Naruto: The Clanless Prince

Out of the 34 bandits, none could even touch Sora's clothes—not even Kakuzu himself. Only nine were left alive.

This is the way of the ninja.

Ordinary people, no matter how strong, cannot pose a threat to even a young, underage ninja. Take Kakashi, for example. He graduated from the Academy and began killing enemies by the age of five—trained to eliminate even skilled shinobi.

To Sora's Sharingan, the nine fleeing bandits moved as slowly as turtles.

Effortlessly, Sora caught up to one of them and, without hesitation, slashed the back of the man's neck with the sword in his hand.

The bandit, still feeling as though he were running, suddenly noticed his vision drop to the ground, seemingly endless. He finally collapsed.

Only then did he see the headless body lying beside him and realize—it was his own. He had been beheaded.

In those final moments, the bandit's eyes caught a clear glimpse of Sora.

A child? Is it just a child?

One child had nearly wiped them all out. From the looks of it, no one else had escaped.

In my next life... the bandit thought as his consciousness faded completely, I'll become a ninja, and then I'll do the robbing!

Sora, his expression unreadable, continued his countdown as he eliminated each enemy.

The bandits who survived trembled at the sound of his voice.

Each number he called out was like a death knell. Each scream marked the death of a comrade. Their fear was overwhelming.

By the time Sora's countdown reached "3," two of the bandits stopped running.

They had realized the futility of escape. If death was inevitable, there was no point in exhausting themselves further. They threw down their weapons and stood still, awaiting their fate.

Sora didn't hesitate. Without mercy, he cut them down.

Finally, his countdown reached "1." Only one bandit remained—the leader.

The leader, seeing Sora carve through his men like it was nothing, was paralyzed with terror. But he forced himself to run, stumbling as he fled the village.

"Damn it!" he cursed, fear creeping into his voice. "Who hired a ninja to come after us? If I ever find out, I'll make them pay—I'll torture them before I kill them!"

He continued his rant as he fled. "Damn it all, the money we looted today is still back there! Now, I'll have to give that up. At least I still have some stashed from before. I'll leave the Land of Fields and head to the Land of the Moon as planned. There, I'll recruit more men and raid their villages instead."

The bandit leader suddenly stopped, his thoughts interrupted.

He had felt something snag his ankle.

Looking down, he saw it: a steel wire.

The bandit leader let out a sigh of relief, though unease lingered in his chest. When his ankle brushed against something, it sent a strange shiver through him, but he dismissed it as nothing.

Just as he took another step forward, a faint crackling sound reached his ears.

Zzzz... Zzzz...

His gaze shifted downward. There, half-burned, was a piece of paper with the word "explosion" written on it.

"Phew, it's just a piece of paper…"

Wait—paper? His eyes widened in terror. "A detonating charm?!"

The realization struck too late.

Boom!

The charm exploded violently, the shockwave slamming the bandit leader into a nearby wall. Stunned and disoriented, he struggled to rise, only to collapse back onto the ground.

Pain coursed through his body. He looked down at his legs, and his heart sank.

His right leg was gone—blown off entirely by the explosion. Blood poured freely from the wound, staining the ground crimson.

"Ahhh! My leg! My leg!" he screamed, clutching at the mutilated limb, his voice laced with agony and despair.

Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed nearby.

Sora approached, his scarlet Sharingan glinting ominously. The bandit leader's cries halted as his gaze met the Sharingan. He froze, paralyzed by the oppressive aura radiating from the young ninja.

It felt as though he'd been plunged into an icy abyss, his entire body trembling with fear.

Sora raised his sword, its tip hovering at the bandit leader's throat. His voice, soft yet chilling, carried a single word.

"Zero."

The blade pierced through the bandit leader's throat with precision, blood spraying outward as the man's lifeless body collapsed.

The leader's once-grand dreams—plans of wealth, power, and domination—died with him.

Sora flicked the blood from his sword with a quick motion, then wiped the remaining stains off using the sleeve of his arm before sliding it back into its sheath.

"Phew…" he exhaled softly, the weight of the battle fading from his body.

Wiping out 34 bandits had been no challenge. Against him, they were powerless.

If he had used his Thunder Breathing technique, he was confident the entire ordeal would've been over in moments without a single survivor. But this mission had been assigned by Orochimaru as a test—a chance to measure the results of Sora's month of training. Using Thunder Breathing would have defeated the purpose.

Still, the difference between using ninjutsu in training and in real combat was striking. The flow in actual combat felt more natural—more effective.

Just as Sora turned to leave, intending to report back to Orochimaru, a voice came from behind him.

"You've done well."

Sora turned to see Orochimaru standing there, his golden eyes gleaming with approval. The scanning surveyed the corpse of the bandit leader with a satisfied smirk.

"You were meticulous," Orochimaru remarked, his tone filled with faint praise. "Your ability to suppress your presence during an assassination is remarkable.

"You've demonstrated skilful use of ninjutsu, combining Water Style and Lightning Style effectively, exploiting their complementary traits.

"Your execution was thorough—you even prepared to detonate charm traps in advance to ensure no one escaped. Very clever."

Hearing Orochimaru's praise, Sora couldn't help but smile faintly.

This was the first time in a month that Orochimaru had openly commended him. Training under the tannin was gruelling, with relentless critique at every turn. There were moments when Sora doubted his own talent.

But now, finally, recognition.

"You've also developed a particular habit that's worth noting," Orochimaru added, his tone taking on a reflective quality.

Sora blinked. A habit? What habit?

He leaned in slightly, ears perked to catch the explanation.

Orochimaru continued, "When you kill, you always target the head—either by decapitation or a clean slash to the throat.

"It's efficient. The human body has only a few true weak points. Even if the heart is pierced, an enemy may have enough time to counterattack before succumbing.

"But decapitation or a cut to the throat renders them unable to fight immediately. It's an excellent habit to cultivate."

Sora touched his nose sheepishly, a bit embarrassed.

Now that Orochimaru mentioned it, it was true—he always aimed for the neck or head. The habit stemmed from his Thunder Breathing technique, which was designed for hunting and slaying demons. With demons, the neck was the ultimate weak spot, so every move he practised targeted that area.

Hearing Orochimaru's validation, Sora couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

"Maybe this is a good habit," he thought to himself with a small grin.

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