"Remember, student." An older man, more akin to an elder than merely middle-aged, was instructing his protégé as the boy struggled to catch his breath after a grueling sparring round. Around them lay scattered fragments of kunai and senbon, the ground riddled with craters from explosive tags. "Every weapon can break. Look around. All your options run out when your weapons do. Like a bird stripped of its wings."
"What else am I supposed to do, old man?" the black-haired boy asked, his eyes full of questions. "If it weren't for these tools, I wouldn't even be able to touch you. At least when I dodge, you let me graze you." Indeed, the young Uzumaki wasn't fooling himself—no matter what tricks he pulled with throwing weapons or seals, he was no match for the seasoned warrior.
"Your body, young wolf. Your body must be your weapon, singular and unmatched. As my mentor taught me, through pain and blood, we will forge you into the strongest weapon you'll ever have. Forget the crutches others rely on. Weapons can be broken, taken, stolen. My mastery relies solely on chakra and body. Taking chakra is difficult, with rare exceptions. Your body, even now, is hard to break. Once I teach you iryoninjutsu, it'll be even tougher. So grit your teeth and attack."
---
For several months now—nine, to be exact, since we arrived in this city—my life has started to take shape. I began to see a direction I could follow. I don't know if this path was the right one, but it was definitely interesting.
Training alternated. One day was entirely dedicated to taijutsu and physical conditioning. The style my old man taught me, according to him, was created by his mentor in the twilight of his life. The old man had been refining it for over a century—an incredibly long time.
For now, it was basic exercises and strange movements, as if my fingers were a beast's claws. The old man didn't explain the purpose of these strikes. I felt like some kind of animal, but even now, I could see the uniqueness of these movements. Perhaps his mentor had mimicked the style of the Inuzuka clan? Though I didn't recall Kiba ever showing anything remotely similar. Jagged strikes seemed designed to inflict maximum wounds, leg strikes targeting various body parts like in karate, and dirty tricks. All for victory. All to kill your opponent.
With chakra-infused fingers, I left gouges in walls, and with my legs, craters in the ground of our training hall, built beneath our house. The room, five meters high and thirty meters long, was surrounded by a barrier that concealed the chakra I used extensively. The empty space was where we spent most of our time. Here, he taught me, beat me, and healed me. Sometimes we ate here when we were too exhausted to climb back to the house. He built this arena in a single day. Ninjutsu works wonders.
The day after taijutsu was dedicated to fuinjutsu, which was a godsend. My body rested after long hours of training. Seals were an entire art form—complex and multifaceted. For someone like me, who had never held a brush before, the swirls and strokes were a challenging but fascinating task. I ruined eight out of ten blanks, but that was progress. In my first attempts, I simply burned the paper I was inscribing. For now, these were basic seals, like explosive ones. As the old man said, I had no talent for it—apparently, the Uzumaki kekkei genkai skipped me in this regard—but he comforted me by saying my body was exceptional. I hoped that as my Sharingan developed, I could simply copy his movements. I'd already found a workaround. The key was not to tell the old man, or he'd make me bury my nose in those scrolls. Persnickety grandpa.
My chakra pathways could now handle my full chakra volume. They'd strengthened and adapted to my reserves. The old man said there'd be no more issues, and as my reserves grew, my pathways would adjust. It even became easier to breathe.
The third day of the week was usually a rest day. I'd lie in the backyard or read something from the library the old man had set up in one of the house's rooms. There wasn't much choice—some scroll about the exploits of an Uzumaki was my version of entertainment. No internet, no TV, not even Come Come Paradise. Jiraiya hadn't been born yet, which was a pity. But Buba and Boba had been born. The spirit of two brothers fighting each other for centuries had recently appeared in this world. Setsuna told me about it a month ago. The Senju clan leader had a new addition. His name was Hashirama.
The method of obtaining information, though not instantaneous, worked like this: Butsuma Senju, the clan leader, shared the joyful news with his ally and relative, the Uzumaki. Through some channels, Setsuna learned of it and casually mentioned it to me over lunch. I nearly spat out my soup when I heard. But I held it together.
Now I knew for sure this was the world I'd seen on my monitor. I was a few years older than Hashirama. Knowing this, I at least understood that the events of the First Shinobi World War would unfold in the coming decades, and I needed to gain enough strength to survive where the God of Shinobi fell to an unknown death.
Hashirama was the same age as Madara, and I knew where those two were, Zetsu wasn't far behind. A manipulator who'd been trying to revive his mother for centuries. For now, I couldn't interfere with him, but as I slowly learned fuinjutsu, a plan was forming in my mind. If there was a seal that could bind monsters like tailed beasts, then creating one to seal that black friend was possible. But those were plans for the future.
On the fourth day, we had medical lessons. It was only theory, but quite engaging. The level of knowledge about the human body didn't match the general development of the population. The teaching system, where knowledge was passed from teacher to student, was convenient if your teacher knew the nuances, like my old man, but for overall progress, it was a dead end. Practicing iryoninjutsu was still impossible.
I had a severe imbalance toward Yin; my spiritual energy, due to the Sharingan and my rebirth, made me a cripple in terms of control. High costs and my issues with chakra management put a cross on my medical career. But the old man gave me a theoretical foundation to make starting easier in the future. My first attempt at healing a live fish ended with me blowing it up. After that, I didn't try again. The old man reassured me that by fifteen, I'd reach a minimal threshold and chakra balance to start practicing on living organisms.
So the days passed until the deadline the old man had set.
Training was filled with liters of my spilled blood and sweat. I broke my fingers and hands when I hit him, misjudging the chakra for reinforcement. I broke my legs when I overdid the chakra. I was blasted with fire and drowned in liters of water. The pain was unbearable, the injuries dangerous even for an adult. I survived them with medical chakra. Injuries I'd remember. But I'd go through it all again if I had the choice. I understood that the shinobi world had no place for the weak. Death lurked everywhere, and only those strong in spirit and body could survive in a world full of monsters who leveled mountains in passing.
Thus, a year passed. The day came when I received my first mission.
My first target.
---
As always, I woke up in the room that had become my sanctuary in this world over the year. Training had stripped away all the nonsense in my head. Worries and doubts. Or perhaps I could just run away, hide somewhere remote? But that was in the past. My mind was free of all shackles.
A great mood and a good breakfast were routine, as was the anticipation of a lecture. Today was an anatomy lesson for shinobi—where to strike and how to inflict maximum pain. I already knew about various tenketsu, pressure points, and where chakra was released. He demonstrated on himself how they could be struck to paralyze and deprive a person of chakra. I now understood why the Hyuga clan was respected. I had to memorize where everything was.
Clearing the dishes, I sat across from the old man. He spoke first, as usual, in his low voice.
"Do you know what day it is?" What's he talking about?
"Uh, anatomy lesson?" He gave me a sterner look than usual. Think, brain.
"Your birthday?" His gaze grew even sterner.
"My birthday?" Hope dies last.
He closed his eyes and exhaled. Apparently, my wit was getting to even a monster like Grandpa. He's very patient—if I were in his place, I'd already be spanking the little troublemaker.
"A year has passed since I started teaching you, little wolf. Your achievements are impressive; you can now hold out against me for twenty seconds in full contact." Yeah, the hit-and-run tactic definitely helped. Feels like fighting a boss. "Taijutsu, fuinjutsu, and medical knowledge give you immense potential. If we were in the clan, reaching this level on general courses would take over two years. By clan standards, you're now considered an adult, ready to swim on your own." He smiled, and I realized what day it was—it slipped my mind with all the training. "Alas, you're my student, so this is just the beginning for you. You'll earn freedom only when you defeat me. Follow me. Today is the day of your mission."
I followed him. He led us to his room, where I wasn't allowed to enter. Stepping inside, I looked around. It was like mine—wooden floor, a futon where he slept. The only difference was a low table against the wall and a shelf packed with scrolls. I only had a shelf for scrolls containing clothes and a minimal set of throwing weapons. Chakra solved many issues, including hygiene. His shelf held about thirty scrolls, their contents a mystery to me. He took two scrolls from the shelf—one with a red ribbon, the other with a white one.
"Channel chakra into the scroll with the white ribbon. The one with the red ribbon is your mission. Bring me proof of completion and take a scroll for storing items. Go. And don't disgrace my teachings."
He turned his back and sat at the table, picking up a brush to start his work. A fine send-off. I knew he loved me as a grandson and student but didn't show it. A pure tsundere. Though it was mutual. I respected the old man. Loving him as my grandfather didn't work, but I knew he held a special place in my heart. Teacher and mentor—that's who he was to me. The man I considered my grandfather, who raised me, I buried myself in my past life.
Leaving his room, I went to mine and opened the red scroll.
[ *Target*: Sentaro Kotsubaki. Former farmer.
*Description*: Dark hair, goatee. Wears a white headband. Leader of a bandit gang.
*Location*: Three days' travel in the forests north of the City of a Thousand Nights.
*Crime*: Bandit, murderer of civilians, rapist.
*Mission*: Track and kill.
*Proof of Completion*: Target's head.
*Reward*: 100,000 ryo ]
I knew this world would change my worldview. In the past, I earned a living with my mind and knowledge. In this world, I only knew how to take lives. My training wasn't geared toward self-defense. Still, I hoped this moment would come later.
Channeling chakra into the white-ribbon scroll, a pair of gloves fell into my hands. Black, matching my clothes. Instead of smooth nails, they had metal claws. Putting them on, I channeled chakra into them. As expected, chakra-conducting steel. An expensive treat. There was a note with them.
"My first gift to you, Okami. Be free like a wolf, and let your enemies see only the glint of your claws. Now you're your own provider."
I was never a pacifist. Killing, to me, was one facet of humanity. I'd been trained for this for a year. Looking at the claws glowing with the amount of chakra in them, I felt both excitement and doubt. Perhaps a year wasn't enough. But either Sentaro would lose his head, or I'd go hungry. In a world without science as such, I could either earn this way or become a farmer. With chakra, I'd be the best farmer.
Entertaining myself with these thoughts and soothing my conscience, I packed up and left the city. A murderer terrorizing ordinary people awaited me. I never liked rapists.
---
*Perspective: Setsuna Uzumaki*
Watching his grandson leave, Setsuna felt doubts. His combat-genius grandson was so small compared to this world. A child who never knew parental love, training for a year in ways that even adults couldn't endure. His teacher showed no mercy to his student. That's how Setsuna became one of the strongest in the Uzumaki clan. Now his student was going through the same. He endured and didn't break, a separate source of pride for the old shinobi. His body and Sharingan gave him immense potential to become the strongest shinobi of his generation. Setsuna only had to be his guiding star. Yet he was so small, so vulnerable. He couldn't lose him, his last blood relative. The boy's burning gaze when he learned something new always lifted Setsuna's spirits. For a man who'd lost everything, Okami was the only reason to live.
As his grandson vanished from the edge of his sensory range, Setsuna closed his eyes and spoke into the void.
"Second."
Kneeling, a figure in black robes that concealed chakra and form appeared from thin air. A featureless mask adorned their face, hiding their identity. A hood covered their hair.
"Follow him. Priority is his safety. If anything goes beyond the norm, you know what to do."
Second knew what to do if something extraordinary happened—he'd do everything to ensure the young master was saved, even if it meant sacrificing himself.
"Yes, my lord."
The figure vanished, and Setsuna hoped everything would go quietly and smoothly.
---
Sitting in the bushes a few dozen meters from the camp, I surveyed the place where Sentaro and his cronies had set up their hideout. They seemed to feel quite free, unafraid of being found. Roughly built houses and a few braziers lit up the bandit camp in the moonless night. After observing everyone in the camp for a few minutes, I noted the house occupied by the leader. Sentaro had built—undoubtedly with others' labor—a large two-story house that stood out. From here, I heard moans of pain. The victim cried out pitifully and faintly, my chakra-enhanced ears picking up the sounds.
Unconcerned about sentries, the people slept, expecting no visitors. All the easier for me—extra deaths weren't necessary. It'd be enough that I'd commit my first killing in both lives today.
Taking a kunai from my belt, I moved toward Sentaro's house, glancing around to avoid curious eyes. I wasn't a rhinoceros and moved with quiet steps toward my target.
There were about a dozen houses, and after passing half, I relaxed. The quiet atmosphere and the crackling of the fire gave me a false sense of security, dulling my alertness. The scream that rang out was completely unexpected. It was so loud it woke everyone who was sleeping.
"Enemy!"
Some guy was shouting, already running at me with a katana drawn, just a few steps away. Infusing my body with chakra and activating my Sharingan, I threw the kunai at him without thinking. It was a reflex to danger. The throw's force was immense.
I saw clearly as the kunai, meter by meter, centimeter by centimeter, cut through the air's resistance.
Like a bullet, it pierced straight through the guy's body, and he fell. I didn't hear the others, dressed in whatever they had, surrounding me. I didn't see Sentaro fleeing, pulling pants over his naked body.
All my attention was fixed on the dying guy. Blood seeped from his mouth, but he was still alive. His lips kept repeating:
"Demon, demon, demo…"
His gaze was locked on my eyes, glowing red.
Meanwhile, my body began reacting to the danger. The reflexes the old man had drilled into me were deadly.
Events spiraled out of control.
---
*Perspective: Second*
Watching the fight—or rather, the slaughter—unleashed by the young master, Second felt a certain pride mixed with apprehension. At five or six, Second was stealing on the streets of a city in a distant land until Lord Setsuna found him and gave him purpose. Living on the streets, you learn the world's filth and cruelty, but what the young master was doing inspired awe.
After killing the awakened guy with a kunai, likely sensing his massive chakra reserve, the young master moved as fifteen people surrounded him. The rest fled hastily, likely knowing who had come and choosing not to tempt death.
The Sharingan in his eyes spun rapidly, his hands moving. The first to swing at him had his katana torn away, and Okami slashed diagonally. Four were down, clutching their spilling guts. The wide swing was strong and merciless.
Turning and charging through the crowd, he scattered them like children, striking two in the heart. Their already dead bodies crashed into house walls and stayed there, the force too great. Dropping the now-useless katana, he assumed the recognizable stance of his lord and began killing his opponents. His claws were unyielding, his speed unattainable for ordinary people.
Jagged wounds and broken bones, blood and the stench of death everywhere. The injuries were as if a beast had torn through these bandits. Second knew his lord's style, but the young protégé showed just how lethal it was. In less than a minute, he killed everyone in the camp. Closing his eyes, he looked up at the sky. After standing still for a moment, Okami snapped out of it and glanced toward the leader's house.
Second watched, awaiting the young master's next move. Okami's gaze turned toward the fleeing leader, likely seeing him, his eyes now bearing two tomoe in the Sharingan.
I must report this to the lord, Second thought.
---
Killing Sentaro was child's play. Catching up to the man stumbling blindly through the woods was quick. So was grabbing his neck and snapping it.
Apparently, my psyche put up some kind of block, and my conscience didn't torment me for long. I got used to killing quickly, very quickly. After killing fifteen, one more didn't weigh on me. The hardest part was cutting off his head.
Dragging his body back to the houses, I took a katana from one of the dead. I swung so hard that after swiftly severing the head, I drove the blade deep into the ground.
Leaving everything as it was, I grabbed Sentaro's head by the hair and sealed it.
My mission was complete.
---
*Perspective: Setsuna Uzumaki*
Watching his grandson head off to sleep, Setsuna awaited his subordinate's report. To him, the boy seemed to be handling things normally—clearly, the training hadn't been in vain. Only his emotions betrayed the stress he'd endured.
"Second."
"Yes, my lord." Second appeared in the same pose as before, knee to the floor, head bowed.
"Tell me what happened."
"Yes, my lord. The young master, arriving at the bandit camp, intended to minimize casualties, judging by his purposeful stride. He didn't want to clear the camp. After passing five houses, he approached the leader's house but was spotted by one of the bandits. Likely, the man had some sensory ability and noticed the massive chakra source nearby." Seeing his lord about to speak, Second paused.
"Yes, such a volume would be noticed by any half-decent shinobi. No surprise an ordinary person sensed it."
"Exactly, my lord. After the failed attack, when the young master pierced the first man with a kunai, a crowd tried to overwhelm him. He gutted four, who couldn't hold their insides. Two were crushed against a wall with immense force, their hearts pierced by the same blade. Dropping the sword, which broke from the force, he assumed your style's stance. He beheaded one with his claws, tore out the hearts of two others. The rest he crushed with force, severing limbs with his claws. Result: all dead. He snapped the target's neck. And an important detail—" Setsuna raised an eyebrow at this, "—he awakened the second tomoe of his Sharingan."
"Oh, what excellent news. I was running out of ideas on how to develop those cursed eyes. It seems their power awakens in battle. Though calling a shinobi's fight with humans a battle is a stretch. We can chalk it up to his age. Good, very good," Setsuna said with a fatherly smile, then asked another question. "What's your personal take?"
"His technique is lacking. He has strength and speed, but he spilled too much blood and used far too much chakra. For the young master, that's forgivable. I also noted pauses during the fight, between killings. That's all, my lord."
"Good. You're dismissed."
Looking at the scroll on the table, Setsuna thought: It seems we need to add another day of training. And drill into him that chakra isn't infinite and must be used proportional to the fight.
---
Lying on my futon after returning, a shiver ran down my spine. Am I cold?
Pulling the blanket over me, I stared at the wooden ceiling, my thoughts swirling like a dance. Am I really a psychopath, or is this world just that abnormal? My reaction to killing was too calm. I was only upset that I couldn't do it quietly. A psychologist would give me a precise diagnosis, but I knew my reaction was unusual.
But I didn't dwell on it. Judging by the old man's satisfied smile, such missions awaited me more than once. The Sharingan was what occupied my mind. The second tomoe granted me the ability to read an opponent's movements, which I noticed during the fight after killing the second-to-last man. It was as if I could see and know how and when they'd try to strike, though he didn't get the chance with a pierced heart. I spent the longest with the last one. The new ability was very unusual and convenient. I also realized I could use some genjutsu, but I didn't have time to invade an opponent's mind during the fight. After killing the last bandit, I thought I'd lost the leader, but I found him with the Sharingan. My eyes could now see even farther—roughly a few hundred meters, though I couldn't pinpoint it exactly. It was a massive leap from the first tomoe. I dread to think what the third tomoe will bring. The Mangekyo, though, terrified me with its cost.
After all, the only person close to me was the old man.
---