Chapter 39: They're all dismantled, right?
The body collection rounds had been going surprisingly well—like a twisted version of garbage pickup, but with considerably more paperwork and significantly less job security.
Qifeng wiped the sweat from his brow, wondering if the Village's health insurance covered back strain from corpse-hauling. After all, the dead weren't exactly concerned about their Heaven and Earth scroll missions anymore. Death had a funny way of putting things in perspective like that.
The casualties were predominantly Konoha genin with a smattering of foreign village representatives—a cheerful international body count that really captured the spirit of diplomatic cooperation.
"Just one more pickup," he muttered, stretching his aching shoulders.
Collecting corpses was exhausting work, especially in a place as sprawling as this charming death trap they called the Forest of Death. The irony of the name wasn't lost on him—though he supposed "Forest of Mild Inconvenience" wouldn't have had quite the same ring to it.
He paused when he spotted three more bodies sprawled in an artistic arrangement that would have made a crime scene photographer weep with joy.
Three Mist ninja, arranged like a grim still life. One of them even had a faint green glow emanating from the corpse—probably some leftover chakra technique, or maybe just really aggressive decomposition.
Qifeng couldn't help but smirk at the cosmic joke of it all. They called it the Chunin Exams, but every village sent their "genin"—who coincidentally happened to have the combat prowess of chunin-level fighters. It was like watching adults pretend to be children in a very violent game of make-believe.
A miniature arms exhibition disguised as a coming-of-age ceremony. How wonderfully bureaucratic.
He knelt beside the first body, pulling out a storage scroll with practiced efficiency. Another day, another dollar—or in this case, another corpse, another step closer to his pension. Assuming he lived long enough to collect it.
But as he crouched down to begin the collection process, his movements froze. His eyes narrowed as he studied the rocks in the distance, instincts screaming that something was off.
Three figures emerged from the shadows like a very unwelcome surprise party.
"Oh, fantastic," he muttered under his breath.
The Mist ninja trio stood there, led by none other than Hoshigaki Kisame—a man who looked like he'd been designed by someone who'd only heard sharks described secondhand.
"Fancy meeting you here," said Muri Yoshida with a grin that didn't reach his eyes, casually leaning against a tree trunk. "Should we call you Mr. Examiner, or would you prefer Mr. Corpse Collector? I'm not sure which is more cheerful."
Qifeng rose slowly, his frown deepening like a man who'd just realized his life insurance might not cover "death by shark-man."
"Let me guess—you've been waiting for little old me?"
How had they known he'd be here? Had they been camping out, roasting marshmallows and sharing ghost stories while they waited for him to show up for his macabre janitorial duties?
"Maruyama Qifeng," Kisame's voice rumbled with the distinct satisfaction of someone who'd done their homework. "Once we had your name, the rest was just a matter of time and proper paperwork."
As someone who'd been groomed by the Fuguki Suikazan since childhood—a name that sounded like it belonged in a children's book rather than a ninja organization—Kisame had always excelled at intelligence gathering.
Even in Konoha's backyard, the village's confidence meant they didn't restrict foreign ninja movement. It was a classic case of "look but don't touch"—a diplomatic way of saying "we're so strong we don't care if you window shop."
Unfortunately for Qifeng, that window shopping had included a thorough background check on his entire existence.
"How thoughtful of you," Qifeng replied dryly, returning to his corpse collection with the resigned air of a man who'd given up on having normal workdays. "Really shows you care."
What was the point of all this dramatic posturing anyway? The entire Forest of Death was under Konoha surveillance. If they were stupid enough to attack an examiner here, they'd be lucky to see tomorrow's sunrise, let alone next week's ramen special.
Especially with Konoha's higher-ups currently in the kind of mood that made rabid dogs look friendly by comparison.
But apparently, subtlety had never been the Mist ninja's strong suit.
"Water Style: Exploding Water Wave!"
The deluge hit like a liquid avalanche, and Qifeng found himself temporarily submerged in what felt like the world's most aggressive swimming lesson.
"Well, shit," came a voice from the water.
The attacking Mist ninja was already opening his mouth to deliver what was probably a devastating one-liner when Kisame appeared beside him like a very disappointed teacher.
The kick sent the ninja flying, narrowly avoiding a fist that emerged from the water carrying both Qifeng and the soggy corpse he'd been collecting.
"Hey there, geniuses," Qifeng called out, hoisting the waterlogged body with the weary patience of a man explaining basic concepts to particularly slow children. "These are your teammates' corpses, remember? Or did the whole 'respecting the dead' lesson get skipped in Mist ninja school?"
What a tragic waste of perfectly good dead bodies.
The kicked ninja scrambled to his feet, glaring with the intensity of someone who'd just had their pride professionally relocated. "Weak trash. If they died, they deserved it."
Qifeng rubbed his temples, feeling a headache building like storm clouds. The educational standards in the Hidden Mist Village were clearly in desperate need of reform. At this rate, he was starting to think that future Blood Mist policy might actually be an improvement—at least it would be more honest about the whole "we're completely insane" thing.
These people had the collective emotional intelligence of a particularly aggressive houseplant.
"You know," he said conversationally, "attacking an examiner is generally considered a career-limiting move. Are you sure you want to throw away your exam chances for this little temper tantrum?"
Kisame raised his hand with a flourish, and mechanical components scattered from his fingers like confetti at the world's most depressing party.
"Even a toddler from the Mist Village knows how to dismantle surveillance equipment," he said with the smug satisfaction of someone who'd just revealed their master plan.
As an ANBU operative, counter-surveillance was basically child's play. He'd simply chosen not to interfere earlier because watching Konoha genin get slaughtered had been entertaining. Sometimes the best shows were the ones you didn't pay for.
"Tsk." Qifeng's expression soured. "Well, aren't you thorough."
So they'd been planning this little intervention. How wonderfully premeditated.
But why target him specifically? Was it because he'd been collecting their village's casualties?
When he thought about it, it made a certain twisted sense. If someone had been systematically bagging his colleagues, he might take it personally too.
"Did you get all the cameras?" he asked, setting down the corpse with the casual air of someone discussing weekend plans.
"What do you think?" Kisame replied.
"And you're sure you didn't miss any? Because honestly, for your own sake, you might want to double-check. The aftermath of getting caught is going to be... unpleasant."
Kisame's frown deepened. Something felt off about this whole situation. As someone with shark-like instincts—both literally and figuratively—his danger senses were starting to ping like a radar in a lightning storm.
The man in front of him looked about as threatening as a golden retriever, but every instinct Kisame possessed was screaming that appearances could be deceiving. His muscles tensed, hand drifting toward the massive sword on his back.
"They're all dismantled, right?" Qifeng continued, as if discussing the weather.
---
Meanwhile, in the monitoring center at the heart of the Forest of Death, controlled chaos was brewing.
"Lord Danzo! Lord Kakashi! We've got a situation in sector seven!"
The technician's voice cracked with the particular strain that came from being the bearer of bad news to people who could end your career with a paperwork error.
Danzo remained focused on a different screen, watching a team of Konoha ninja systematically dismantling a group of foreign village representatives with the efficiency of a well-oiled murder machine.
Nara Shikaku looked up from his own analysis, frowning. "What's the nature of the problem?"
"Unknown, sir. Looks like deliberate sabotage. Every camera in the area is down, including backups. Someone knew exactly what they were doing."
"Who was in that sector?"
"It's pretty remote. Only had one of our staff members doing body collection, but..."
Body collection. Shikaku's mind immediately conjured an image of Qifeng, and his frown deepened into something that could have etched glass.
"But what?"
"There's a team of Mist genin that's been loitering in that area. They haven't moved in hours."
Shikaku's expression darkened as he glanced across the room at the imposing figure of the Fuguki Suikazan. The man stood there with his ridiculously oversized sword, looking like a walking advertisement for overcompensation.
The first round of the Chunin Exams had already provided plenty of red flags, according to his brother's reports. Now his worst suspicions were being confirmed in real time.
"Dispatch a team immediately," he ordered, his voice carrying the kind of authority that made people move quickly. "Restore surveillance and apprehend anyone violating exam protocols."
He shot another glance at the Fuguki Suikazan, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Execute any hostiles."
The audacity of attacking an examiner during the Chunin Exams was beyond bold—it was suicidal. Regardless of their motivations, they'd just crossed a line that might as well have been painted in blood.
It was like playing hopscotch on a minefield while blindfolded.
Shikaku's mind raced through the implications. This wasn't just teenage ninja drama—this was a calculated political move. Every action in these exams carried weight, sent messages, revealed intentions.
As the Hokage's advisor, he was here to read between the lines, to catch the whispers that preceded the screams of war.
When Shikaku's attention shifted away, the Fuguki Suikazan allowed himself a small smile. He'd trained Kisame personally, knew exactly what the boy was capable of. This little test had been orchestrated at the Third Mizukage's explicit request.
They needed to gauge Konoha's resolve, to see how hard they'd push back when provoked.
If their examiner died and Konoha responded with overwhelming force, that would tell them something valuable about the village's current leadership. If they showed restraint or uncertainty, that would be equally informative.
Three Mist genin were expendable—even Kisame, despite his potential, was acceptable collateral damage. The information they'd gain was worth the cost.
The Hidden Mist Village was playing a game of chess where every piece, including their own, was expendable. They had the luxury of geographic isolation—they could strike from the sea and retreat to safety, controlling the pace and intensity of any conflict.
The real question was: when pushed to the breaking point, would Konoha break, or would they push back hard enough to make the entire ninja world take notice?
Time to find out.
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