Inside a tightly sealed interrogation room deep within the Stone Village, the air was thick—choked with the coppery tang of blood, the sour musk of sweat, and the kind of silence that clung to the walls like mold. It was so suffocating, it felt as though even the walls were watching, waiting for a confession.
Iken Ichiro sat slumped in a specially constructed torture chair, bound with thick iron chains. His body, limp and motionless, resembled a broken marionette abandoned mid-performance. Not a single patch of flesh remained untouched—his skin a canvas of brutality, old wounds layered over new, blood seeping in dark rivulets down his torn uniform.
"Cough… cough…" Ichiro's breath rattled, and with each shallow exhale, more dark red blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Still not talking, you stubborn Cloud brat?" The Stone Village interrogator sneered. His voice was hoarse, like gravel dragged across rusted steel—low, menacing, inhuman. In his hand, he twirled a branding iron, its tip glowing an angry red. The heat shimmered in the air, casting a hellish glow across his scarred and twisted face.
Ichiro raised his head slowly. His gaze was unfocused, veiled with pain, yet defiance still burned faintly behind his dulled eyes. He stared at the interrogator—not with fear, but with contempt, as though memorizing every crooked line of the man's face.
"You want to know… Cloud's objective?" His voice was hoarse, each syllable scraped from the bottom of a ruined throat.
The interrogator's grin widened, teeth yellow and uneven. "Oh? Finally ready to be reasonable?"
He brought the branding iron closer. The heat hit Ichiro's face first, and despite himself, his body flinched.
"…Guess for yourself," Ichiro rasped, his voice weak but laced with mockery.
The interrogator's grin disappeared. "You're asking for it!"
He slammed the iron down onto Ichiro's chest.
Sizzle—
The nauseating stench of searing flesh filled the room. Ichiro screamed—a hoarse, guttural cry that echoed like a dying animal's last breath. His body convulsed, muscles locking in uncontrollable spasms, sweat and blood soaking through his clothes.
The interrogator stood back, admiring the scene like a painter before a masterpiece.
"Still not enough?" he taunted, lips curling with cruel delight.
Ichiro's jaw clenched so tightly it seemed his teeth might crack. Blood dribbled between his lips, and his breaths came ragged and shallow.
"…The honor… of the Cloud… cannot be tarnished," he forced out, every word a battle, every breath paid in pain.
The interrogator's expression twisted into rage. "Still playing the hero?!"
With a furious growl, he drove the branding iron into the same wound, twisting it viciously.
"Ghh—!" Ichiro's body bucked again. He was on the brink of losing consciousness, but somewhere in the chaos of agony, his will held firm.
He couldn't speak the truth.
Not if it meant endangering the mission. Not if it meant betraying Itoshiki and the others.
But maybe… he could buy them time.
"…I'll talk," Ichiro gasped, his voice no louder than a breath. "We were… sent to steal intelligence…"
The interrogator paused, eyes narrowing with suspicion, but leaned in.
"About what?" he demanded.
"…About your Stone Village… and the Sand's… alliance," Ichiro croaked, letting the weight of the lie settle.
The interrogator's eyes flicked briefly with interest. He stepped closer, compelled.
"Go on."
Ichiro let his head sag, his voice even fainter now—almost inaudible.
"…Cloud Village dispatched… an elite squad… already deep inside the Land of Earth…"
"An elite squad?" the interrogator repeated, the phrase catching in his mind.
Ichiro nodded faintly. "They're… targeting…"
He paused—eyes half-lidded, lips trembling with effort, as if caught between duty and pain. The silence dragged, heavy and deliberate.
"Targeting what, damn you?!" The interrogator leaned in further, his breath foul, desperate to pull the final thread loose.
"To… provoke a war… between the Stone Village… and the Sand Village…"
Iken Ichiro's voice was barely a whisper, the final words squeezed out like the last drops from a dying flame.
The interrogator froze, as if struck by lightning.
What did he just say?
His mind reeled. The Cloud Village—actually attempting to ignite a war between two of the great powers?
Madness. Absolute madness.
"You… what did you say?" he choked out, disbelief and rage battling for control. Then, grabbing Ichiro by the collar, he yanked him forward. "How many of you are there?! Where are they now?!"
"I… I don't know…" Ichiro murmured weakly, his head lolling slightly. "I was only… in charge of contact… I don't know the details…"
He let his body go limp, playing the part of someone utterly broken. The more pitiful he appeared, the more convincing his act.
"Liar!"
The interrogator snapped, delivering a vicious backhand that sent a spray of blood from Ichiro's mouth and nose. The sickening crack of bone echoed in the chamber.
"You're hiding something! Talk, or I swear I'll make you beg for death!" he roared, veins bulging at his temples, his eyes wild with frustration.
Dazed, half-conscious, Ichiro barely registered the pain—but his resolve remained steel beneath the shattered surface. He couldn't give them anything more. Not a name, not a clue. Every second he delayed gave Itoshiki and the others a chance.
"Guards! Bring in everything we've got!" the interrogator barked. "Break him—break every bone if you have to! I want the truth!"
The door burst open, and several Stone Village enforcers marched in, each carrying cruel instruments of pain. Their expressions were cold and gleeful as they approached Ichiro like vultures closing in on a dying prey.
"No… please…"
A flicker of real fear passed through Ichiro's eyes—not for his life, but for the pain he knew was coming.
And then, the room erupted with screams.
Agonized, primal, inhuman.
His body writhed under the torture, his voice hoarse from screaming, but through it all—Iken Ichiro never spoke of the infiltration squad. Never betrayed his comrades. Never let the truth slip.
He held the line.
With his pain.
With his blood.
With his life.
Outside the chamber, the Stone Village commander was pacing like a caged beast, rage boiling just beneath his skin.
"Useless! A bunch of incompetent fools!" he shouted at the officer who had just entered. "How is it possible that so many of our ninja can't locate a single Cloud squad?!"
"Report, sir!" the officer stammered, sweat glistening on his forehead. "All search teams have been deployed. We've combed every corner of the village—so far, no sign of them."
"Then widen the perimeter!" the commander barked. "Scour the entire Land of Earth if you must! I want every inch searched, every shadow overturned! Find them!"
"Yes, sir!" The officer bowed and vanished into the night with haste.
The commander stood silent for a moment, fists clenched so tightly that blood began to drip from his palms where his fingernails had bitten through the skin.
"Damn those Cloud rats… running wild in my territory." His voice was low, seething. "They think they can toy with the Stone Village? They'll pay. Every last one of them."
He turned toward the darkness beyond the compound.
"We will find that infiltration squad… and when we do, we'll crush them before they can breathe another word."
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