Path Of War

The damp chill of the cell seeped into Arthur's bones, but it was nowhere near the cold sensation compared to the ice that gripped his heart.

A muffled conversation could be heard through the bars, the voice of a guard outside.

"They finally found a buyer," the guard rumbled. "Two days, that's what they said. Less work for us, eh?"

A buyer?

Arthur's mind raced. There was only one explanation—they were selling him. Rather than panic, he began to think.

'Two days… I have two days left.'

The situation was far from ideal, but two days wasn't a death sentence. It was enough time, with his newfound understanding of chakra, to learn some basic but crucial techniques.

He was clan-less, meaning that he had an easier time learning support techniques. What was categorized as support were things like buffing, de-buffing, and healing!

Healing techniques were invaluable on the battlefield, allowing ninjas to mend wounds and restore stamina during combat.

One particular technique that he remembered countless ninjas performing, even the lower-ranked ones, was the generic "Healing jutsu."

To execute certain techniques, one is required to first perform hand signs.

Hand signs are hand gestures ninjas use to focus their chakra and unleash their jutsus. Each jutsus requires a specific sequence of hand signs, and memorizing these sequences is crucial.

Skilled ninjas can use fewer or even one hand sign for the same jutsu, showing their control. Hand signs also reveal the type of jutsu under preparation, providing a tactical advantage. Some rare ninjas could even perform signs with another person's hand as a substitute.

There are also some exceptions where ninjas don't use hand signs at all, especially for techniques focused on speed.

Arthur closed his eyes, remembering one such sequence for the basic healing technique. It wasn't complex, but it required precise control of chakra flow. He brought his hands together, forming a specific sign—the right hand horizontally interlocking with the left hand vertical; ox.

Focusing all his energy on the tingling warmth in his core, he could visually see chakra flowing through his arms and converging at his fingertips.

It was a delicate procedure, a constant push and pull between channeling enough chakra to be effective and maintaining control to avoid a burst.

Sweat beaded on his brow as the strain intensified. Without a moment's notice, the feeling ceased, and he failed.

He had felt his initial burst of chakra dwindling until the fatigue set in.

But he wouldn't give up; he couldn't. Not here, not ever.

Repeating the signs, his movements were smoother this time, he channeled his chakra again.

A slight tingle spread from his palms.

Feeling the flow and directing it where it needed to be, he opened his eyes and saw a faint, cerulean glow in his hands.

He had done it. He had performed a rudimentary healing technique!

Given his predicament, the excitement was short-lived. Yes, performing a jutsu on one's second attempt was a congratulatory feat, but this was just baby steps. He still had a long way to go.

Two days were given to learn as much as possible, to hone his control, and to build a small arsenal of techniques. He gave a low growl, feeling no longer afraid.

The initial burst of exertion, followed by the struggle to control his fledgling chakra, left him drained. His limbs felt like lead weights, and his eyelids drooped with heaviness.

Resigned, he settled back on the cold stone floor, the ever-present dampness, and the foul stench of his own waste.

To recover one's chakra naturally, he needed to rest.

Hours passed by.

There were no windows in this cell, so he had no way of gauging the passage of time. But his body kept a silent record.

The throbbing ache in his muscles gradually subsided, replaced by throbs.

He knew, with certainty, that his chakra was slowly replenishing.

When he felt like he could handle the strain again, he slowly sat up and performed the healing technique.

Relief flooded his senses as he pressed his glowing palms against his wounds.

It wasn't just the dull ache that receded; he could feel, with an almost absurd clarity, the very cells in his body responding. Damaged tissue knitted itself back together, torn ligaments mended at an accelerated rate—all propelled by an invisible force.

The dried blood in his mouth finally vanished. Even the pervasive stench of his confinement seemed to lose its edge.

For the first time, he felt a sense of control amidst this evil world. But caution tempered his optimism.

Nothing was worth celebrating.

Completely healing his wounds would attract suspicion, drawing the attention of his captors. He needed to remain under the radar as much as possible to appear weak while growing stronger in his cell.

With a thought, he limited the flow of chakra, allowing the healing to reach a point of functionality rather than complete restoration.

By the time he finished, he left himself with a few minor scratches, not enough to raise any alarms.

Arthur had tasted the power of healing; now he craved something on the offensive end, something not related to jutsus—a solid foundation.

How he was able to get away with killing a Leaf ninja was because of taijutsu. That ninja's taijutsu was strong, but it wasn't compared to the bandits'.

Taijutsu is a martial art that involves using one's natural physical abilities in combat. Unlike other fighting styles, it required no hand signs and focused on the ninja's physical strength and stamina.

That made taijutsu a quick and efficient way to fight, though some techniques can be enhanced with chakra.

While most ninjas use taijutsu, a select few like Rock Lee specialize in this style, perfecting powerful moves like the "Dynamic Entry" and the "Leaf Whirlwind" techniques.

Ninjas who were good at taijutsu could move faster than sound or leave behind afterimages. That kind of raw power, that kind of speed—that's what Arthur needed.

Throwing himself onto the cold stone floor without rattling the chains, he began a grueling series of push-ups.

Each repetition was a battle cry against his circumstances, a defiant push against the limitations of this cell.

Sweat slicked his skin, and the stale air became heavier.

'One hundred one, one hundred two, one hundred three…'

His muscle fibers tore, begging for respite. But he ignored them, fueled by a burning desire to break free.

By the time he reached three hundred fifty, his vision had blurred slightly. Finally, his arms gave way, collapsing with a heavy thud.

He lay there gasping, his lungs burning, and his chest heaving up and down. He then gritted his teeth at how weak he was. Yes, three hundred fifty push-ups for a twelve-year-old body were very impressive, but it was nothing in this world.

Characters like Might Guy, Rock Lee's teacher, was able to do over seven hundred before feeling exhausted.

But there was something Arthur had that they neglected to use: a healing technique!

With trembling hands, he formed the familiar hand sign and began mending his muscles. The fibers rebuilt themselves, growing denser and becoming more efficient.

He felt an electric-like sensation as his cells went into overdrive. It was painful at first, but with each passing moment, he was pushing his body beyond its natural limits, refueling his aching muscles to return to training.

Now that he was fully healed, squats came next.

He pushed himself again, each repetition more perfect than the last.

'Six hundred.'

Not bad, but far from exceptional. The elite ninjas he'd seen could have easily doubled that number.

He healed himself again and began doing sit-ups, the cold stone floor biting into his lower back with each crunch.

'Two-hundred fifty…'

Exhaustion threatened to pull him under, but he used the healing technique again.

Tentatively, he flexed his arms. The response was immediate—strength that surprised even him.

He felt lighter; his body was more compact and responsive.

He couldn't be sure by how much, but the difference was undeniable.

Arthur had just done something that most ninjas couldn't—pushed his body beyond its limits and then used a healing technique to not just repair but also enhance.

Not a hint of happiness was seen in his expression. He was merely content to know how much this virtual world had underestimated him again.

They had thrown him in a cell, hoping to break his spirit. Instead, they had given him a training ground that would forge him into the villain this world wouldn't expect.

Arthur returned to his exercise.

After several more sets, he had to stop. His chakra had finally depleted.

This strategy of growing was impeccable, to say the least, having never been done by anyone, but it did have its flaws.

With no chakra to refuel his muscles, he had no choice but to rest.

Some time later.

Now renewed, he placed critical attention on learning a new technique—the "Substitution jutsu."

It was a simple technique, one that allowed a ninja to instantly replace themselves with another object during an attack.

Perhaps not flashy, but in the right hands, it would be incredibly effective. Perfect for a beginner like himself.

Visualization was one of the keys to performing a technique. So he closed his eyes and pictured the hand signs from memory.

There were five of them, a quick sequence that went from tiger to snake.

It wasn't at all hard to remember since each of the hand signs correlated with the Chinese zodiac. And Arthur knew them all by heart!

Muscles warmed up, mind focused, he began. Tiger, boar, ox, dog, and finally, snake.

His fingers danced across the air, each movement precise and deliberate. With the final hand sign, the chakra was ready to be channeled.

Now came the test.

He focused on the nearest thing he could link to: his chain. Connection made, he inflicted pain on himself.

There was a momentary distortion, a quick darkness, and then silence.

He opened his eyes, triumph coursing through him. It had worked!

He had successfully executed the Substitution jutsu. With it, he could dodge attacks, create openings, and, most importantly, escape.

But as he basked in the afterglow of his success, something dawned on him. He was no longer bound by the chains. The Substitution jutsu had replaced him with a chain link, leaving him unbound in the center of the cell.

He was free, but this isn't what he wanted. If a guard happened to glance in, they'd find him loose—an escape attempt. The punishment for such an offense would be swift and brutal.

And there was a bigger problem: he couldn't reverse the jutsu.

The chains also had locks on them. Even slipping back into them would be impossible.

Cold sweat prickled his skin, but he remained calm. Panic wouldn't help him now.

Based on his body's circadian rhythm, he estimated he had roughly eight hours before the guard's next visit. Eight hours. Not ideal, but enough time to potentially rectify his situation.

Instead of returning to the chains, he decided to use this slight freedom to his advantage.

Hours passed by.

He exercised, healing himself constantly, until his chakra was low. If it wasn't for chakra, he wouldn't have had the stamina to train due to a lack of food. His mind wouldn't give heed to his body.

Finally, a distant clang echoed through the corridor, interrupting his meditation. The guard.

Arthur retained his position, slumping against the wall, his arms and legs strategically crossed over the chains.

"Water…" he said in a gruff voice.

He kept his eyes closed, feigning a deeper state of exhaustion than he actually felt.

A rough hand slammed a glass of water and a morsel of bread beside him. With a tone filled with cruel amusement, the guard said, "Tomorrow you'll be on your way to the Earth Country."

Arthur hadn't expected that.

Naruto's world operates on a system reminiscent of feudal Japan. Here, power is everything, and countries maintain a precarious balance through military might.

Treaties are temporary at best, constantly threatened by the ever-present possibility of war. And each nation is ruled by a "Daimyo" (or feudal lord in English), a monarch who holds ultimate political authority.

Among these countries, five stand out for their immense power and influence: the Land of Fire, the Land of Wind, the Land of Earth, the Land of Mist, and the Land of Lightning.

These "Five Great Shinobi Countries" are each home to a "Hidden Village," a community dedicated to training and deploying highly skilled ninjas.

These same ninjas act as military muscle for their respective countries, serving under the leadership of the village head while ultimately answering to the feudal lord.

From what Arthur remembered, his role as clan-less never stated where he would start.

If he were in the Land of Fire, the most prominent nation in the world, housing all the protagonists, he would have no thoughts of leaving it yet.

Mustering a weak voice, he rasped, "Where am I now?"

The guard let out a chuckle, saying, "Still in the Fire Country, slave. Didn't think they'd send you across the border, but kids like you are worth the investment."

There was a loud slick as the guard spat on the floor and closed the door. Arthur lay there, content with many things.

He had made a mistake, a reckless one, but he had managed to salvage the situation.

With more than eight hours to train and hone his control, he would continue to use his setback as a stepping stone.

'Tomorrow is another day. And tomorrow, I'll be stronger.'

With predatory eyes, he pushed himself off the floor and slowly got into a handstand. What made it so impressive was that he was balancing on just two fingers!

He began a series of push-ups, the blood rushing to his head. Every repetition, every second, was an opportunity to build his strength, refine his control, and refine himself.

After some time, he collapsed onto the floor, covered in his own sweat.

He had only been training for about two days, but because of his recover and repeat method, he'd managed to turn those two days into a two-week training session, pushing his body and chakra control further than he thought possible.

Now, however, exhaustion has set in again. His core signaled his depleted chakra reserves.

As he lay there, his mind drifted to the other players trapped in this world. They had to have been here. Otherwise, the character selection slots wouldn't have been filled.

Were they imprisoned like him? Suffering under the same oppressive regime?

Empathy pricked his conscience. He might have envisioned himself as the villain, but his heart, shaped by his faith, still valued real people's lives.

The teachings of his Christian upbringing hadn't at all clashed with his new persona. What he considered was whether the others felt the same. Perhaps he could liberate them, forge an alliance, and escape this cruel game.

But one thing remained certain—he wouldn't be a pawn for anyone. He would be a player who would challenge any opposition that threatened to harm his existence. His actions, whatever they may be, will only be judged by God.

Arthur pushed the disquieting thoughts about the other players to the back of his mind. He focused on another mystery: why he was here.

Dr. Kapoor's assurances about a "low pain threshold" were a cruel joke. This was real, raw, agonizing pain that was not even mentioned in the documents he signed.

There were no neatly displayed stats—no helpful tutorial prompts to guide him. He was adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Did Dr. Kapoor lie about death being real? Maybe it was a test, a way to prod him into playing their game seriously.

That was far from the truth.

A surge of anger coursed through him. They'd tricked him, manipulated him with promises of a harmless virtual experience. Now he was trapped as their guinea pig, his body a mere plaything for their twisted plot.

The anger quickly subsided into something colder, sharper—a thirst for revenge.

They had taken his freedom and subjected him to unimaginable pain, all in the name of science.

He gritted his teeth at the thought. They would pay for this. When he would escape, Dr. Kapoor, or whoever else was behind it all, would all feel his fury.

Arthur's eyes snapped open, gleaming with a newfound resolve. This wasn't just about conquering a virtual world anymore; this was about payback.

The villain in the making was ready to collect his dues.