The setting sun illuminated the world with shades of orange and red. Crows cawed everywhere, enjoying a delicious meal graciously provided by foolish humans.
Hundreds, thousands of bodies, broken armor, shattered war bows, spears, swords, and randomly thrown shurikens lay scattered around.
The smell of death permeated the entire place. Crows and birds of prey pecked at the corpses on the battlefield, while those soldiers who survived searched for their companions, brothers, and spouses.
The sound of lamentation and cries of pain could still be heard all over the battlefield.
Amidst this carnage, some children risked their lives trying to steal weapons and armor from the fallen combatants.
"You damn brat! What do you think you're doing with my brother's armor?! Die!"
"No, sir, spare me! Argh!"
In the distance, a child was impaled by a spear from a surviving soldier. His small body dangled limply on the soldier's spear, blood profusely dripping. No one who witnessed the scene made a sound about what happened. It was common, it was the norm.
A few hundred meters away, a fragile-looking child, who seemed to be between 3 and 4 years old, was also collecting equipment.
But, unlike the others, his focus was on kunais and shurikens. His skin was pale as if he had never seen the sun, with deep blue eyes like the depths of the ocean.
His hair, illuminated by the sunset, looked like glowing embers flowing down to his waist, making his appearance seem tragic amidst the field of death in which he found himself.
Engetsu Getsuya, he was currently 5 years old, and he was not origin
ally from this world.
*****
Five years, that's the amount of time I've lived in this world. And in five years, the happy moments I've had can be counted on one hand.
Pain and suffering seem to be the norm in this world. As soon as I was reborn, I cried and screamed like the newborn I was.
The sensory overload, the sounds, using my eyes, and the cold touch of the wind on my skin made me realize that I had been reborn.
The surprise I felt when I realized the world I was in was only surpassed by the disappointment.
I mean, after a year of adapting to a new life, imagine my surprise when I saw the damned Uchiha clan on a battlefield where my clan, the Engetsu clan, was fighting.
The worst part? I barely remember anything about Naruto! I watched this anime during my teenage years for God's sake! And while I was watching Naruto, I was also watching One Piece! I'm sure One Piece had sailors and strange fruits, Naruto was the ninja dressed in orange who had hundreds of clones. Other than that, I wasn't sure about much.
I don't know where one ends and the other begins. But at least I know the basics. I know about Kaguya, Orochimaru, Madara, and that Naruto has a fox demon inside him.
Any other detail is incredibly hard to remember. Don't blame me, I was already dying of cancer in those days. Between chemotherapy and the thoughts that I was dying, my mind had little space to process and seriously think about an anime I watched to pass the time.
"Getsuya! If you take too long, Jiji will beat you again!"
"Hai!"
Another older child, I can't remember his name. Something like Dacho, I think. If someone saw me now, they would wonder why I, who belong to a clan that fought against the Uchiha clan and survived, am scavenging the dead, something that in any religion or civilization would be morally reprehensible.
Well, that's the sad part of all this. Shortly after a massive war, my clan had to flee, as rumors said that the Senju clan was hired to pursue us.
The Engetsu clan hated the Senju with all their being. The clan elders said that the Senju and we were once one, hundreds of years ago, but we separated on not-so-friendly terms.
That's why, just like the Senju, we have vast chakra reserves, faster regeneration, and resilient bodies.
While our clan was fleeing, we had the great misfortune of encountering a tailed beast. I don't know which one it was, whether it was the fox or the one Gaara had in the Chuunin exams, I just know we were massacred.
Of the entire clan, with several hundred members, only two people were left, me and a grumpy old man.
He survived by being so drunk that he fell off the cart hours before the attack, and I survived by using the bodies of those who died before me.
Why the hell did I have to come to a world like this?!
If I could choose, I would like to be reborn in the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Living in any of the nations there would be better than living in constant fear here.
"I got five spears, Daichi! You lost!"
"Nonsense! Everyone knows that armor like these two I got is much rarer than those spears you got!"
"Blegh! And you, Getsuya, what did you get?"
"Shurikens and kunais."
The four children accompanying me back to the camp looked at me with pity.
"Getsuya, Bulura-sama already said you should focus on more expensive weapons. Jiji isn't at the camp today, there's no way you'll escape a beating!"
The camp, as we call it, is a place where scum and misfits gather and do their things. There are widowed women who sell their bodies, lazy men who make a living by scamming here and there. Warriors who refused to die with their lords and shinobi without honor or without a clan. Mix all that and the malice in the human heart, and you'll see a clear picture of the camp.
Children too young to go to the battlefield, who are orphans like us, must search battlefields for shinobi equipment or weapons. The risk is if an army is still around, or if the acquaintances of the corpse see you not letting the body rest even after death.
In both cases, dying is the greatest mercy you can ask for. There is no benevolence in a world where 6 or 7-year-old children are soldiers and shinobi with blood on their hands.
To these soldiers or shinobi, we are enemies, and one should have no mercy for the enemy.
We continued our way for the next few hours, until we finally saw a disorganized mess of tents in the distance, with loud music and drunken men and laughing women.
Children ran here and there, stealing food from tables, fighting for scraps with dogs and cats, while brutish, drunken men recounted their "incredible feats" on today's battlefield.
Sometimes I wonder: do they really think anyone will believe these lies? Obviously, they just went out to rob some unlucky traveler.
"Ah, the children are back! Hurry boys, Bulura-san is particularly annoyed! Some clan's shinobi came to get their things and caused a lot of trouble!"
A woman who looked to be in her 30s said kindly as we passed by. I could only sigh at what she said. Bulura, as the lord of this camp is called, is a man in his 50s, who was once a shinobi, but lost everything, and no one knows how.
He set up this camp, where he provides a certain level of security against small clans and bandits, but everyone has to contribute in some way. Everyone brings money, regardless of how they get it. And we, the orphans, give Bulura the weapons we find on battlefields in exchange for food and shelter.
I was heading to Bulura, in the main tent, until I stopped and looked at my feet. An old, worn-out sandal, patched more times than I'd like to admit. My feet were dusty, with some cuts still bleeding between my toes and on the soles of my feet. I could hear the children around me stopping, probably looking at me.
"Getsuya-kun, what are you doing? Let's go or Bulura-sama will beat us all!"
The children were probably anxious. Having never seen the outside world, to them, Bulura was a god who should not be opposed.
"You guys can go ahead. I just remembered there's a pair of spears in my tent, I need to fetch them to appease Bulura-sama's wrath."
"Be quick!"
The children ran off soon after, and I just watched. I've been in this camp for a year now. Kura-san, the old man from my clan, said we should stay here until I could use chakra, so that the two of us could rebuild the Engetsu clan.
It took me a while to realize, but now I know it's all a lie. You see, living in a clan in this era is complicated. Each clan is like an army.
Everyone has a schedule to wake up, eat, train, fight, and sleep. Your whole life is for the clan. We are hired to fight other people's wars. Our injuries matter little to the lords of the lands; what they seek are results. Dying in battle is expected, surviving only to fight again the next day.
Kura-san probably, after decades of faithfully serving the Engetsu clan, felt freedom for the first time and doesn't want to return to his old life. He must have seen his own mortality the day we were attacked.
He must have realized that no matter how strong we humans are, there are things out there that can destroy us with the slightest effort.
He really trained me in Taijutsu, Kenjutsu, and Ninjutsu, but having lived a life prior to this one, I can understand his gaze. Kura-san has the same eyes I had before dying of cancer. Dead and empty eyes.
Eyes that just want to see everything the world has to offer as quickly as possible before dying and becoming food for the worms crawling through the world.
If I want to live a decent life, one where I don't have to scavenge bodies on a battlefield, I will need to rely on myself.