Naruto: My Progress in Konoha.

In the ninja world, there's no distinction between knives and swords.

So the Kusanagi Haruki holds is called a sword, but it's more like a long blade.

It resembles a tachi from the Tang era: about three shaku long (~90 cm), two-finger wide, single-edged, with a slight curve on the tip that allows both slashing and thrusting.

Haruki swung the blade a few times, feeling a bit awkward.

No wonder—he'd been using daggers so far, so switching suddenly to a long blade felt unfamiliar.

But it wasn't a big issue.

With his current Kenjutsu at perfect level 7 (mastery), a single fight would help him adapt fully to using this sword.

And this fight, well…

Haruki peered through the crack in the door, slicing his gaze over the courtyard wall. In the distance, on a tower-like structure, he glimpsed a few figures moving about.

After a brief observation, he pulled his gaze back.

Clang!

The long blade slid smoothly back into its sheath.

Haruki slung it at his waist and then looked down at the body of the Crafting Village leader on the ground.

Originally he'd hesitated whether to kill him, but once the man attacked Haruki, he cast aside all doubt.

After coming to this world, his hands were already stained with blood. One more life taken made no difference.

Besides, which ninja didn't have a few lives on their hands?

So killing him didn't weigh heavily on Haruki's conscience.

Still, he acknowledged that if one day he was killed by another, he could blame no one but his own weakness.

It was a world that embraced survival of the fittest—ninja vs. ninja, ninja vs. civilians, village vs. village—all followed the same rule: strength forges life.

With that thought, Haruki composed himself. Hands moving swiftly through the seals, he cast Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique.

Boom!

A massive fireball erupted from his mouth and struck the leader's corpse.

The body ignited quickly, turning into a charred husk.

Haruki stepped into the yard and found a spot. With his left hand, he formed the Rasengan in his palm—a ball of light-blue chakra the size of a basketball—and slammed it into the ground.

Thud!

A deep crater appeared.

He gathered the leader's remains and buried them in the earth, concealing them from detection—at least for now.

With that done, Haruki left the courtyard. He glanced around calmly, then slipped out of the village.

About thirty minutes later, outside the town, in a wooded area:

Haruki was sprinting, then suddenly came to a stop.

He turned, staring at the dark forest behind him.

Cricket chirps.

Everything seemed normal.

But Haruki stood still, unmoving.

One second... two... one minute... two...

Five minutes passed.

Whooooosh!

A gust of wind rustled the leaves.

The sound died away, and Haruki spoke softly, his voice cold: "Still not coming out?"

No response.

Only now, the crickets had gone silent.

He murmured under his breath: "Not coming out, then…"

Haruki's expression hardened. He abruptly bellowed: "Then die!"

In that instant, he formed hand seals and unleashed Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique again!

A massive fireball burst from his mouth, carefully guided to strike a large tree behind him.

Flash!

A shadow leapt from the tree.

Boom!

The fireball smashed into the trunk, engulfing it in brilliant flames that drove back the darkness.

The shadow, forced into the open, threw multiple kunai at Haruki, aiming at his vital areas.

Not from only one person—kunai flew from several directions.

"Sharingan!"

Haruki's thought echoed as he activated his eye.

In a heartbeat, the kunai trajectories were traced in his vision. He located each attacker.

His mind sped up, his reflexes sharpened to the limit, and he dodged every kunai with precision.

At the same time, he formed seals for another jutsu: Fire Release: Phoenix Flower Technique.

He expelled a barrage of fire orbs—like a shower of phoenix blossoms—that rained down on the ambushers.

"Watch out!"

"Damn it!"

"Get out of the way!"

The forest exploded with alarm as the hidden enemies panicked and scattered.

After a moment, the fire dissipated—and the attackers revealed themselves.

Haruki was surrounded, but remained perfectly composed.

His gaze casually swept over them with interest.

They were no longer official ninjas—some looked like they used to be, but now bore the mark of missing forehead protectors: a slash, the sign of a missing-nin.

Factions like this could only stem from black-market circles or rogue groups—no legitimate village would shelter them.

These renegades thrive in this world's underbelly: the endless ranks of missing-nin and fugitives, especially during wartime.

"Why are they watching the village leader?" Haruki wondered aloud.

His knowledge of their abilities was clear—they were mostly middle-rank missing-nin, except for one special upper-rank shinobi.

He had no reason to hold back—he could ask questions directly.