In his heart, Genma once again silently raised his estimation of White Zetsu.
He had always considered White Zetsu nothing more than a disposable pawn of Black Zetsu—just a cheap tool manipulated by the greatest mastermind of the shinobi world.
But who would've thought such a "cheap pawn" could prove invaluable in such an unexpected way?
Not only had White Zetsu provided him with three practical jutsu and served as a useful source of experience, but now it turned out he also had resistance to genjutsu...
Regardless of which of the two scenarios Genma had previously speculated about was true, one thing was certain—White Zetsu transformation could help him break free from illusions.
He had rescued his clansmen and made an unexpected discovery. Genma's mood lightened slightly, and he no longer dwelled on the idea of a fused summoning beast.
There was no point stressing over something he couldn't see or control.
Just then, a birdsong with a distinct rhythm rang out nearby. Genma instantly recognized the hidden message in its cadence and dashed off in the direction it came from.
He entered a grove and quickly spotted Chihori, concealed among the treetops.
"Chihori."
She looked like a gust of wind could knock her over.
"How are you holding up? Can you stay on your feet?"
Genma supported her with one hand, afraid she'd topple from the tree at any moment.
"It's nothing serious. My body's just weak from prolonged chakra extraction…"
She said it so casually, but everyone knew: draining a lake to catch fish only kills the lake—and it can kill the fisherman too. Especially for an ordinary shinobi, overextraction of chakra was often fatal.
Chihori's body needed real care.
Now wasn't the time to be picky. Genma pulled out a bottle of soldier pills and handed one to her.
After swallowing a pill, the pallor on her face changed to an unhealthy flush. Not great, but at least it gave her some strength.
Soldier pills were meant for healthy shinobi. They were potent—too much for a weakened body to handle safely.
But right now, anything that could restore her stamina was a blessing. It wasn't like Genma could whip out some miracle elixir.
"When the village was overrun, we scattered and tried to escape. Unfortunately, some of us were captured by Tsugawa shinobi. Those who resisted were killed. The rest of us, after exhausting our chakra, were sold as slaves... There were seven of us when we arrived. Now I'm the only one left."
Regaining a bit of strength, Chihori gave a simple recount of what she'd been through.
Genma silently wondered if parts of his clansmen had been used to form the hawk or lion summoning beasts he'd dealt with earlier… It wasn't impossible. He hadn't known the truth at the time—but even if he had, he would've still been forced to act.
There was nothing he could say about what happened to those clansmen.
"Genma… what about the others?" Chihori asked. Her voice carried a subtle tension.
"Including you and me… eighteen remain," Genma answered truthfully.
"Eighteen…"
The reality was too cruel. Sorrow visibly overtook her expression.
Then suddenly, she remembered something. "Beiji…"
Genma nodded. "He carried out his mission well."
That sentence was perfectly clear in its vagueness—he said everything by saying nothing at all.
If the people couldn't survive, neither could the dogs. This was the harsh reality for small shinobi clans in today's world.
The forest fell silent. After learning of the others' fates, Chihori needed time to process her grief.
It could take a century for a small shinobi clan to grow into a proper village… but only a single night to reduce them back to their original size. Like hitting a reset button.
Such brutal truths were hard to accept—even for native-born shinobi.
About an hour passed. When Genma saw that Chihori had recovered a bit of her strength, he spoke:
"Let's go. No matter what, we should return to camp. Everyone will be happy to see you."
He supported Chihori as they made their way back to the camp without incident.
What followed was an emotional reunion with the surviving clansmen—details not worth dwelling on here.
Someone explained their decision to hide the name "Hanemiya" from the outside world. Chihori understood the necessity but still asked to preserve the clan name among themselves.
Genma agreed without hesitation. Hiding their real surname among many others wouldn't compromise their goal.
They had originally planned to leave camp soon, but due to Chihori's condition, they were forced to stay longer to let her recover.
Meanwhile, three days after the town had burned down, two shinobi arrived.
One looked to be in his thirties, the other barely twelve. Neither wore a forehead protector.
Even so, their origins were unmistakable.
They were dressed in long black cloaks, each bearing a symbol on the back that resembled a fan—something like a ping pong paddle.
That symbol was the Uchiha clan's fan of fire—the crest of the legendary Uchiha.
"The lead was good. Unfortunately, we got here too late," the older Uchiha said.
The younger one didn't respond. He simply kicked idly at an iron fence nearby.
They had found the dungeon. The place reeked of blood and rot. Human and animal corpses littered the floor, all charred beyond recognition.
It was clear that after Genma had left, the released prisoners had done more than just take out the Doton-user. For some reason, they had turned on each other as well.
The older shinobi kept searching the area, prompting a bored complaint from the younger one.
"Captain, isn't it about time we left? We've already wasted too much time on this pointless errand."
"Pointless?" the older man ignored the complaint. "This is about maintaining a friendly alliance between our clans."
"But the guy we're looking for is just a nobody."
"Precisely because he's a nobody, the effort we're putting in shows how serious we are."
The younger shinobi opened his mouth to argue, but found no rebuttal.
What his captain said kind of made sense… and yet something about it felt off. He couldn't put his finger on it.
That's the thing with bootlicking logic—it never truly holds up.
They didn't find anything valuable in their search… until thirty minutes later, when another Uchiha arrived with a barely breathing man in tow.
"Captain, I found this one nearby. Not sure if he's of any use."
He tossed the man down at the captain's feet.
This man had been one of the shinobi Genma had released. For some reason, he hadn't left when he had the chance and had lingered near the ruins instead.
From the wolf's den straight into the tiger's jaws.
The captain lifted him easily. The man had clearly been roughed up already—his mouth hung lopsided, eyes glazed and unfocused.
Scarlet glinted in the captain's pupils as three tomoe spiraled into view. In a split second, the captain unleashed a genjutsu of overwhelming power, slipping seamlessly into the unfortunate shinobi's mind.
Little by little, Genma's actions from that day were drawn out like threads from a web.
Once the illusion had done its work, the captain tossed the man aside, a strange expression creeping across his face.
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