Chapter 3
The battlefield was a spectacle of controlled chaos. Explosions painted the night sky with violent orange streaks, and the ground trembled beneath the weight of collapsing fortifications. Hidden among the shadows, the mastermind behind it all observed in silence.
Hikaru stood atop a ruined watchtower, his form concealed beneath a dark cloak. His presence was a ghostly whisper in a war where names were forgotten, and only results mattered. Below, factions clashed—Shinobi of the Land of Earth against mercenaries armed with weapons they barely understood. He hadn't given them power—only the illusion of control.
A detonation rang out, followed by screams. The gas had begun its work. A colorless, odorless agent spread through the battlefield, seeping into the lungs of those who dared to breathe. Panic set in. Those who had inhaled too much fell, convulsing violently. Others clawed at their own throats, their hands shaking as their vision blurred.
Hikaru narrowed his eyes. Too quick. The effect needs to be slower next time.
A squad of Iwa-nin formed hand seals, attempting to disperse the mist with wind-style jutsu. He allowed himself a smirk. Predictable. His inventions accounted for this. A secondary reaction triggered—the mist thickened upon contact with high-speed air movement, transforming into a dense, corrosive fog. The very shinobi who sought to dispel it now found their skin burning from exposure.
On the far side of the battlefield, a group of rogue samurai moved cautiously, watching the chaos unfold. They had remained still, waiting to see who would emerge victorious. Hikaru's eyes flicked toward them. Time to remind them why hesitation means death.
A subtle press of a concealed trigger sent a pre-set mechanism into motion. Below, an innocuous crate exploded, sending thousands of tiny metal shards flying at high velocity. The samurai's armor, crafted to resist blades, proved useless against the storm of piercing projectiles. They collapsed one by one, their bodies riddled with wounds they never saw coming.
From the ruins, a man emerged—a commander, shouting orders to rally what remained of his forces. His voice carried authority, even in the face of annihilation. Hikaru's gaze lingered on him for a moment. A leader in the midst of panic? Interesting.
Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small cylindrical device. He twisted the top and let it drop.
A sharp hiss followed. The commander and his men barely had time to react before the ground beneath them erupted in flames. The explosion wasn't large, but it was precise—designed to incinerate a single group without disrupting the battlefield too much. When the fire died down, only charred remains stood.
Hikaru exhaled slowly. Test complete.
Turning away from the battlefield, he activated the communication device in his ear. A voice responded immediately.
"It's done?"
Hikaru's voice was calm. "Results are satisfactory. Begin phase two."
There was a pause before the reply came. "Understood. And the survivors?"
Hikaru's gaze flicked back toward the battlefield, where scattered warriors struggled to regain control. He closed his eyes briefly before answering.
"They'll tell the tale of a war fought with ghosts. Let them spread fear."
With that, he disappeared into the night.