Path Of War

As the first light of dawn began to rise, the remnants of the fierce battle that had unfolded throughout the night were visible—massive craters pocked the ground where powerful jutsus had crashed, burnt patches of greenery surrounding them like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption.

Arthur knelt with a blank expression on his face, one hand propped on the ground, the other resting on his knee. His body was marred with bruises, scrapes, and the dark stains of dried blood.

He was exhausted, drained far beyond any time in the past, yet he faced the dawn with an unsettling calmness.

Koko had poofed away hours ago due to both her and his significantly low chakra reserves.

The barrier that had confined Shikamaru, Ino, and the others was punctured with cracks, its integrity failing with each passing moment. It wouldn't be long before it completely collapsed, allowing the duo to escape and reveal the truth about Arthur.

Throughout the battle, he had only managed to disarm his adversaries momentarily before they retrieved their weapons and charged back into combat.

Healing techniques had kept him alive, but they only staved off the inevitable; damage still accumulated grotesquely across his body.

That was what made fighting reanimated corpses so difficult: they could regenerate any wound and had unlimited chakra.

Arthur hadn't once activated Sage Mode, insisting to himself that he must grow stronger without relying on it. It was a bold but reckless philosophy, one he started to question as his breath came in ragged gasps.

"Looks like it's almost over," Shikamaru remarked as his gaze settled on Arthur. "You're finally down for the count."

Arthur, however, only shut his eyes in exhaustion.

"Is that right?" he scoffed, breaking through his fatigue.

As he drew his hand into his pouch, Shikamaru's instincts roared.

"Shadow impersonation jutsu!"

Two shadow-like creatures materialized, charging toward Arthur—another one of his game techniques.

Just as they raced forward, Ino, who had grown accustomed to her weapon, swung the Leaf Fan with ferocity, sending forth a bluster of wind mixed with flames, creating a swirling tornado of destruction aimed directly at him.

Those two were honestly not his concerns; it was the three next to them.

Zabuza, Tatewaki, and Mangetsu sprang into action, strategically positioning themselves to corner Arthur no matter which way he chose to dash.

It was a culmination of their talents, a final act to take him down once and for all.

But he remained unfazed, his hand still digging into the pouch. Just as the attacks met their peak, he popped a red pill into his mouth.

Shikamaru, seeing this, exclaimed with shocked eyes, "No way! Is that what I think it is?"

That pill was recognized—the very same one their former teammate Chōji had shown them.

Before he could warn anyone, the barrier shattered completely, exploding outward. Then their attack rattled the very ground beneath them, sending tremors through the area.

What happened next was a spectacle of destruction that could hardly be described in words.

Some time later.

Asuma Sarutobi cautiously peered around a dense tree.

The sight that met him was alarming; a once vibrant patch of land now lay desecrated. Trees looked as if they had been torn from their roots, strewn across the ground, their branches snapped and twisted.

"What the heck happened here?" he muttered to himself, trying to piece together the confusion.

He scanned the area with a wary gaze, noting the signs of what could only have been an extreme struggle.

The corpses of burned foliage lay scattered like remnants of a graveyard; there was no doubt a battle had raged here, yet strangely absent were any tools of the shinobi's craft. No shuriken, no kunai—nothing.

As he searched the remnants of destruction with furrowed brows, something caught his attention in the dirt. He knelt down, brushing away the ashes and debris to reveal a pattern inscribed in the earth—words in kanji: "ISC Yagura."

He frowned, puzzled, but made a mental note to include it in his report. It was too curious to overlook and ultimately inconclusive in indicating what had truly happened here.

Unable to find further insight, he rose and decided to depart. Whatever happened here left a grave feeling of ambiguity in his gut.

Meanwhile, far from that disparaging scene, Arthur sat serenely at the bottom of a tall tree, his posture relaxed against the rough bark.

The new light of morning gently bathed him, illuminating the marks, bruises, and scratches that covered his body. Blood trickled from his lips, staining the grass below him, yet he appeared almost tranquil, as if he had been granted respite.

A curious white rabbit hopped toward him, its nose twitching as it approached the motionless figure. It nuzzled against Arthur's leg, seeking warmth or perhaps simply using him as shelter from the sudden chill of the morning air.

Moments later, a bird flitted down to land on his shoulder, adding to the tableau.

With a slow blink, Arthur opened his eyes, catching sight of the small creatures around him. But exhaustion pulled him back down, and he closed his eyes again.

His thoughts drifted, reminding him of who he is: 'For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass; the grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away… But the word of the Lord endureth for ever.'

In that moment, he fell into a deep sleep.

Night eventually appeared over the clearing where he had been. As awareness crept back in, he lay still, barely opening his eyes.

There was a crackle of leaves nearby, the subtle sound of footsteps. Not long after, two children came to his location.

"Is he dead?" one of the boys whispered.

"No way!" the other replied. "He can't be; his face isn't pale enough!"

Arthur remained still. How long had he slept? The creatures that had been there before had already vanished, not allowing him to gauge the time.

The two boys debated among themselves.

"I promise he looks older than me," the first one exclaimed, trying to determine Arthur's age. "Maybe he's like a hundred!"

"No!" countered the second boy. "I think he's more like eighteen. I mean, look at how strong he is!"

On Earth, Arthur might have been watching these children play. Perhaps he would have even been something akin to their older brother.

"I'll poke him with a stick to see if he's dead," declared the first boy.

A stick? Sometimes a child's curiosity often got the best of them.

Arthur's blood went cold as he waited in silence.

When the boy returned, he brandished a thin branch like a sword.

"Maybe we should go tell an adult about this," the second boy pleaded.

"What?!" the first rejected. "Come on, quit being such a baby!"

Then the boy knelt down, stick poised above Arthur's shoulder. Just as it was about to make contact, the Long Blade flashed, claiming its quarry—piercing through the boy's heart before he could even comprehend the danger.

Arthur's gaze remained still as he held the hilt of his weapon without so much as batting an eye.

The second boy reeled back, eyes wide with terror as he witnessed the unfathomable transformation of the world around him.

"A-ah!" he stammered, stumbling as he struggled to comprehend the tragic scene. "Mommy!"

Panic arose as he turned to flee, sprinting away in terror.

But his escape was cut short.

A loop of wires, long and thin, sprang from the underbrush, ensnaring his neck like vines.

The boy struggled against the suffocating embrace. He gasped, hands clawing at the wires. His cries filled the night, desperate and helpless, "Someone help!"—a last wail for salvation.

Then the wires constricted tighter and tighter until the boy's neck was sliced and his head fell away, rolling on the ground.

Arthur's footsteps crunched softly on the ground as he approached the body sprawled beneath the moonlight. He lingered on the grotesque scene.

It was inevitable in a world of survival.

Had they simply minded their own business and not approached him, they could have lived much longer.

Arthur, who might have been a tad dazed after waking, was not willing for anyone to see his face. No, not after the many mistakes he'd already made in the past.

After finally regaining some semblance of his mental faculties, he looked down at his palms, noting the dried, cracked remnants of his own blood from earlier.

He could not have been out for more than a few days. And he was full of exhaustion, pain, and the urge to continue surviving—the main thought that demanded attention.

The remnants of his battle with Shikamaru, Ino, and the others could have spelled his end had he not pushed through with every ounce of will he possessed.

What separated him from others was that he was not naïve enough to believe that he could let his guard down, and he always came prepared.

That last trial he endured was no laughing matter. The red pill—something he had consumed. He knew all too well the effects it could have on the body: it could amplify strength, but the side effects could be fatal.

The only reason he was still breathing was that his cells had fought back against the substance, albeit at a steep cost. His body ached just about everywhere, but he had successfully restored enough chakra to be able to defend himself while he was in a comatose state.

Taking down a couple of innocent kids had only served to reinforce a morbid truth—he had evolved once more yet remained dangerously close to the edge of ruin.

He released his grip on the Long Blade. The weapon dematerialized, disappearing back into the scroll from which he summoned it.

It was time to contemplate his next move.

The sensation of his chakra still replenishing swirled within him while his mind scanned the world. He began to assess the state of various locations, using the flying raijin marks to check in on familiar places across the land.

The Sound Village was calm, well-contained in its darkness. The Leaf Village also bore no immediate threats; peace prevailed there for now.

However, it was the Water Country that caught his attention.

Instinctively, he dove deeper into that distant location, defining the restlessness of its citizens. There, a stirring had begun; whispers and talks for their beloved feudal lord—John Belfort—emerged amongst the masses.

Arthur knew then what had to be done.

'Transformation jutsu…'

After configuring himself to that of John Belfort and masking his chakra, he vanished in a blink, teleporting to the Water Country.

He arrived on the fringes of the capital, just as the afternoon sun arose.

The guards on duty, weary from the night's watch, looked up at him in astonishment; their expressions went from fatigue to elation as they recognized Arthur.

"It's him!" one guard shouted with disbelief and joy. "It's our beloved feudal lord!"

Arthur would recognize that tone from anywhere. Here was a relatable disconnect, being both Arthur and John. But he could never feel what their fabricated emotions of him deemed incredible in this existence.

Before long, he was ushered into the core of the city. Many citizens gathered around him, eagerly inquiring about a lot. News reporters insisted with their pens and papers to speak first.

"Excuse me, lord Belfort!" a woman's voice announced. "How have you managed to return? What word do you bring from where you've been? And were you always a shinobi?!"

Arthur felt their hopeful, expectant gazes weighing on him. He kept calm throughout, plastering a gentle smile on his face.

"I'm doing well!" he began with confidence. "It's very warming to see each of you. I was fortunate enough to escape, and now that I'm back, you can all rest assured I have no plans on leaving."

Cheers gurgled up from the audience at his comment—a genuine and shared moment.

Encouraged by their enthusiasm, he leaned into the moment, recalling his escape with a touch of humor.

"But you see, I must confess—while I might know how to use some chakra, my true talent lies in running... and believe it when I say that I've had plenty of practice!"

The crowd broke into laughter as if the tension they felt while he was away never happened. It felt surreal yet intoxicating to see their beloved leader, for not many had the chance or opportunity to ever see Arthur. Now that he was here, in person and safe, they relished every moment.