Now, Saitama and Shisui stood at a crossroads—should they strike the bandit camp now, or wait and observe?
"How about we take out a few of them first, Shisui?" Saitama suggested in a low voice.
Shisui gave a small nod. "Alright. Let's do it."
Perhaps he was confident in his own skills, but he didn't hesitate.
The sky had darkened, heavy clouds looming overhead. Any experienced ninja could tell—rain was coming.
A lone figure patrolled the edge of the camp, seemingly looking for a spot to relieve himself.
He wandered near a large tree. The closest tent was nearly fifty meters away, making this location a blind spot.
Oblivious to the presence watching him, the man stood beneath the tree and began to undo his pants.
Zzt...
The sound of falling water pattered quietly beneath him.
Rustle.
A leaf fluttered down. The man glanced over his shoulder, wary—but when he saw it was just a leaf, he turned back with a smirk.
He relaxed, finishing up his business, unaware of the silent shadow descending.
Thunk!
A kunai sank cleanly into his back, piercing his heart. The man froze, unable to scream.
Saitama pulled the kunai free, wiping the blade on the dead man's sleeve.
He had injected lightning-natured chakra into the weapon, paralyzing his target instantly. No sound escaped the man's lips—not even a gasp.
Dragging the corpse behind the tree, Saitama's expression remained unreadable.
As the warmth of blood had flowed down his kunai, as the man's body had gone limp in his grip—he had felt nothing.
No guilt. No hesitation.
In a world as chaotic and unforgiving as this, there was no other choice.
He couldn't afford to be weak. He wouldn't let others hold a blade to his neck.
And so—he chose this path.
Pat-pat-pat...
The rain began to fall, drumming softly on the leaves above.
The wind picked up, whistling through the forest.
The killing had begun. And the man at Saitama's feet was only the first.
He was just a strong civilian—Saitama barely had to try.
Now, he moved in closer toward the camp, searching for more targets.
Before long, he spotted two men sitting near a fire, devouring skewers of grilled meat. Judging by their laughter, they were in good spirits, unfazed by the light rain.
Saitama recognized the smell of burning fat. Likely meat stolen from the villagers these men had raided earlier that morning.
He crept closer, his chakra masked and body low. With the sky dark and overcast, he blended into the shadows easily.
Thud.
Two meters away, he pounced—one hand planted to launch himself forward.
In a flash, his left hand drove a kunai through the throat of the bandit on the left.
The man froze, still smiling, a chunk of meat stuck between his teeth. Blood gushed from his neck and spilled down his chest.
Saitama wrapped his right arm around the man on the right, silencing him before he could react.
"Wha—!?"
The second bandit turned his head in confusion, expecting his comrade—only to see his corpse.
"Enemy! We have—ghhk!"
He didn't finish. Saitama's kunai plunged into his throat before the first syllable was fully spoken.
But even that half-cry had been enough.
Several tents stirred nearby.
"What the hell's going on?!"
A large man burst from the nearest tent, towering nearly two meters tall and wielding a broadsword.
He saw the two corpses—and a small figure crouched in their blood.
"You little—!"
He charged, blade raised in fury.
Crash!
The sword slammed into the ground where Saitama had just stood.
But the boy was already airborne, flipping back with ease.
Another civilian. Bigger, maybe stronger—but still no match for a trained shinobi.
Clang!
Saitama parried the sword with his kunai and delivered a precise kick to the man's gut, launching him backward.
The brute crashed into the mud, gasping.
Without pause, Saitama followed and ended it—another kunai to the throat.
The body twitched once, then went still.
Four, Saitama counted silently.
The noise had drawn attention now. More figures emerged from the tents, shouting.
"Shisui," Saitama muttered.
As if in response, a commotion erupted from the opposite side of the camp.
He's started, too.
Saitama didn't slow. These civilians needed to be cleared before any hidden shinobi among them emerged.
Three more men were running toward him, all armed. Their eyes wild, expressions feral.
Tall. Muscular. Dangerous—but untrained.
Saitama didn't flinch. He gripped his kunai tighter and stepped forward to meet them.