He sighed, the sound heavy with a crushing defeat that echoed the grim reality before him.
What he feared had truly come to pass.
He was weak, not in spirit, perhaps, but certainly in strength, unable to combat an overwhelming force of fifteen seasoned adversaries.
A bitter self-reproach twisted his gut.
"I should've killed that ninja," he muttered, the words raw with regret.
"My weakness... it has now become a perilous threat to my entire village."
Consumed by this searing guilt, he clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, biting down hard on his lower lip until a coppery tang filled his mouth.
Blood flowed, a tiny rivulet tracing a line down his chin, unnoticed in the maelstrom of his thoughts.
Seeing the visceral manifestation of his anguish, Hashirama's expression softened into one of deep, genuine concern.
Madara, ever direct, addressed him with a sharp query.
"Ishiki, did you do something?"
He met their gazes, the weight of his guilt bearing down on him.
He then recounted everything that had transpired that morning: the arrogant treatment and threats levelled at the village chief, his own desperate attempt to intervene, the subsequent ambush, and the fight that had allowed one critical enemy to escape.
Tears welled up, blurring his vision, his voice cracking with emotion.
"It's my fault," he confessed, unable to hold back the torrent of grief.
"I shouldn't have done that. Because of me, the villagers are now in grave danger."
Madara's response, as expected, was brutally honest, yet devoid of true malice.
Yes, it is your fault. You should have killed him. Letting an enemy escape is an unforgivable mistake.
Hashirama, the embodiment of compassion, immediately countered Madara's harshness, stepping forward to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
Don't worry, Ishiki. We will help you.
You need to go back to the village immediately and help them hide.
He looked to Madara, a plan already forming in his eyes.
"Madara and I will try to buy time and kill as many of the attackers as we can before they reach the village."
A deep sense of reluctance washed over him.
He looked from one friend to the other, his voice barely a whisper.
"I don't want to involve you in this and put you in danger."
Suddenly, with the speed of a striking viper, Madara leapt forward and slapped him.
The suddenness of the blow left Ishiki stunned, his mind momentarily reeling in bewilderment.
"Ishiki!" Madara roared, his voice laced with uncharacteristic fury.
"We are not strangers! We are brothers! You can ask us for help!"
The forceful reminder of their bond broke the last of Ishiki's reserves.
He looked at them, tears now streaming freely from his eyes, no longer tears of guilt, but of overwhelming gratitude.
"Thank you, guys," he managed to choke out.
"I will never forget your help."
Without another word, he turned and sprinted towards the village, his heart filled with a renewed sense of purpose and the strength of his friends' promise.
-----Hashirama and Madara watched his retreating form for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between the two legendary shinobi.
They swiftly followed the trail left by the escaped ninja, and it wasn't long before they found the enemy camp.
The group of rogue shinobi, numbering close to fifteen, had established a temporary base near the village's perimeter, clearly preparing for a coordinated attack.
They soon overheard voices.
A man was kneeling beside the injured ninja whom Ishiki had fought.
"How dare they hurt a member of our Sarutobi tribe?" the man snarled, his voice thick with menace.
He turned to the injured ninja, his tone shifting to one of suspicious inquiry.
"Are you absolutely sure it wasn't someone from one of the other clans?"
The injured man grimaced, clutching his wound.
I am sure.
He is just a novice, a mere boy.
He doesn't know any ninjutsu other than the three basic techniques.
The leader scoffed, disbelief etched on his face. "Then how did you lose to a kid? A novice, no less?"
The injured man lowered his voice conspiratorially.
He has a tool, a strange weapon.
It bounced my ninjutsu right back at me.
And... if we acquire it, it would greatly benefit our Sarutobi clan.
The leader of the group, a hulking figure with a cruel laugh, scoffed, a mixture of greed and arrogance in his tone.
I'll believe that when I see it. We'll take control of the village first, then we'll force the boy to come out.
We'll take the tool, and then we'll kill them all! He threw his head back and laughed, a chilling, triumphant sound that echoed through the forest.
Madara and Hashirama exchanged a grim look.
They had heard enough.
The stakes had just risen; it wasn't just revenge, but a dangerous tool that the enemy coveted, putting Ishiki in even greater danger.
Worry for their young friend sharpened their resolve.
They quickly formulated a desperate plan: they would not engage the group head-on.
Their goal was to divide the enemy force, draw them away from the village, and use their superior power to eliminate them in smaller groups, thus buying Ishiki and the villagers as much time as possible to escape.