Corpse Collector of Konoha

Chapter 52: Orochimaru's Test

The new camp looked like what happened when paranoia became architecture.

Half the size of their previous setup, ringed with enough security measures to make a maximum-security prison jealous. Hyuga clan members rotated shifts constantly, their Byakugan active around the clock, scanning for threats from every conceivable angle—including underground, because apparently nowhere was safe anymore.

The Iwa attack had rattled everyone. Sure, they'd technically won, but it was the kind of victory that felt suspiciously like a loss when you counted the body bags. The kind of victory that made experienced jounin jump at shadows and chunin sleep with kunai under their pillows.

In the command tent, Orochimaru sat reviewing casualty reports like a mortician tallying inventory. The numbers weren't pretty. This single engagement had cost them more personnel than months of regular operations. It was the mathematical reality of war—you could win every battle and still lose everything.

The Pyrrhic victory principle in action: Congratulations, you've successfully bled yourselves dry.

Konoha couldn't afford to trade bodies one-for-one with three villages simultaneously. Simple arithmetic said they'd run out of ninjas first. What they needed were decisive victories with minimal casualties, which was roughly as likely as finding a pacifist Uchiha.

"Lord Orochimaru, you asked for me?"

Qifeng stumbled into the tent looking like he'd been run over by a particularly vindictive ox cart. His skin had that waxy pallor that came from chakra exhaustion, and his movements carried the unsteady quality of someone running on fumes and determination.

Orochimaru set down his reports and fixed those unsettling golden eyes on him. The silence stretched until it became a living thing, coiling around them like an invisible snake.

Qifeng kept his head down, projecting respectful fatigue while his mind raced. The adrenaline high from his earlier theatrical performance had long since crashed, replaced by the sobering reality of what he'd witnessed. The battlefield aftermath had stripped away any romantic notions about war he might have harbored.

"Qifeng-kun," Orochimaru said finally, his voice carrying that particular tone that meant someone was about to have a very bad day, "are you curious why I pay so much attention to a mere chunin? A corpse collector?"

Oh, shit.

Qifeng's blood turned to ice water. His head snapped up, eyes wide with what he hoped looked like confusion rather than terror. "Lord Orochimaru naturally has his own plans."

The diplomatic non-answer. When in doubt, defer to authority and hope they stop asking uncomfortable questions.

"Hmm." Orochimaru's smile was the kind that appeared in nightmares. "You've always been quite... capable."

Capable. The word hung in the air like a guillotine blade. Was that a compliment or a threat? With Orochimaru, the distinction was often academic.

The Sannin stood and moved to the map table, his movements fluid and predatory. "I was paying attention during that battle in Yu no Kuni(Land of Hot Water)."

Game over.

Qifeng's mental processes ground to a halt. The battle where he'd used Akagi Tsukasa's experience card to defeat Kaguya Chiren. The fight that had made his reputation and apparently caught the attention of one of the most dangerous men in the ninja world.

"The Hokage asked me to contain the Mist forces," Orochimaru continued conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "Fuguki Suikazan was... troublesome. So I had my summons spread throughout the country."

His snakes were everywhere. Of course they were. Orochimaru probably knew what everyone in Yu no Kuni had for breakfast that week.

Qifeng's mind went into overdrive, analyzing every word. Orochimaru said he'd "noticed" the battle, not that he'd "seen" it. The distinction might be meaningless, or it might be everything. If the snakes had only detected Kaguya Chiren's death without witnessing the actual fight...

He's fishing. Testing to see if I'll confess.

The realization hit like lightning. This wasn't an interrogation—it was an audition.

"It seems I owe you my life, Lord Orochimaru," Qifeng said, injecting his voice with genuine gratitude. "That Mist-nin appeared so suddenly. I barely saw him before he knocked me unconscious. I thought I was dead for sure. You must have intervened—I should have thanked you properly before now."

He bowed deeply, playing the part of the humble chunin who'd been saved by his superior's timely intervention. Let Orochimaru think his snakes had killed Kaguya Chiren after the man had knocked out a weak chunin.

"Hehe."

The laugh was soft, dangerous, and told Qifeng absolutely nothing about whether his gambit had worked.

The silence returned, heavier this time. Qifeng kept his expression carefully neutral while internally screaming. This was like playing poker with a mind reader who might also be a serial killer.

"So," Orochimaru said eventually, "how do you plan to repay this debt, Qifeng-kun?"

Help you collect bodies? The response was on his tongue before he caught himself. Too flippant. Too revealing.

"Whatever you think is appropriate, Lord Orochimaru."

Safe. Deferential. Utterly spineless.

Orochimaru nodded as if he'd expected exactly that response. He moved closer—too close—until they were nearly face to face. His arm came up to rest on Qifeng's shoulder, a gesture that might have looked friendly to an outside observer but felt like having a python draped around his neck.

The Sannin's breath was warm against his ear when he spoke, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of inevitability: "In that case, Qifeng-kun, from today forward, you are my subordinate."

Well, fuck.

Being Orochimaru's subordinate was like winning the lottery, if the lottery prize was a bomb with a timer counting down to your eventual dissection. Sure, other people would kill for the opportunity, but they probably didn't understand what they were signing up for.

"Really?" Qifeng managed, injecting his voice with what he hoped sounded like honored disbelief rather than barely contained panic. "Is that... is it really okay?"

Please say no. Please say this is all an elaborate joke. Please say literally anything except yes.

"What do you think?"

The question was rhetorical. They both knew it. Orochimaru didn't make offers—he made statements of fact that happened to be phrased as suggestions.

Qifeng was trapped, caught between maintaining his cover and avoiding suspicion. Too much enthusiasm would seem fake, too little would seem ungrateful. He settled for stunned silence, the kind that could be interpreted as either overwhelmed gratitude or paralyzing terror.

Both were accurate.

From corpse collector to potential corpse in one easy conversation. New personal record.

"I... I'm honored, Lord Orochimaru," he finally managed. "I won't disappoint you."

Famous last words. Right up there with 'what could possibly go wrong?' and 'trust me, I've got this.'

Orochimaru stepped back, that predatory smile never wavering. "I'm sure you won't, Qifeng-kun. After all, I have such high expectations for you."

The way he said it made it sound less like encouragement and more like a threat wrapped in silk. Which, knowing Orochimaru, it probably was.

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