Inside the Forest of Death, the usual stillness had long been shattered. Shadows flashed and darted among the dense trees like lightning—each one a trained ninja.
For ordinary people, this place was a nightmare to traverse. But for ninja, it was nothing more than another battlefield.
That was what it meant to be a shinobi. No matter how many civilians there were, they could never threaten those who could move freely through any terrain, unbound by natural limits. This was the Shinobi World—and ninja were its undisputed protagonists.
A tall, broad-shouldered boy in a tight earth-colored outfit, the forehead protector of Iwagakure gleaming on his brow, landed heavily on the forest floor. He raised his voice toward the shadows behind him:
"Since you've come to cause trouble, stop hiding like rats!"
As one of the most powerful geniuses among the examinees, Gōdo wasn't so dull that he'd miss the presence tailing them from the dark. But instead of answering his challenge, his pursuers responded in another way—
Whoosh! Whoosh!
A rain of kunai tore through the air toward him. Even the body of a Kage-level ninja couldn't withstand a direct hit from those blades. On the battlefield, the number of ninja killed by kunai far exceeded those slain by jutsu.
But kunai thrown from the front like that? Even an average genin could dodge them—let alone Gōdo.
His large frame belied his agility; his movements were surprisingly light, almost graceful— like a bear that had learned to dance. When chakra reinforced the body, everything became possible.
After evading the attack, the honest-looking, square-faced boy's expression hardened, his killing intent flaring as his hands blurred through seals.
"Earth Release: Rending Palm!"
He slammed both hands onto the ground.
Rumble!
Starting from his palms, the earth cracked apart like shattered glass. The ground quaked violently, trees splintering as the terrain ahead was torn open.
The section of forest from which the kunai had been thrown was reduced to rubble, faint traces of blood visible among the debris.
Though only a C-rank ninjutsu, in Gōdo's hands it carried power rivaling a B-rank technique. No wonder he was considered the number one genius of this year's Chunin Exams.
A single strike, and silence reigned. No one dared to confront him head-on.
Not that it was strange. They were ninja, not samurai. If they couldn't win outright, they wouldn't waste strength in open combat—they would wait in the shadows for the perfect opportunity.
"Troublesome pests…" Gōdo muttered irritably. No one attacking from the dark didn't comfort him—it only made him more annoyed. He'd rather face them directly than be stalked unseen.
"Captain, maybe we should focus on collecting the tokens first," one of his teammates suggested cautiously.
"We're here for the exam, not to fight."
"Let's move!"
With a final glare at the surroundings, Gōdo turned and left, though not without visible reluctance. If not for the mission, he definitely wouldn't have let those cowards go so easily.
Less than two kilometers away—
"Wind Release: Scythe Weasel!"
A violent gust roared out like invisible blades, slicing through everything ahead.
The Sand ninja Maki, his forehead protector glinting under the light, lowered his hands and ended the technique.
"Captain, your Wind Release just keeps getting sharper!" one of his subordinates said admiringly.
"Yura, no matter how much you butter him up, it won't erase the mistake you made earlier," snapped a girl carrying a large bundle of white cloth on her back, her tone full of disdain.
The two immediately started bickering.
Finally, Maki sighed and stepped in. "Enough! Clean up the battlefield. We'll collect tokens as we move. Don't forget—our mission this time isn't just about passing."
With that, he began moving again.
Cleaning the battlefield wasn't out of concern for the forest—Suna-nin weren't sentimental like that. It was about erasing any trace of their presence—and, more importantly, recovering their ninja tools.
Kunai, senbon, shuriken—everything had to be retrieved. Only the wealthy could afford to leave such equipment behind. And the Sand Village was far from wealthy.
Whether it was Gōdo or Maki, their response to ambushes was the same: no hesitation, no retreat—just immediate, overwhelming retaliation.
They didn't even give their pursuers a chance to fire a signal flare.
They were also perfectly aware that the Forest of Death was filled with surveillance devices—every fight broadcast to the observers outside. But that only made it more important to show strength.
Because in the shinobi world, killing wasn't wrong. Weakness was.
All examinees were under fifteen. The youngest, Kakashi, was only seven years old.
Children forced into a kill-or-be-killed environment— No wonder men like Madara, Obito, and Nagato later called this world twisted, and sought to "fix" it. They had seen the real problem— they just chose equally twisted solutions.
The prodigies listed at the top of the exam intelligence files were prime targets for every village's assassins. If even Gōdo and Maki were being hunted, there was no way Kakashi—ranked third—would be spared.
"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!"
Shien spat out a ball of fire, blasting apart a patch of grass ahead. But there was no result.
The Flame Bullet was faster than the Great Fireball Jutsu, yet still slow enough to dodge if one was prepared.
But that was exactly what Shien wanted.
Swish!
A blur of white cut through the smoke. The last enemy—an enemy kunoichi—had barely escaped the flames when a short blade pierced straight through her heart.
Kakashi.
The "ace" of Team Three. At least, according to the intelligence reports.
"Tsk, tsk… good thing she wasn't a 'special type' ninja, or she wouldn't have died from just one stab," Shien quipped darkly, glancing at the corpse.
By now, he'd grown used to blood and death. Still, he sometimes threw out a line of humor from his previous life—just to remind himself not to let the ninja world completely warp his sense of morality.
Watching Kakashi sheath his blade, Shien grinned.
"As expected of our team's main combat power. You handled all the pursuers yourself. From now on, all the fighting's on you!"
Totally not an attempt to slack off. A weak, helpless, and pitiful teammate like him clinging to the powerhouse's leg—it was perfectly reasonable, wasn't it?
As for guilt over making a seven-year-old do the killing? Sorry—none.
It's not that Shien didn't have a conscience. He just… didn't have much of it.
The man who could eat "soft rice" so happily? Yeah—don't expect him to be a moral hero.
Kakashi didn't know Shien's thoughts, but the dead-fish eyes on his young face stared at him coldly.
Was this guy serious? Team Three's "combat core"? You're really saying that with a straight face?
Even though Kakashi's own growth was frighteningly fast, he knew Shien's rate of improvement was even more terrifying. At this point, he couldn't even guess how strong Shien truly was.
And yet, the guy stayed back, letting him take the front. Even if Kakashi didn't care much about such things, it still irked him a little.
"Alright, alright, my bad," Shien said with a knowing smile, pulling something from his pouch.
"How about a peace offering?"
He held out a small vial of healing potion. Sure, Kakashi probably had his own supplies—but who ever said no to more good stuff?
The air hung in silence for a moment.
Slap!
Kakashi took the vial. Deal.
And just like that, their little PY transaction (a "friendly backdoor deal") was complete. Kakashi would continue to take point, and Shien could keep "supporting from the rear."
"Everything's been recovered," Yamanaka Koji reported, having finished looting the field.
"But where's the token supposed to be?"
Now that they'd wiped out their closest pursuers, they had bought themselves a moment of deterrence. The next step was finding the exam token.
"I don't think finding it will be hard," Shien replied thoughtfully.
"The real challenge is getting it—and keeping it—all the way to the tower."
Before the other two could respond, they realized they wouldn't need to look for long at all…
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