"Haha! General, I didn't expect us to meet here!"
Just as Saitama's group halted near the foot of the mountain, a voice echoed from the heights above.
"Suddenly!"
A large number of figures emerged from both sides of the mountain path, all clad in uniform samurai armor. Leading them was a red-armored samurai, who stepped forward with a mocking grin.
"Shimada!"
At that moment, Xiahu (Early Spring Tiger) stepped out from his carriage and stood at its front.
His voice was filled with surprise and confusion at the sight of the man before him.
"General, surprised? You didn't expect to see me here?" Shimada stroked his chin and sneered.
Shimada was tall and burly, his build far more imposing than Xiahu's. The smile on his face seemed ill-suited for the situation.
"Did I not treat you well?" Xiahu asked, eyes narrowing in disbelief.
"The general was very generous," Shimada admitted. "But I believe I deserve to be a general too. That's not a crime, is it?"
"Then why are you here now? To kill me?" Xiahu's voice was cold, his expression hardened.
"I owe you some respect, General. If you surrender, I won't harm you." Shimada gestured to the soldiers at his back, confident in his superior numbers.
"Then there's nothing to talk about."
Saitama's voice cut through the tension. He stood atop the carriage, eyes narrowed, his tone ice-cold.
"Huh? Who the hell are you?" Shimada finally took notice of the unfamiliar boy on the roof.
"That's none of your concern." Saitama shook his head slightly, one hand resting on the shinobi tanto at his waist. His voice was barely a whisper, as though speaking to himself.
"Since you've blocked the general's path, I'll have to be rude," Shimada declared darkly, raising his hand.
"Attack! Life or death!"
With a collective cry, the samurai drew their blades and charged toward the convoy.
Though samurai lacked the versatility of ninja, their numbers and discipline made them a formidable force.
"Clang!" The sound of blades being unsheathed echoed before Saitama could act.
He turned his head—those he had dismissed as mere servants now stood tall, blades drawn, eyes sharp with resolve.
"Kill these traitors! Defend Lord Xiahu's honor!" shouted the convoy leader.
Without hesitation, the guards rushed to meet the enemy head-on. They were outnumbered four or five to one, yet not a single one faltered.
Saitama, still on the carriage, heard Xiahu murmur softly behind him:
"So it comes to this."
"Politics, huh? In the end, interests are stronger than loyalty," Saitama replied.
Xiahu trembled slightly. His eyes closed and reopened slowly, filled with bitter resignation.
"I once saw Shimada as my successor," he confessed. "I have no heir, and I had hoped he would one day take my place. I never thought it would come to this…" His voice quivered, and his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
"Let's go," Saitama muttered.
With a sharp "Bang!", he launched himself forward like an arrow, the carriage shaking violently from the force.
"So you're a ninja after all," came a new voice.
A figure stepped out—he wore light leather armor and a scratched forehead protector of Kirigakure. In his hands was a massive cleaver-like blade.
"A rogue ninja from the Hidden Mist…" Saitama landed before him.
"You're dead, kid."
"Ninjutsu—Hidden Mist Jutsu!" the enemy performed hand signs swiftly, and thick mist began to fill the battlefield.
"How do you want to die, Konoha shinobi?" the voice echoed ominously from all directions.
Saitama remained still, eyes scanning.
He knew this technique—the Hidden Mist Jutsu. Zabuza Momochi had used it years later against Kakashi Hatake's squad. It obscured vision and paired perfectly with the Silent Killing Technique, masking even the sound of breath.
"Sharingan!" Saitama activated his dōjutsu without hesitation. His opponent was strong—and this was a deadly assassin's favored terrain.
"Hmph!"
A flash of steel shot toward his chest. Saitama stepped back, drawing his sword in time to deflect the strike.
"Impressive…" came the enemy's voice, still hidden in the fog.
"So, what will it be? Defend yourself—or protect your client?" the voice mocked him, trying to lure him into a mistake.
"Tch—" Saitama's expression shifted. He pivoted instantly, dashing toward where Xiahu had remained.
Within seconds, he sensed the familiar chakra and dropped down beside him.
"Stay close and don't move," Saitama ordered.
Xiahu jumped slightly at the sudden appearance but nodded in relief. "This is Kirigakure's assassination technique, isn't it?" he asked, moving closer.
Saitama didn't answer—he was still scanning, muscles tensed for an ambush.
Xiahu pressed in even closer—too close.
And then—
"Hah!"
"Die, fool!"
"Shhhk!"
A blade emerged from Xiahu's sleeve. But before it could strike—
"Tch."
With one motion, Saitama's blade surged with lightning.
"You think I'm stupid?"
"Raikiri!"
The blade sliced cleanly through the imposter's neck.
Xiahu's head hit the ground—and the body collapsed into a pool of water.
"A Water Clone…"
Saitama exhaled, eyes sharpening.
"Wind Style—Great Breakthrough!"
A fierce gust erupted from his mouth, scattering the mist in a single sweep.
"Huh?"
The enemy appeared several meters away, cloaked in a dark purple chakra. His stance was the Silent Killing Technique—a stance Saitama had studied.
"Found you."
Without wasting time, Saitama sprinted toward him, chakra surging.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Xiahu and Shimada engaged in combat—clashing blades in a desperate, personal duel.
"What?!" the Mist ninja was stunned. His clone had failed, his cover was blown, and now his opponent had a clear line of sight.
"Damn it!" he cursed, raising his massive blade to meet Saitama's charge.
But it was already too late.
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