Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

Hunger…

The wind cut across his face like a dull blade, its chill gnawing into his skin. Snow bit at his ankles, dragging every step into a leaden struggle. His vision swam, his body heavy, his stomach a black hole burning him alive from the inside. Starvation and cold pulled him into a pit without light.

”You’re about to die, kid.”

The voice was low, gravelly, carrying a weight that cut through the blizzard. A shadow loomed, blocking the storm. Forcing his eyelids open, he saw only a towering silhouette, blurred by snow—tall, armed, with the shape of a sword at his waist.

Hunger…

Survival surged stronger than fear. A pitiful whimper, like a dying beast, escaped his throat.

”Oh? You want to live that badly?” the voice drawled with amusement. ”Then follow me. If you can crawl your way to the next town alive, I’ll let you live.”

Hunger…

Jubei… Genshoku… brother… mentor…

”Ugh—ah!”

Reality stabbed into Genshoku’s mind like a shattered mirror. A searing pain tore at the core of his soul.

The backlash of the Wild Dog’s Dream—never had it been this brutal. The hunger and madness he inflicted on his prey now turned back on him, multiplied a hundredfold. Countless invisible hounds seemed to sink their teeth into his nerves.

His fluorescent green eyes flooded with red veins, clouded and wild. Drool spilled from the corners of his mouth, stringing down his filthy kasaya. His clenched white teeth ground together with a clack, clack, gums bleeding from the pressure. Every breath carried the hot tang of iron.

Kill him! End the link! Only then will it stop!

The roar came from the pit of his soul, twisted by his own jutsu, tearing apart his final threads of reason.

Dragging himself forward as if shackled by a thousand-pound weight, Genshoku advanced on Roshi’s frozen clone in the center of the street. Each step made the stone slabs groan beneath his feet. His body shook with agony and desire, yet still he marched—compelled by the savage, obsessive instinct of the Wild Dog’s Dream.

Above the sea

Roshi’s true body darted across the rolling waves, sea wind cutting at his face. But the other end of the mental link snapped open—the torrent of madness tearing through his Wood Clone flooded violently into his own consciousness.

”Ghh—!” He choked, vision flaring blood-red. The chakra platforms beneath his feet shattered. His body, like a bird with broken wings, pitched into the freezing sea.

Cold engulfed him. His nerves screamed. Instinct jolted him awake and he kicked, forcing his body upward until he burst through the surface, hair plastered to his cheeks, salt water dripping down his jaw.

Genjutsu?

A clone… under a Genjutsu?

It shouldn’t have been possible.

Genjutsu works by invading the target with chakra, warping the five senses, disrupting the chakra network. Breaking it requires:

First, the victim realizes they’re trapped and releases their chakra to disrupt the illusion. Against masters, this rarely succeeds.

Second, the common way—a comrade forces chakra into the victim, severing the link.

And third—possible only for ninja with vast stamina and chakra reserves—clones. Shadow Clones, Wood Clones, other variants: all extensions of the caster’s mind and chakra. They had bodies, but no true flesh.

For them, Genjutsu should be like trying to set fire to empty air.

And yet—his Wood Clone had fallen.

At that moment, on the other side—

Roshi wiped the seawater from his face. His surprise lasted only an instant before discipline took over. Instead of merely receiving the clone’s distorted senses, he forcefully reversed the link—drowning the Genjutsu-corrupted consciousness under the sheer weight of his own will.

Drawing in a deep breath of salty air, chakra once again surged beneath his soles. His figure skimmed over the waves, racing toward Deai Port, even as his mind sharpened into a blade, focused on the Wood Clone far away in the street.

On the street

Genshoku had already closed in. His bloodshot green eyes locked onto the paralyzed Roshi; his breath rasped like bellows, froth and drool spilling unchecked. His right hand trembled as he drew a kunai from his sleeve. The motion was stiff, bound by invisible shackles, but the killing intent it carried was undeniable.

”...Die…” The broken word scraped past his teeth.

The kunai’s tip, cold and merciless, pressed against the clone’s throat—then slowly, deliberately, sank in.

Click

The sound was faint, yet unnaturally sharp.

Wrong.

There was no give of flesh, no crunch of bone—only the brittle grind of stabbing into hardened roots.

And in the clone’s eyes—beneath the haze of madness conjured by the Wild Dog’s Dream—a sudden razor’s gleam cut through, cold and clear.

Within that sharpness, unmistakable, flickered the main body’s will—and even a trace of quiet admiration.

”So that’s it…” Roshi’s voice rang out, calm as still water, as if the blade lodged in his throat did not exist.

”A two-way sensory link. Forcing your own state into the target’s mind…” His eyelids lifted, gaze steady. ”Even a wandering shinobi should never be taken lightly.”

As he spoke, the false marks of pierced flesh on the Wood Clone’s neck dissolved like mist, retreating to reveal the smooth, grain-marked texture of wood beneath.

”What…?!” Genshoku’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Impossible. His senses had clearly felt chakra flow—life force!

A substitution jutsu? No—the Wild Dog’s Dream would have exposed any such anomaly instantly.

A puppet? Ridiculous! No puppet could generate such vivid chakra responses… nor willpower.

Instinct screamed at him to sever the link and retreat—

Too late.

Pfft!

A wooden hand, swift as lightning, drove clean through his chest.

Cold, unyielding grain replaced the warmth of flesh.

”Ghh—!” Genshoku’s body jerked violently, vision dimming.

From the wooden arm, countless fibrous tendrils unfurled like living roots. They spread mercilessly through his veins, muscles, and chakra points—draining, invading, devouring. His strength bled away, leaving behind only the chilling sense of being hollowed out from within.

”Well done, Genshoku.” The Wood Clone’s voice was flat and final, like a judge pronouncing sentence. ”Your companion on the sea… also fought hard.”

”Shoshi… is dead?!” Despair burst in Genshoku’s murky eyes, mixed with madness and pain. A beast’s death rattle tore from his throat.

’So it’s true. Black Snake Group.’ Roshi’s eyes narrowed far out at sea. ’Shoshi, Genshoku—two down. If Jubei is also one of them… the rest will be no ordinary foes.’

But this Wood Clone had already reached its limit—forced to endure Genjutsu backlash, counterattack, and Wood Release all at once.

The clone watched as the light drained from Genshoku’s eyes. Through the wooden fibers, Roshi could feel the last pulse of fading life.

Slowly, the clone withdrew its arm. A spray of dark blood misted the air, threaded with fine wood splinters.

Genshoku collapsed forward like a puppet with its strings cut. Dust rose where he fell, and the ”Shoku” bell on his wrist rolled aside, clattering once before falling silent forever.

The clone glanced at its palm. Thin cracks had begun spreading up its fingers like a spider’s web.

Wasabi Estate… I can’t rely on this clone much longer.

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