Chapter 20 | In Naruto With An Achievement System

Chapter 20

The forest floor was quiet again, save for the rhythmic thud of our sandals hitting tree branches. We had left the bodies of the Iwa-nin behind, leaving them to the carrion birds and the rot.

Orochimaru was no longer trailing us from the shadows. He had moved to the front of the formation, setting a brisk pace that forced us to focus just to keep up.

I glanced around as we moved. The terrain was changing subtly. The massive forests of the Land of Fire were giving way to towering bamboo thickets and trees strangled by thick, parasitic vines. The air felt heavier here, humid and smelling of wet decay.

We had crossed a small, unmarked stream a mile back. It wasn't much to look at, just water cutting through rock, but the weight of it settled in my gut.

We were in the Land of Grass.

For the first time since my reincarnation, I was officially outside the borders of the Land of Fire. There were no places other than the Forward Operating Base where we could take a moment to rest. We were in a buffer state, a country currently being chewed up and spit out by the war machine of Iwagakure.

"Sensei," I called out, keeping my voice low. "Those Hunter-nin. They weren't just a patrol, were they?"

Orochimaru didn't look back, but his voice drifted clearly to us. "Observation is key, Yuuki-kun. What leads you to that conclusion?"

"Hunter-nin are specialists," I reasoned, adjusting the strap of the supply scroll on my back. "They track deserters or high-value targets. They don't typically set up ambushes on random supply routes unless they're looking for something specific."

"Or looking for a specific location," Asuma added from my left, catching on.

"Precisely," Orochimaru said. "We are nearing the Forward Operating Base. If Iwa has pushed Hunter squads this far south, it means they are sniffing out our logistics. They likely suspect the camp is nearby."

"So we handled their scouts," Anko said, sounding satisfied.

"We handled one squad," Orochimaru corrected. "Where there is one, there are usually more. We must assume the area is compromised."

The tension ratcheted up another notch, unease creeping in with every step. That meant that there could be more enemies ahead, while I wasn't injured per se, I wasn't operating at a 100% either.

We traveled for another twenty minutes, deeper into the dense foliage. The canopy was so thick here that it blocked out the sky, plunging the forest into a perpetual twilight.

Suddenly, a sound cut through the forest ambiance. Not a weapon or a trap, but the heavy, deliberate impact of sandals on wood, closing fast.

"Approaching!" I barked. I tensed up, hand nearing my kunai pouch.

Orochimaru didn't hesitate. He dropped from the branches, signaling us to follow. We landed on the forest floor in a defensive crouch just as four figures dropped from the canopy ahead of us.

They wore Konoha flak jackets, their hitai-ate gleaming in the dim light. Their weapons were drawn, stances tense and ready for violence.

"Halt," the lead Jonin commanded, his kunai held low. "Identify."

Orochimaru stepped forward calmly, his hands visible and away from his weapons pouch. "Konoha Jonin Commander, Orochimaru."

The guard didn't lower his weapon. His eyes narrowed, scanning us. "Verification code."

Orochimaru’s voice was flat, reciting a string of characters that meant nothing to me but clearly held weight for them. "32A568CFGI."

The guard lowered his kunai an inch, but he didn't sheathe it. He glanced at the shinobi behind him, likely a sensor checking for genjutsu. The sensor nodded once, confirming something, but the lead guard still looked wary.

"Code accepted," the guard said, his voice tight. "Prove the identity."

I frowned. He’d just given the code.

Orochimaru didn't seem offended. He lifted his right hand to his mouth and bit down on his thumb. A bead of blood welled up. He went through a few hand-signs.

"Watch closely," he said, more to us than to the guards.

He slammed his hand onto the ground.

"Summoning Jutsu."

There was a puff of white smoke, and a brown snake, roughly the size of a python, appeared at his feet. It hissed, tasting the air, then coiled obediently around Orochimaru’s leg.

The effect on the guards was immediate. Their shoulders dropped, and they sheathed their weapons in unison. The lead Jonin bowed deeply.

"Apologies, Orochimaru-sama. We can't be too careful."

Orochimaru dismissed the snake with a wave of his hand, sending it back in a puff of smoke. He turned to us, his expression instructional.

"Codes can be extracted through torture," he explained, his voice low. "Appearance and voice can be mimicked by henge. Chakra signatures can be faked by skilled infiltrators. But a Summoning Contract is absolute. It is tied to blood and spirit. Only the signer can summon from their scroll. It is the only irrefutable proof of identity in the field."

"What if you don't have a summon?" Anko asked.

"Then the protocol is far more tedious," Orochimaru replied dryly. "More codes, instruction scroll verification, and chakra flares to dispel transformations. We saved twenty minutes."

He turned back to the guard. "We encountered an Iwa Hunter squad three miles south-east. They are dead, but they were sweeping the grid."

The guard cursed under his breath. "We'll double the perimeter patrols and shift the sensory net. Thank you for the intel. You're cleared for approach. The camp is another kilometer in. Follow the marked trees."

Orochimaru nodded. "Let's move."

We left the guards to shift back into their positions and continued deeper into the forest.

The camp didn't look like much from the outside. If I hadn't been looking for it, I would have missed it entirely. It was a ghost town of green canvas tents camouflaged perfectly against the undergrowth.

There were no walls, only barrier tags plastered onto tree trunks in a wide circle. We passed through the barrier, a sensation like walking through a cold spiderweb washing over me.

Inside, the atmosphere was grim.

Dozens of tents were scattered across the uneven ground. Shinobi moved between them with urgent purpose. Some were bandaged, limping or being supported by comrades. I saw a triage tent with its flap open, revealing rows of cots filled with the injured. The smell of antiseptic and old blood hung faintly in the air.

This wasn't the sanitized version of war we learned about in the Academy. This was the logistical heart of the meat grinder.

"Supply depot is that way," Orochimaru said, pointing toward a large central tent. "Deliver the scroll. Then find the mess tent and eat. I have a report to file with the sector commander."

He looked at me, his gaze dropping to my chest where the stone bullets had impacted.

"And Yuuki," he added. "Visit the medical tent. Get those ribs checked properly. I don't want you collapsing later because of internal bleeding." I

"Understood, sensei," I said, suppressing a wince as I breathed too deeply. The damage wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it didn't mean that it still didn't hurt like hell. 

He turned and walked toward the command tent, his white skin stark against the gloom of the forest.

I adjusted the scroll on my back one last time. "Let's get this delivered," I said to Anko and Asuma. "I'm starving."

"Yeah," Anko muttered, looking around at the grim faces of the passing chunin. Her usual energy was dampened by the heavy atmosphere. "Let's get this over with."

We navigated through the mud and organized chaos of the camp until we reached the supply depot. It was the largest tent in the sector, the flaps tied back to reveal a hive of activity. Chunin moved crates marked with what was inside them, sealing them into scrolls, their movements sharp and hurried.

Inside, a harried-looking Jonin sat behind a makeshift desk constructed from stacked supply crates. He didn't look up as we approached, his pen scratching furiously against a clipboard.

"Report," he grunted.

Asuma stepped forward, taking the lead. He pulled the mission scroll from his vest. "Team Orochimaru. Reporting successful delivery of Sector 4 logistics and medical supplies."

The officer’s pen stopped. He looked up, his eyes scanning us with tired scrutiny before landing on the scroll Asuma offered. He took it, breaking the wax seal and scanning the contents quickly.

"Standard delivery," he muttered, then looked at me. "The payload?"

I unslung the heavy storage scroll from my back and set it on the desk with a heavy thud. "Here. Seals are intact. The scroll is a bit scuffed up because of combat," I added.

The officer unfurled the scroll and ran his hand over the paper, channeling a small pulse of chakra to verify the locking mechanism. The kanji on the scroll glowed briefly before settling. He nodded, satisfied.

"Good work," he said, scribbling a signature onto our mission scroll and handing it back to Asuma. "You're dismissed."

"Before we go," I asked, "where are the mess hall and the medical tent?"

He pointed his pen toward the rear of the camp. "Mess hall is the long tent near the eastern perimeter. You'll smell the grease before you see it. Medical is the white tent with the red cross on the flap, just south of here. Don't go there unless you're bleeding or dying, they're busy."

"Understood," I said.

We stepped back out into the humid, gloomy air of the forest. The adrenaline from the fight had completely faded, leaving behind the dull, rhythmic throbbing in my chest where the stone bullets had hit. It was getting harder to ignore.

I looked at Anko and Asuma. They both looked exhausted, the travel and the combat having taken their toll.

"You two go ahead to the mess hall," I said, gesturing in the direction the officer had indicated. "Save me a seat."

Anko frowned, looking at my chest. "You going to get that checked out?"

"Yeah. Sensei's orders," I said. "I'll join you once I'm patched up."

"Come quick, because if there's dango I'll eat yours too," Anko called over her shoulder, her grin returning despite the fatigue.

"It's a war camp, I doubt they have dango," Asuma interjected, his voice dry as he shook his head.

"Hey, a girl can hope," she said with a shrug as they walked off toward the smell of cooking grease.

I watched them go for a second before turning toward the medical tent. The flap was tied back, and a heavy, chemical smell drifted out to meet me — antiseptic fighting a losing battle against the scent of copper and sweat.

I stepped inside.

The interior was dim, lit by oil lamps hanging from the support poles. There were makeshift stretchers arranged in two rows. If I had to guess, there were about ten of them, and nearly all were full.

It was a grim sight.

The shinobi in the cots were in various states of disrepair. Some had limbs that were clearly broken, splinted hastily in the field. Others had the pale, hollowed-out look of severe chakra exhaustion with bandages on their sides that were red, their chests rising and falling in shallow, jagged rhythms.

My eyes snagged on a kunoichi near the back. She was asleep, likely sedated, but the sheet covering her lower half stopped abruptly where her left leg should have been. The amputation looked fresh.

I grimaced, I wanted to vomit but I held in the urge. I had killed before. Many times at this point. I had ended lives with a knife to the throat or a crush of gravity. But seeing this, seeing my own side broken and dismantled piece by piece felt worse somehow. The killing was sudden. This was the slow, ugly reality of what happened when you didn't die.

I stood awkwardly near the entrance, not wanting to intrude but needing treatment. Several medics in white aprons moved between the cots, checking vitals and changing bandages. They moved with a hurried, efficient energy.

Finally, one of them noticed me. A woman with dark circles under her eyes and hair tied back in a messy bun approached. She wasn't rude, but she was firm and quick.

"What is the injury?" she asked, grabbing a clipboard.

I hesitated. How was I supposed to explain this? Any normal person hit point-blank by two Stone Bullets would be a smear on the forest floor, or at the very least coughing up pieces of their lungs.

"I, uh, was hit by two Stone Bullet Jutsu," I said. "Direct impact."

She stopped writing. Her brow furrowed, and her mouth opened to say something biting, likely to reprimand me for lying or wasting her time. But then she paused, looking me over.

"What's your name?"

"Yuuki Kagurazaka," I said, confused by the shift in her demeanor.

"Ah," she said, nodding as if that explained everything. "The B-Rank. One of Orochimaru's students, right? I believe your Bingo Book entry mentions abnormal physical durability. Though I'm surprised it's to that extent."

I blinked, surprised. I scratched my cheek awkwardly. "You know about that?"

"Don't be surprised," she said, gesturing for me to sit on an empty stool. "We have to keep up with every Bingo Book update. Information in those entries sometimes helps during the triage process. Knowing a patient has a specific bloodline or body type saves time we don't have."

She set the clipboard down. "Shirt off."

I took my shirt and saw the massive, ugly bruise that covered most of my chest, turning the skin a mottled purple and black. It looked bad, but I knew nothing was broken.

She probed the area with glowing green hands. I winced slightly as she pressed on a tender spot.

"The injury isn't too bad," she diagnosed, her voice clinical. "Some deep tissue bruising and minor internal swelling, but the ribs held. You're lucky."

Her hands glowed brighter with the Mystical Palm, the green light soothing the ache almost instantly. I watched the chakra flow, fascinated. I really wanted to learn medical ninjutsu at some point. It was invaluable to be able to use it in the field. But between Nature Release, Wind mastery, and still needing to start on my Earth and Water affinities, my plate was already overflowing.

"You're good to go," she said after a few minutes, wiping her hands on her apron. "Keep it iced if it swells up again."

"Thank you," I said, pulling my shirt back on.

She didn't reply, already moving on to the next patient who had begun to groan in their sleep. I stepped back out into the humid air of the forest, leaving the smell of antiseptic behind.

It didn't take me long to locate the tent. The mess hall was a long, low tent erected over flattened earth. I smelled it before I reached the entrance, but it wasn't the savory scent of cooking I had hoped for. It was a dense, humid cocktail of over-boiled vegetables, stale grease, and the underlying, coppery tang of unwashed bodies.

I stepped inside and the noise, or rather, the lack of it, hit me harder than the smell.

There were rows of makeshift wooden tables crowded with shinobi, yet the room was eerily quiet. There was no boisterous laughter, no bragging about missions, no clinking of glasses. There was only the scrape of utensils on tin plates and the low, murmuring hum of necessary conversation.

I looked around at the faces. Some were bandaged, fresh blood seeping through white gauze. Others just looked hollowed out, their eyes staring a thousand yards past their meals. There was no energy here. Just a profound, crushing tiredness that seemed to weigh down the very air.

I hadn't known what to expect from a war camp. Maybe I had anticipated urgency, or tension, or even fear. I hadn't expected this oppressive lethargy. It was a room full of people who were simply trying to recharge enough to survive the next day.

I spotted a hand waving quietly near the back.

Asuma and Anko were sitting at a table near the canvas wall, their usual bickering silenced by the atmosphere. They looked small here, surrounded by the reality of the war they were so eager to join.

I walked over, my tray of food balanced in one hand. As I approached, I realized they had taken the two corner seats, leaving the only open spot next to a grizzled older shinobi who was eating with mechanical slowness.

I stopped, looking at the empty seat, then at my teammates. They avoided my eyes, suddenly finding the grain of the wooden table fascinating.

"Really?" I hissed.

Neither of them acknowledged me.

I sighed, defeated, and sat down in the empty space. The older shinobi didn't even look up. Sitting next to a veteran was different from fighting one; up close, you could smell the stale sweat and dust on his clothes, see the grime under his fingernails. It was a stark reminder that we were just kids playing soldier in a world of tired adults.

I looked down at my tray. It wasn't the slop I had feared, but it wasn't appetizing either. A scoop of mashed potatoes that looked more gray than white, a ladle of brown stew with unidentifiable chunks of meat, and a piece of hard bread. It was fuel, nothing more.

I picked up my spoon, intending to eat quickly and leave.

"You three are Genin?" The voice was rough, like gravel grinding together. I paused and looked to my right.

The man next to me had finally stopped eating. He had messy black hair that was beginning to gray at the temples and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. A jagged, pale scar ran from his temple down to his jaw, pulling his lip slightly. He wore a standard flak jacket, scuffed and worn, with no clan insignia visible. Chunin or Jonin, Uchiha or Hyuga, it didn't matter. Here, they were all just soldiers.

"Yes, sir," I replied, setting my spoon down.

He looked us over, his eyes lingering on our fresh equipment and unscarred faces.

"Huh," he grunted, turning back to his stew. "Sending kids this deep into the Grass... Command must have some faith in you, I suppose."

"Yep!" Anko piped up, puffing out her chest. "We're the best."

Her voice was too loud. It cut through the quiet hum of the room like a dropped plate.

Heads turned. Dozens of tired eyes shifted to look at us. There was no amusement in them, no smiles. Just a heavy, silent scrutiny that made the air feel thin. I shrank into my seat, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

The man next to me let out a chuckle. It was a dry, rasping sound devoid of any humor.

"I'm sure," he said softly.

He looked at Anko, and for a second, the hardness in his face cracked. His eyes were incredibly sad. He wasn't looking at a prodigy. He was looking at a ghost. I could guess what he was thinking. He had probably seen "the best" come through here before. He had probably buried them, too.

A heavy, cold feeling settled in my gut, killing what little appetite I had. I didn't like this. I didn't like the way he looked at us, like we were already dead.

I shoveled the food into my mouth, barely chewing, just swallowing to get it done.

"I'm done," I mumbled, standing up abruptly. "I need some air."

I grabbed my tray and walked away without waiting for a response. A moment later, I heard the scrape of benches as Anko and Asuma followed close behind, neither of them saying a word.

We found Orochimaru standing near the edge of the perimeter, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. He watched us approach, his golden eyes dissecting our expressions before we even reached him.

Anko and Asuma looked visibly unsettled, their usual bravado stripped away by the oppressive atmosphere of the mess hall. I thought I had managed to keep my face neutral, masking the unease churning in my gut, but the slight, knowing tilt of Orochimaru’s head told me otherwise. Apparently, my poker face wasn't quite Jonin-level yet.

"Sensei, any updates?" Asuma asked, breaking the silence first.

"We are leaving," Orochimaru said simply. "Our part in this is concluded."

"And the camp?" I asked, looking back toward the sea of camouflaged tents. "Are they moving?"

"No," Orochimaru replied. "I advised a relocation, but the Sector Commander has decided to hold the position. Instead, they will deploy additional shinobi squads to sweep the surrounding grid for any remaining Iwa scouts."

"That... sounds like a terrible strategy," I said, unable to hide my disbelief. "We confirmed Hunter-nin were in the area. They know something is here. Staying put just makes them a sitting duck."

Orochimaru pushed himself off the tree, his expression unreadable. "It is a calculated risk, Yuuki-kun. You must look at the logistics."

He gestured vaguely toward the triage tent. "This base is heavily fortified with barrier seals and traps that took weeks to establish. To move now would require dismantling those defenses. Furthermore, they are burdened with significant numbers of wounded and a lot of supplies. If they move, they become a slow, vulnerable caravan in potentially hostile territory. If they stay, they retain their defensive advantage."

I frowned, considering it. "So they're betting on the fact that we killed the scouts before they could report back?"

"Precisely," Orochimaru said. "It is a gamble. But in war, every decision is a gamble."

He turned his back to the camp. "Come. We have lingered long enough."

We moved out, leaving the gloomy twilight of the base behind. We maintained a simple formation, but the pace was slightly more relaxed than our approach had been.

For the first few miles, no one spoke. The heavy silence of the mess hall seemed to follow us, clinging to our clothes like the smell of the stale grease.

"You are quiet," Orochimaru observed, his voice cutting through the sound of wind in the branches. He didn't look back, but we knew he was addressing us. "The atmosphere of the Forward Operating Base was not to your liking?"

"It was... heavy," Anko muttered, unusually subdued. "Everyone looked like they were already dead. Like they'd given up."

"It felt hopeless," Asuma added quietly.

"It is not hopelessness," Orochimaru corrected, his tone taking on that familiar instructional quality. "It is conservation."

I looked up at his back. "Conservation?"

"War is not a constant battle, Yuuki-kun. It is mostly waiting. Waiting for orders, waiting for supplies, waiting for the enemy. Emotion requires energy. Fear, excitement, bravado... these things burn stamina. Those shinobi have not given up. They have simply learned that to survive the grind, one must exist in a state of dormancy until the moment of violence arrives."

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes catching mine. "What you saw was not defeat. It was endurance. Do not mistake the two. Those same individuals when on the frontlines will show more emotions than anyone else."

I thought about the man with the scar. The dead look in his eyes when he laughed. I had interpreted it as despair, but maybe Orochimaru was right. Maybe it was just the only way to keep functioning when you were surrounded by rot and injury day after day. You shut down the parts of yourself that felt too much.

It was a grim lesson, but a necessary one.

We crossed the unmarked stream an hour later, stepping back onto the soil of the Land of Fire.

The oppressive humidity of the Grass seemed to fade as we made our way deeper into the Land of Fire, where it was replaced by the familiar, crisp scent of the Fire Country forests. The canopy opened up, allowing shafts of golden afternoon light to pierce through.

The invisible weight pressing down on my shoulders lifted.

"Finally," Anko groaned, stretching her arms over her head as we slowed to a walk. "That place gave me the creeps. There was so much mold, it felt like it would grow in me if we stayed longer!"

"You already smell like mold," Asuma shot back, though there was no real heat in it. "Or maybe that's just your personality."

"Watch it, asshat," Anko snapped, grinning as she shoved his shoulder. "At least I didn't freeze up when the food came out."

"I was thinking about its nutritional content!" Asuma protested, his face flushing.

"Sure you were. Thinking how gross it looked."

I listened to them bicker, the familiar rhythm of their arguments acting as a balm to my nerves. The heaviness of the camp, the sight of the amputees, the hollow eyes of the veterans... it was all still there in the back of my mind. But here, in the sunlight, with my teammates acting like idiots again, it felt a little further away.

I let out a long, deep sigh, exhaling the last of the tension from my lungs.

We were alive. We were home.

For now, that was enough.

AN: I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, as usual I'll leave it up to you to decide and comment your thoughts. The part in the camp wasn't meant to be longer than 2,000 words, but I wanted to focus on the environment of what I imagine to be a camp where resources and people are sent back and forth from, at least for your average shinobi. I obviously know nothing about war, so if it's all garbage… Well, you live and learn. Tell me if you think the pace was slow. 

I wanted to show that as strong as Yuuki, Anko and Asuma are, they're still just kids. I don't think being an SI or a reincarnator would help in a situation like this.

For this story, assume that Hunter-nin don't just look for Missing-Nin, but rather are sent to sniff things out as well. I mixed up parts of ANBU with Hunter-nin. So, the Hunter-nin were out looking for the Base, came across Yuuki & co and recognised them and attacked them. 

As usual, please like the chapter and comment your thoughts, especially on this one! 

Just to let you know in advance, I'm not sure if I'll be able to update in the first week of January. I'll try to, but it'll be difficult because of exams.

Also, might start a new story, here's the premise: Celestial Gambler/Chaos Gacha fic - the Main Character, Gonsuke Yamada, a country bumpkin from the edges of Fire Country. While I usually write SI fics, I think this will be better with an OC. It'll probably be kind of offensive, but I want to write a hick type character basically, lol.