💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎
🔥 30→2ch | 60→5ch | 100→8ch | 200→15ch | 400→25ch
⏰ Resets Monday!
28.txt
In the village, massacred by bandits.
Qianyu activated his Sharingan. Red light cut through the gloom. He counted. Thirty-four men in total.
His gaze locked onto four bandits heading to fetch more wine.
"Damn, that felt good!" one laughed, voice thick with drink. "The way those two groveled? Begging for their lives? Priceless!"
"No kidding," another agreed.
"Though this village is dirt poor. Scraped the place clean, barely got anything. Our share's gonna be scraps."
"Better than last time, remember? That village was even poorer. We got nothing."
"Don't worry. Boss said we're done with the Land of Rice. Said we're heading to the Land of the Moon next. Gonna get rich there."
…
Qianyu moved. A ghost in the shadows. He appeared behind the first man. A flash of cold steel. The kunai swept across the throat.
The two beside him caught the familiar scent—copper and iron. Blood. They glanced at their choking comrade.
It was the last thing they saw.
Two more flashes. Two more throats opened.
The fourth man, still oblivious, kept rambling. "…heard the Land of the Moon's small but rich. One village there might be worth all the ones here. We'll get our cut then. Told you being a bandit's a solid career! Right? …Hey, you guys listening?"
He finally noticed the silence. He turned, squinting in the firelight. His blood ran cold.
His three companions clutched their necks. Blood bubbled from their mouths. They tried to speak, choked, spat more blood.
Then—a sharp sting on his own neck.
He touched it. His hand came away warm and wet.
The suffocation hit. His face turned purple. He fell, joining his friends on the ground.
Qianyu flicked the blood from his kunai. His eyes were cold, empty pools as he glanced at the corpses.
Hm. That was… stimulating.
"Thirty."
He whispered the number and melted back into the dark.
His plan was simple. Pick off the stragglers. Then mop up the rest.
"Twenty-nine… Twenty-six… Twenty-three…"
He was a grim reaper in the night, harvesting lives.
The bandits' revelry continued, oblivious.
"Hey, where's Shinichi? Said he was taking a piss. Taking forever."
"Probably passed out drunk somewhere. Lightweight! Hah!"
"Wait… Sōta, Tsukasa, Ryōsuke, and Yuya… They went for wine. Haven't come back either."
"Fūto's gone too!"
…
Only after so many vanished did the unease finally sink in.
The bandit boss roared, gathering the men. A headcount.
Thirty-four. Now only twenty-one. Thirteen gone.
"Get your weapons!" the boss bellowed.
They moved as a pack, searching. They found the bodies. Ice crept down their spines.
Thirteen dead. Not a single sound. The silence was worse than any scream.
"Earth Style: Earth Flow Spears!"
The voice came from behind. Qianyu stood in the shadows, hands pressed to the ground.
Sharp stone spikes erupted under the bandits. Impaled them. Gutted them. Men screamed.
The quick ones leaped back.
The bandit boss stared, heart hammering. A silhouette in the dark.
A shinobi.
Even a genin was a force to be reckoned with. Power defined status in this world. Before chakra, it was the samurai. Now, even they were a dying breed, forced to adapt.
These men were just thugs. Against a shinobi? Hopeless.
Fear rippled through the ranks.
The boss knew. If they ran now, they'd be hunted down one by one. Their only chance was to rush him. And if the kid was strong, why use stealth? He must be weak.
"Don't panic!" the boss yelled, voice cracking. "There's only one of him! We rush him, we win! Stop him before he uses another jutsu! NOW!"
His roar broke the paralysis. The remaining bandits charged, a desperate, roaring wave.
Qianyu's hands flew through seals.
"Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique!"
He drew in chakra, exhaled. A massive orb of flame erupted from his mouth. It slammed into the front runners, blasted them into the air. Their bodies became torches.
"Don't stop!" the boss shrieked from the rear. "Get close! Get close and kill him! If we run, we're dead!"
More hand seals.
"Water Style: Wild Water Wave!"
A torrent of water shot from his mouth. It didn't kill. It pushed them back, soaked them, turned the ground into a muddy mire.
Qianyu knelt, pressed a palm to the water.
"Lightning Style: Thunder Roar!"
Brilliant, crackling lightning erupted from his hands. It lit the night, turning the puddles into frying pans.
Electricity danced through the water. Through the soaked men. They convulsed, smoke rising from their clothes, mouths foaming.
Qianyu drew his sword. He moved.
No flourish. No wasted motion. A clean, efficient sweep for each paralyzed bandit. Heads rolled.
The few who were still dry stared, horrified. They hadn't even touched him. More than half were already dead or dying.
This wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter.
They broke. Turned and ran.
Only then did they realize—their boss was already gone. Vanished.
Qianyu finished his grim work on the paralyzed men. "Nine," he muttered.
He crouched. Legs coiled.
He shot forward.
Three years at the Academy. A month of Orochimaru's brutal, focused training. His body was a weapon now.
Even without using Lightning Release to enhance his speed, he was as fast as he had been when he first mastered the First Form of Thunder Breathing.
He was a bolt of black lightning, chasing down the last fleeing shadows.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
Read up to (40+ ) advanced chapters on Patre\on
Visit us here:patreon.com/GoldenLong
Happy reading, everyone!