Chapter 3: The First Hunt
Shiro steadied his breath as he observed the two shinobi from the shadows. They were young—likely scouts for a larger village. Their chakra signatures were faint compared to what he once wielded, but in his weakened state, even these lesser beings were a threat.
I must be careful.
He gripped a broken branch from the ground, feeling its rough texture. It was no Yamato, but it would serve. Silently, he moved forward, his body guided by instincts honed over centuries.
One of the shinobi, a man with dark hair, turned to his companion. "Did you feel that? Something's watching us."
Shiro didn't hesitate. He lunged.
The branch struck the first shinobi's throat before he could react. A gurgled gasp escaped his lips as he fell, clutching at his neck. Before the second could respond, Shiro was already upon him. With a swift kick to the chest, he sent the man sprawling.
Too slow.
The fallen shinobi coughed, struggling to rise. "You bastard—"
Shiro stepped forward, pressing his foot against the man's throat. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice cold. "Where am I?"
The shinobi's eyes widened. "You… you don't know?"
"Answer me." Shiro pressed down harder, enjoying the way the man squirmed.
"This is the Land of Fire," the shinobi gasped. "Near the Hidden Leaf…"
Shiro's eyes narrowed. The Hidden Leaf… Hagoromo's legacy.
A cruel smirk formed on his lips. He now had a direction.
With a final press of his foot, the shinobi's struggling ceased.
Shiro exhaled. His journey had begun.
I'm coming for you, Hagoromo.