either.
That silence echoed loudest of all.
By the time the second unit vanished, even the proudest Kaguya knew what it meant—the Amamiya coalition had begun its counteroffensive.
Furious, Kaguya Takemoto's sub-commanders tightened security and unleashed their own squads to strike back at the Amamiya's border watchers. Within days, the forest between the two camps turned into a graveyard of missing men.
Silent ambushes. Short screams. Vanishing trails.
A new war had begun—not of armies, but of hunters and ghosts.
That night, deep inside the Changbai Forest, two shadows finally collided.
"Kaguya shinobi."
Hatake Gintama's grip tightened on his short blade as his squad melted from the mist behind him. Across the clearing, two dozen Kaguya warriors glared back, bone weapons gleaming faintly under the moonlight.
Neither side moved. Breath, chakra, and hatred hung in balance.
Then both drew steel at once.
Kunai hissed free.
Trees trembled.
The war's next heartbeat began.
"Now."
Gintama moved first. A flash of silver tore through the clearing—one clean motion, too fast for the eye. By the time his feet touched ground again, a Kaguya throat had been opened.
"Kill them!" the Kaguya leader roared, charging forward. White bone spurs erupted from his arms, slicing through the air as his men followed with savage cries.
Gintama's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Let's dance."
The two groups collided in a blur of motion and steel.
Kunai clashed against bone, shuriken whistled past, and sparks bloomed like fleeting stars. No one dared use ninjutsu—too loud, too visible. This was a quiet war, fought with blades and breath.
Amamiya ninjas met the charge head-on. Years of training and desperation turned them into silent killers. Every strike was a gamble, every dodge a brush with death.
In the center of it all, Gintama moved like lightning. His short blade shimmered through the chaos—cut, pivot, vanish. Even against the Kaguya's hardened bone defenses, his strikes found flesh.
"What is this guy?!" one of the Kaguya Jōnin gasped, blood trailing down his arm.
Gintama didn't answer. He simply advanced.
The Kaguya Jōnin clenched his teeth, forming hand seals with one hand as his spine cracked and bones jutted outward. "Dance of the Larch!"
He spun forward, bones slicing the air like a deadly cyclone.
But Gintama's eyes were cold and unblinking. "Swallow Flash Counter."
Silver light crossed the darkness. Two arcs met midair, and for a heartbeat, the world went silent. Then, the Kaguya's spinning stopped abruptly. His body froze mid-step, then split diagonally with a soft tearing sound.
The forest swallowed the noise whole.
"The captain's down!" someone shouted.
Panic spread like fire. The Amamiya took that instant to press forward, blades gleaming in the gloom. Within seconds, four more Kaguya fell, throats and ribs carved open.
"Retreat!" a survivor yelled, voice cracking.
"Not happening." Gintama blurred again, blade flashing. Each swing was merciless, clean, almost mechanical. The last few Kaguya dropped before they could even scream.
Only two made it out—stumbling, bleeding, fleeing toward their camp.
Gintama exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold air. "Don't chase," he ordered. "Their guard zone starts ahead. If we keep pushing, we'll walk straight into a trap."
His men stopped immediately, panting, eyes wide from adrenaline. They'd all heard of Gintama's strength, but seeing it was another matter. Compared to him, most of them felt like academy dropouts holding butter knives.
"Report back," Gintama said. "Let Raizen-sama know the forest's ours… for now."
The squad melted away into the mist. Behind them, the forest stank of blood and broken pride.
And when the two survivors stumbled back into the Kaguya camp, their shame stoked a fire that would soon ignite into full war.
The hunt in the shadows was over.
Now, the real slaughter was about to begin.
...
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