Compared to most shinobi, Genma was almost... normal.
As someone not originally of this world, you could say his thoughts were largely out of sync with the general mindset of the ninja world. Or perhaps, because he carried no heavy burdens or past traumas, his perception remained clear and unclouded.
With the entire shinobi world caught in chaos, he was neither blindly optimistic nor so consumed by hatred that he'd fall into nihilism.
He had never seen himself as the "protagonist" destined to shape the fate of the world. In truth, his current goal in life was nothing more than surviving the turmoil in a relatively sane way.
So no—he didn't walk around with a kill-on-sight mentality. That kind of extreme mindset just wasn't him.
Yes, someone had died just now. But that wasn't intentional. It was more like an accident—an unfortunate consequence of the battlefield. Like a body swallowed by a swamp—could you really blame anyone for that?
This conflict shouldn't have even started in the first place. Genma had only wanted to ask a few questions.
Now that one of them was dead, any hope of a peaceful resolution was gone.
The remaining shinobi crouched atop the back of a massive summoned eagle, staring down at Genma from above.
As soon as the ringing in his ears cleared and his senses recovered from the blast, the shinobi didn't hesitate—he gave the order, and the eagle dove.
A sharp, piercing cry cut through the air as the giant bird streaked downward. Genma narrowed his eyes.
That was a large summoning beast—one that warranted caution.
Genma knew full well that his body wasn't built to take on such a chakra-fueled monster in a head-on clash. So, naturally, he had no intention of letting it get close.
In a blink, the distance between them shrank to barely twenty meters.
At that range, out of all the jutsu Genma had mastered, there was only one he could guarantee would hit with absolute certainty—Water Release: Severing Wave.
He quickly formed the necessary hand seals, and in the next instant, a razor-thin blade of water shot upward into the sky.
A high-speed, high-density stream vibrating at an almost unreal frequency—it could cleave through metal and stone with ease. Against flesh, it was overkill.
The water blade cut upward at an angle, slicing through the sky like a deceptively delicate yet unbreakable white line. It pierced the eagle's body without resistance, carving straight through it and exiting the other side.
Blood sprayed from the wound, and one of the eagle's massive wings was severed cleanly.
Even midair, large targets were easier to hit than smaller ones.
And for some reason, the eagle had reacted sluggishly—as if dulled.
In truth, using such a high-level Water Release against an opponent of this caliber was overkill—like firing a cannon at a mosquito.
But Genma didn't have a choice. At long range, Severing Wave was the only technique he could trust to land cleanly.
He had considered Water Dragon Bullet, but while its power might've sufficed at that distance, the weight of the technique made it sluggish—gravity would kill its momentum before it hit. In a direct comparison, Severing Wave was simply more lethal.
Which raised another question—why did shinobi rely so heavily on shuriken?
Simple: because their effective range surpassed that of ninety percent of all ninjutsu.
A technique that could hit accurately beyond twenty meters was beyond the reach of most shinobi.
The crippled eagle plummeted from the sky along with its summoner, who now lay sprawled on the ground as the massive bird thrashed about like livestock on the brink of death.
The shinobi, unable to control his pained and panicking summon, scrambled to avoid being crushed while simultaneously summoning a second beast.
A moment later, a hulking lion-shaped monster materialized on the battlefield—its fangs bared, claws tearing into the ground. One glance was enough to tell it wasn't a creature to be trifled with.
Genma frowned. Large summons like this were supposed to be rare, precious resources. Yet this random shinobi had just pulled out two of them in a row?
But what came next caught him even more off guard.
The lion-shaped summon bared its fangs as if preparing to charge. Genma lowered his stance, ready to strike back the moment it moved.
Yet in the next heartbeat, instead of lunging forward, the beast twisted its body at an unnatural angle, stretched its neck in a disturbingly inhuman motion—and sank its jaws into the shinobi standing right beside it.
The force of the bite was horrifying. Half the man's torso was crushed instantly, blood gushing as it painted the summon's entire side red.
A far worse death than being blown apart. At least that guy hadn't died screaming in agony.
The shinobi's breath faltered. Moments later, the beast flung what remained of his body away with a casual jerk of its neck, like spitting out a piece of trash.
Then, it turned to the still-struggling eagle and bit down again, snapping its neck with a sickening crunch.
Only after all that did the summon finally turn its gaze toward Genma.
And in that gaze, Genma saw something that made him freeze.
That wasn't the look of a beast. It was... human.
Within those eyes was something deeper—something like resolve. Like it had chosen death.
The summon let out a final roar and charged.
Genma understood.
He formed hand seals once more, and the razor-thin water blade erupted again.
The beast was sliced clean in two mid-stride—an instant, merciful death.
Yet something felt off about the whole fight. Despite their size, those summons had never truly felt threatening. It was like their strength was only for show.
After the battle, Genma stood in silence, a strange emptiness settling over him.
The fight had started for no real reason—and ended just as senselessly.
He cleaned up the battlefield, rifling through the shinobi's bodies for tools or money—nothing valuable beyond the basics.
But when he turned his attention to the summons' corpses, something odd caught his eye.
Hidden beneath the fur and flesh were traces of surgical alterations—signs of tampering, scars not from battle but from modification. Inside their bodies, he found strange tags and seals he couldn't quite decipher.
As the pieces fell into place, Genma's mind drifted to a rather disturbing line of thought: "Big brother, let's play together..."
Was this just another case of history repeating itself under the sun?
He wasn't being overly cynical. In this era, no one could say for sure just how far a shinobi's depravity might go.
With no real intel gathered from the two shinobi, Genma had no choice but to return to the town and investigate that mysterious building.
The earlier battle hadn't seemed to affect anything here. Life in the small town continued as usual.
He wasn't sure if the explosions near the swamp had carried this far, but they should've. The blasts had been loud—loud enough that the town should've noticed something.
And yet, judging by the townsfolk's expressions, no one had heard a thing.
"Something's definitely off."
Guided by memory, Genma found his way back to the hidden building tucked away in a narrow alley.
He hesitated for a moment at the door, then pushed it open and stepped inside.
Behind the door was a seemingly ordinary courtyard, but Genma caught a faint whiff of blood on the air—maybe it was just his imagination.
As he stepped into the yard, the door behind him creaked shut on its own.
"A face I don't recognize. A foreign shinobi. You've been in this town for a few days now. What brings you here? Or should I ask... who sent you?"
The voice came out of nowhere—no figure in sight, just disembodied words hanging in the air.
So he'd been under surveillance from the moment he stepped in.
Figures, Genma thought, unimpressed. Cloak and dagger types—always playing ghost.
Aloud, he replied, "I was just passing through. Saw shinobi coming and going from here a few times. Got curious, that's all."
"I see..."
The voice paused for a moment, then seemed to accept the explanation with surprising ease.
"Well then," it said with faux sincerity, "there's nothing strange here. Those people are just my clients."
"If you'd like, you could become one of them—a new client."
Client?
Genma looked down at his ragged clothes, still soaked in swamp filth and caked with mud. He looked like someone who'd been chewed up and spat out.
If this kind of person qualified as a client... it had to be VIP—Very Insane Person.
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