This was a blood-soaked mill, grinding shinobi into raw materials using the crudest of methods.
From the offhanded way this so-called "Toshi" described his work, Genma could already guess the level of his "scientific expertise."
Transplanting a shinobi's heart into a beast—that was to grant a naturally strong body the ability to generate chakra.
Replacing the beast's brain with that of a shinobi—that was because the human brain, with its superior intellect, could understand commands more easily...
Clearly, the brain was being kept under control—whether through genjutsu or some form of curse mark.
Judging by this crude "rip one part out, jam it into something else" approach, it was safe to assume Toshi's creations were slapdash and unstable—not only poor in quality, but with a limited lifespan.
As for Toshi's combat ability—or more precisely, his skill in subduing other shinobi—it was admittedly formidable.
He'd strip you of your senses with genjutsu, then drain your chakra with specialized techniques. The combination didn't make him "invincible," but it could certainly take down most shinobi who lacked intelligence on him.
Unfortunately for him, he encountered Hane Genma.
After knocking Toshi unconscious, Genma waited until the underground chamber was nearly flooded, drowning both man and beast to the brink, before finally "opening the floodgates."
Forming hand seals, he once again unleashed a Water Release technique—Water Formation Wall.
Water gathered around him, slow at first, then swift. In an instant, a ring-shaped vortex spiraled upward from where he stood, carving through the floodwaters as it twisted violently toward the surface.
The molded torrent writhed like springtime insect eggs waking beneath the earth, steadily pushing aside the dead leaves and brittle branches above.
Under Genma's control, the vortex peeled back the ceiling's coating with ease. The surge destroyed the buildings above and spiraled higher still.
Water levels inside the underground chamber plummeted as torrents burst into the nearby town.
It wasn't that Genma had any particular desire to wreck a civilian settlement—this was a warning. Anyone in that town with half a brain would immediately take cover after witnessing that Water Release.
No one wanted to stay on a shinobi battlefield.
So, how many intelligent people were in that town? When death loomed close—everyone was intelligent.
In the flooded chamber, heavy breaths and harsh coughing rang out one after another. They'd narrowly escaped death.
Genma dragged Toshi along, letting the man's body slump half-submerged, while scanning the caged prisoners.
With the caster unconscious, the genjutsu binding the captives had dissipated. After a dousing of cold water, they quickly regained consciousness.
There were maybe thirty shinobi in total. It didn't take Genma long to inspect a few cells before spotting a familiar face.
It was the one he'd been searching for—Chihori.
Fortune: he'd found a member of his clan. Misfortune: she appeared to be the only one.
Maybe she'd been the only one trafficked. Or maybe the others… had already been used up in those cruel experiments.
Chihori was a kunoichi around seventeen or eighteen. Her face was deathly pale, and her eyes vacant.
Genma stood at her cell door. Sensing something blocking the faint light ahead, she looked up on reflex.
When her gaze locked onto his face, a flicker of light returned to her eyes.
She opened her mouth to speak—only for Genma to silently shake his head.
There were too many survivors still conscious. Out of instinctive caution, he wouldn't reveal his true purpose here.
Let it seem as if he wasn't here to rescue any one person—but to save them all.
Truth be told, by the standard shinobi code, once your target was extracted, the rest should be executed without hesitation.
They were of no value, offered no resistance, and even if they were fellow shinobi, their survival would only bring enmity. One way or another, they were better off dead.
But Genma didn't want to do that.
Not because he was benevolent or harbored some hypocritical kindness—certainly not a saint. He simply didn't want to.
These shinobi had no value to him. Killing them or sparing them—it made no difference.
The only reason he refrained was because of a small, stubborn mental cleanliness.
Compared to the man he was dragging along, he just didn't want to be the same kind of person. That was all.
In an age where "kill or be killed" was the norm, Genma didn't shy away from becoming a cold-blooded assassin.
But he refused to lose his humanity.
That sliver of inner principle—that shred of spiritual hygiene—kept him tethered to a few lines he wouldn't cross.
If anyone else knew what he was thinking, they'd probably sneer, then mock:
What kind of arrogance makes you think you're different from us?
Regardless, if he wanted to avoid slaughtering everyone here, he'd need to be clever about how he went about the rescue.
From Toshi, Genma fished out a ring of keys. He unlocked Chihori's cell, then removed her shackles, nodding for her to leave while speaking aloud:
"You're all free now."
Chihori understood. She slipped away as fast as she could.
Only then did Genma begin freeing the others.
Once unbound, the prisoners glanced at him with fearful eyes, then fled as if avoiding the plague—rushing from their cells and bolting for the exit.
He didn't blame them. It wasn't like he expected grateful thanks.
By freeing everyone, his release of Chihori wouldn't raise suspicion. No one would know why he'd really come here.
Once the chamber was emptied, Genma moved to the next cell.
Suddenly, a prisoner inside erupted with manic joy, shouting wildly:
"Haha! I knew it! My clan would never abandon me! They must've assigned someone to come save me!"
Not just Genma—even the other dazed shinobi were drawn to the outburst.
Toshi, previously unconscious, snapped awake at the noise. His face twisted with fury.
This man's neck had been clearly broken—but somehow, he'd survived. His body still moved, still obeyed his commands. That, in itself, was astounding.
Genma looked toward Toshi, curious what the man intended to do.
He watched as Toshi pressed his palms together, rapidly weaving hand seals.
In the next instant, a dozen sharp earthen spikes burst from the stone walls, shooting like spears—and impaled the shouting shinobi in a single brutal strike.
Genma: "..."
Well. That was unexpected.
"I should never have targeted someone from a great shinobi clan," Toshi muttered bitterly.
"You sure talk a lot. Clinging this hard to life—is that what you call pride?"
A good question—shame it didn't sound very human.
Technically, Genma should have asked if Toshi acted alone, if he had accomplices, if there was someone pulling the strings behind the scenes. But none of that mattered to his purpose here. So he didn't care.
He didn't ask. And Toshi didn't answer.
Genma simply snapped both of his arms.
He'd been watching from the moment Toshi regained consciousness—ready for a sneak attack. But he hadn't expected the target to be someone else.
Even though Genma had destroyed Toshi's research, the man's true hatred wasn't for him—it was for the one who had brought Genma here.
In Toshi's mind, Genma was just a hired blade. The one who summoned him was the real cause of his downfall.
So when someone jumped up to claim credit—well, they became his top priority for revenge.
Genma looked at the dying man—so close to being saved, yet rushing to his own death—and thought:
Some people… just can't be saved.
Born into a noble shinobi clan? Perhaps he was just used to arrogance.
Genma glanced at the forehead protector on the corpse. It bore three and a half curved lines cradling a sphere—he didn't recognize the symbol or the clan.
But the man's death gave him a clean excuse to deflect suspicion.
"Great shinobi clan? Bigger than the Uchiha, you think?
I didn't come here for anyone in particular. I just couldn't stomach what you were doing—so I destroyed everything."
Yes, in this line of work, the rules were simple: Don't change your name. Don't hide your face.
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