Chapter 44: camp of horrors

The morning broke under a dull, gray sky. Rain still hung heavy in the air, but it had slowed to a fine mist that clung to everything. Not ideal, but better than the downpour from the night before.

We were already on the move.

Koji led the way, crouched low, his fingers brushing the damp undergrowth. Kuro moved beside him, his movements fluid, nose close to the ground, tail alert and still. I followed from a short distance, Byakugan active, scanning the forest ahead. Arata and Haruto fanned out behind us in a staggered line, covering the flanks in silence.

"Trail's getting cold," Koji murmured without turning. "Rain is washing scent away, but we can still follow it."

His voice was tight with focus, no wasted words.

"I see it," I replied. My eyes scanned the ground, barely able to make out faint traces of footprints, but unless I knew they were there, I wouldn't have found them; rain was ruining them.

Still, it was enough to help us find the direction.

"So they came from here," Haruto muttered behind me. "Question is—what did they leave behind?"

We continued to move slowly and carefully, Koji and Kuro sniffing around for traps, with me scanning for them further out.

We ran for hours, slowly making our way forward, and slowly the terrain began to change. We were clearly entering another part of the Land of Rivers. And with that came another change.

Traps, and many of them, started to appear.

We didn't find just one or two traps. We found dozens.

First, it was a simple tripwire—barely visible, strung low across the undergrowth, with a single tag buried beneath a rock. Not a killing trap. An alarm. That alone told us plenty.

"Perimeter marker," Koji confirmed. "Wind blew the scent off, but it's laced with resin. Old hunter's trick. Marking their own territory."

Surprisingly, I couldn't see the tag. I mean, I could see it, but no chakra. "I can't detect chakra from the tag."

Koji and Haruto looked closer at the tag, careful but curious.

Kuro sniffed the tag and quickly backed up, letting out sounds of complaint.

"Kuro says it smells," he translated and smelled it himself. "It does, I think it's a scent packet."

Haruto narrowed his eyes. "So not chakra-based. Just chemical. That's smart. Triggers when broken and releases scent—probably something strong, maybe even species-specific."

"Animals would avoid it, humans wouldn't notice," I said. "And if someone does break it, they'll smell it downwind."

"And even if we clean it up, it's impossible to hide the fact that the trap was tripped." I added.

We all understood the purpose of the trap; it was just to see if someone had been here, as Koji said, they were marking their territory, and tracking if someone moved through it.

"Alright, we leave it be, but be alert, Koji. This is on you. Keep us from tripping any traps, deadly or otherwise. I don't want them to know we've been here."

Koji gave a sharp nod. "Stay close to Kuro and me. Step where I step. If I veer off-path, follow."

We advanced inch by inch.

Over the next few hours, we found more traps like the first one, and soon enough, we found far more dangerous traps, no longer just for detection, but for killing.

Over the next few hours, the nature of the traps changed.

At first, it was subtle—strands of hairline thread tied between branches, too thin to see with the naked eye, even for me unless I was actively sweeping. Some carried faint residues of powder. Harmless on their own, unless you broke them and released what they carried.

Then it got worse.

"Stop," Koji whispered suddenly.

We froze.

Kuro's nose twitched, his fur raised. Koji pointed to a pair of trees just ahead—nothing between them at first glance. But then I saw it. A thread. No—a wire.

Taut, stretched across the path at shin height. Black-coated steel, glinting only when my Byakugan hit it from the right angle. No chakra signature. Just metal. Pure and quiet.

Then I noticed the sheen along the edge.

"Poison," I muttered. "Laced all along the wire. And sharp enough to sever a limb."

Haruto's eyes narrowed. "Not a snare. A cutter. You walk through that, you won't know you've been hit until you bleed out."

Koji crouched and motioned for us to follow his steps. "They've gone from territorial to lethal. This is the edge of something serious."

As we moved deeper, we encountered more of the same.

Wires strung at neck height, others coiled into spring-loaded mechanisms tied to saplings—deadly pendulums of hooked steel that would arc out in a horizontal slash if triggered. Some were disguised under leaves, others hidden in patches of moss. All were silent. All were meant to kill.

"They're not protecting the approach," Arata said. "They're funneling us—forcing any intruder into a specific route."

"Which means we're close," I said. "They want to control how enemies enter. Which means the base is nearby."

Koji stopped again, sniffing the air.

Kuro let out a low growl.

Koji's voice was barely audible. "Burnt lacquer. Glue. Oil."

I activated my Byakugan again and scanned the slope ahead.

It was still a few kilometers away, and barely in the range of my vision, but I could see it now, chakra signatures, those belonging to shinobi. "Got visual, still about two clicks out, Koji, see if you can get us closer, but be careful, I don't want a fight, already now I can see more than two dozen."

Koji didn't answer, just gave a single nod and dropped into a near-crawl, hands brushing the moss and loam like he was feeling the pulse of the earth itself. Kuro followed beside him, a black shadow in the underbrush, every muscle tense with silent purpose.

We moved in absolute silence.

At times, he would stop, look around, and then lead us along sideways, before climbing trees and guiding us up and down as we slowly made our way closer, slipping between what was a deadly net of traps.

I kept my Byakugan active, scanning ahead and wide—marking chakra signatures, counting sentries, spotting patrols as they moved in regular, calculated patterns. They were organized. Not sloppy. Not stretched thin.

This wasn't just a field camp. This was a forward base.

After another fifteen minutes of this slow crawl, I raised a fist—halt.

"Stop here," I whispered. "I'm seeing more movement. A lot more."

I shifted my focus forward and strengthened my Byakugan's reach.

The terrain dipped into a shallow basin ahead. Through layers of mist and forest, I could see it now—tents, pavilions, reinforced wooden structures, even a crude palisade wall at the northern edge. Dozens of chakra signatures flickered in my vision—no, not dozens. Hundreds.

My breath caught. "Koji… hold position. We're close enough."

He froze, posture taut. "How close?"

"Just under a kilometer. Any closer and we risk triggering something. There are traps strung in grid lines around the camp—funneling everything toward one controlled route."

I turned slightly, keeping my eyes forward as I spoke. "We've found a proper forward base. I'm counting somewhere between two hundred and three hundred chakra signatures. Guard rotations, mess tents, central command posts. This is more than just a patrol hub. This is a war camp."

Haruto's face hardened. "Too big to hit. Too dangerous to approach blind."

"Exactly," I said. "We can't go in. Not like this."

I dropped to a knee and unrolled a blank scroll from my pouch, setting it on a dry patch of bark. "I'll draw it. You can't see it, but I can. I'll map out the layout as best I can from here."

Koji, Haruto, and Arata gathered around as I began sketching—quick, precise strokes detailing what I saw.

"Here's the western perimeter—stacked defenses and heavier chakra presence. Probably the armory or main guard post. These rectangles here are bunk rows, about forty to fifty to a row. The central pavilion has five elite signatures clustered inside—likely commanders. There's also a storage depot dug into the north slope—large chakra readings, probably supplies or sealed weapons."

Haruto whistled under his breath. "We couldn't hit that with ten squads."

Koji frowned. "But we could bleed them. Hit the edges. Supplies. Patrols."

"Maybe," I murmured. "But not yet. First, we learn everything. Routes, routines, weak points. This map is step one."

And as the drizzle thickened into rain once more, we crouched beneath our cover, a kilometer from death, while I kept drawing. Eyes forward, mind racing.

Reconnaissance wasn't glamorous.

No flashy battles. No dramatic victories. Just waiting. Watching. Freezing.

After confirming the enemy forward base—two hundred, maybe three hundred shinobi stationed inside—we knew we couldn't just strike. Not without support. Not without knowing more.

So we did what shinobi were built for.

We disappeared into the trees.

We maintained our position, just over a kilometer from the main encampment, tucked into the slope of a wooded rise.

From there, I had visual contact with the camp's center through the Byakugan, piercing the layers of brush and branches that blocked my teammates' line of sight. Koji and Kuro had marked the air currents and scent flow, tracking patrol lines and paths taken by supply runners.

Haruto set up buried alarm lines—non-chakra based—and Arata handled message sealing and code-logging whenever we collected enough intel to justify a report.

Information about this camp was crucial, and in case we were discovered and had to flee, we each needed an encoded copy of the information, so that even if we were killed, it could be hidden somewhere and potentially found.

We didn't speak aloud again after that first setup. Only the barest of hand signals. Communication was reduced to gestures, shared looks, and the occasional muttered phrase shielded under muffling jutsu.

We dug in. And the wait began.

Day two

Rain. Again. Light enough to ignore, heavy enough to soak everything by nightfall. I kept the Byakugan active in bursts, scanning the patrol lines. They rotated every six hours.

Six-man squads. No deviation. Koji's notes confirmed scent layering on the outer patrol ring. Someone knew their Inuzuka counter-measures. We recorded it all.

Day three

The cold crept into everything. I hadn't felt my toes in twelve hours. My hair was a mess, too much time spent pressed against the ground, hiding under leaves. My entire body was covered in mud, and worse yet, to keep movements to a minimum, answering nature's call was done on the spot.

Day five

One of the Suna squads didn't come back on time. A replacement patrol was sent out, double strength. We logged it. Next, I noted a supply cart arriving late in the evening, escorted by ten shinobi. Would have missed it if not for Kuro nudging me. Since the rest couldn't see the camp, I had to stay awake as much as possible, sleeping only in short bursts.

Day seven

I caught a glimpse of their means of communication, a chakra relay node. Not strong enough for long-range messaging, but perfect for encoded local traffic. They were receiving messages from somewhere else. Another base? Command post? Koji picked up a new scent that night—gunpowder and vinegar. Explosive prep. Possibly trap-layer teams rotating back in.

Day nine

Everyone was worn down. Combat effectiveness was way down; everyone was cold, barely keeping themselves from shaking. The wetness was a nightmare, but without knowing their sensor situation, it was risky to use too much chakra to stay warm.

Day eleven

They changed formations today. New patrol routes—slightly tighter. More frequent. They were anticipating something. Maybe they sensed something off. Maybe it was a drill. Either way, it made everything harder. We moved further back, so I had to extend my visual range just to catch the squad leaders shifting positions. My eyes ached by the end of the day.

Day fourteen

The mist had returned. A thick, low fog that muffled every movement. It was our worst day. Breathing in the heavy mist felt like breathing water. Kuro sneezed once. And I decided to use the cover of fog to make our escape.

It was getting too dangerous, we were getting weaker, and I needed a shower badly; we all did.

(End of chapter)

Here it is, the horrors of being a shinobi. Not everything is nice and easy; it's a soldier, and they have it hard. Naruto and his team had it nice, but most shinobi have to suffer.

Its very much a profession of staying still for a week, just to get one chance to strike.

And very much like a real life sniper, having to stay unmoving for ours, gotta go? You just go, can't move, can't look away, yeah, its not pretty.