Chapter 12: First Mission | In Naruto With An Achievement System

Chapter 12: First Mission 

Three months had passed. Three months of grueling, relentless training that had reshaped my entire understanding of combat.

The Third Hokage moved faster than a man his age should. He wasn't using any flashy techniques, just pure, refined speed as he closed the distance between us in the secluded training ground. The objective of today's spar was clear. Hiruzen was the aggressor, and my goal was to maintain distance and fight from range.

He was almost upon me. I slammed my palms onto the ground, my chakra flowing into the earth. Four thick roots of dark wood erupted from the soil. They didn't have the raw, vital look of my initial attempts. They were harder now, denser. Two shot forward like spears, forcing Hiruzen to sidestep and break his charge. The other two bent back, wrapping securely around my waist and flinging me backwards into the air, away from him.

The maneuver gave me the space I needed. My fingers blurred through the sequence of hand signs for the technique I had in mind, moving with a practiced speed that had been drilled into me for hours on end. A week or so after our training began, our sensei had decided to test for our natural capabilities.

We stood in Training Ground Three, the early morning sun still low in the sky. Orochimaru held up three small, rectangular pieces of paper. They were thin, almost weightless.

“This is chakra paper,” he explained, his voice smooth and instructional. “It allows us to identify the element each of you is most suited to. It reacts to the specific nature of your chakra.” He handed one to Anko. Hers immediately burst into flame, crumbling into ash. Fire. He handed one to Asuma. It split neatly in two. Wind.

Then he handed one to me. I took the small piece of paper. I already knew what would happen with Wind. My chakra, thanks to the perk from the system, practically yearned to take on its sharp, cutting properties. But I worried about the other possibilities. Earth and Water were the components of the First Hokage’s power. If my chakra didn't react to those elements, it would be very odd.

I channeled a small amount of chakra into the paper. The result was instantaneous and definitive. The paper split into three distinct pieces. One section crumpled into a tight ball of dirt. Another became incredibly soggy, dripping water onto my hand. The third piece simply vanished, dissolving into a flurry of incredibly tiny, precise cuts. Three affinities. My own surprise was genuine. Then again, the system did say that my ability would adapt to this world.

I looked up to see Orochimaru watching me, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Three, my, my,” he murmured, a flicker of keen interest in his golden eyes.

After that day, my ninjutsu training began in earnest. I learned techniques for all three elements. My Water and Earth jutsu were decent. I could perform them, but it took concentration. Wind, however, was different. Any C-Rank Wind technique Orochimaru or Hiruzen showed me, I could master in no more than two attempts. After an hour of practice, I could even cast them without hand seals. My affinity was just that strong. Initially, I’d wanted to hold back, to not reveal the full extent of this unnatural talent. But after a few more days of their intense, insightful training, I came to a simple conclusion. I was being stupid. I had the opportunity to be trained by a Sannin and the God of Shinobi himself. I couldn't afford to waste it out of fear. I even knew a few B-Rank techniques now, though my chakra reserves were still a significant issue when using them.

Another thing I had learned was the ability to create my constructs anywhere from my body. While still in the air, I formed hundreds of small wooden balls in the space around me. They were filled with extremely sharp spikes. Just after launching them towards Hiruzen, I used a wind style jutsu to enhance their speed and expand their range, turning the volley into a deadly, widespread storm.

Hiruzen stopped his advance. He seemed to focus for a split second, his face scrunching up as a large wave of dense chakra left him. The energy wasn't visible to my eyes, but I felt its pressure as it scattered my wooden constructs, sending them flying harmlessly into the trees. He made a hand sign just as my feet were about to touch the ground.

I quickly glanced down and bit back a growl of frustration. Spikes of hardened earth were erupting from the ground where I was about to land. I reacted instantly. Two thinner roots shot down from my feet, pushing me away from the spike trap. I landed softly a dozen feet away, my eyes locking back onto his figure.

There were two shadow clones standing next to him now, one on each side. The real one, I assumed, made a hand sign. A torrent of fire erupted from his mouth, rushing towards me like a river.

My body was already configured for this kind of situation, half my points in Agility, the other half in Defense. It was a balanced state, but it meant I wasn't fast enough to simply evade an attack of this magnitude from the Hokage. Blocking was my only option.

I slammed my hands together and a thick wall of wood erupted from the ground in front of me. But my enhanced hearing from [Train The Slayer] immediately picked up the tell-tale crackle of fire being prepared on my flanks. The two shadow clones unleashed their own torrents of flame.

The single wall was useless. With a grunt of effort, I expanded it, the wood curving over my head to form a thick dome, completely locking me in as fire hammered against it from three different directions. I could hear the roar of the inferno outside. The heat was intense, and the wood groaned under the assault. I constantly pushed chakra into the structure, repairing the damage as three continuous streams of fire ate away at the surface. I couldn't stay here. The chakra cost was immense. I was trapped.

Thankfully, this world had good movement techniques. I made a few hand signs, splitting my focus between maintaining the dome and preparing the new jutsu. It was extremely mentally straining. "Earth Release: Underground Projection Fish Technique," I muttered.

The world dissolved as I melted into the ground beneath me. I took a deep breath, the earth parting around me as I "swam" through it, moving away from the battle. A few moments later, I surfaced a safe distance away.

"I give up," I said, a grimace on my face as I pulled myself out of the dirt. I was nearly completely out of chakra.

Hiruzen let his jutsu dissipate, the torrents of flame vanishing as if they had never been. He gave a slow, satisfied nod. “You have improved, Yuuki-kun. Your control is becoming more refined. That is enough for today.”

“Thank you, Hokage-sama,” I managed to say, my voice raspy from the effort and the dry heat. He’d given me permission to call him by his name privately, but it still felt awkward to do so. The title felt safer, more appropriate for the man who held the fate of the entire village in his hands.

He turned around, and I silently followed him out of the training ground. We had developed a routine of a sort over the past few months. After our private sessions, I would follow him back to his house for a debriefing and tea. I never would have thought, back when my world was the orphanage and the Academy, that I would one day be a regular guest at the Hokage’s personal residence.

It wasn't the Sarutobi Clan Compound, a place I imagined was bustling with clan members. This was the House of the Hokage, a residence provided by the village for its leader. It was a large, traditional home, with dark wooden beams, elegant tiled roofing, and paper-screen shoji doors. It was quiet and serene, a place to relax.

We entered through the main gate, my worn and dirty sandals looking out of place on the clean, polished wood of the entryway. I took them off and followed him down a long corridor to the living room. It was a spacious, minimalist room with tatami mat flooring and a low wooden table at its center.

We sat down opposite each other at the table.

“That was much better than you were at the start. You should feel proud of yourself, Yuuki-kun,” he complimented me. I offered a small, tired smile in return.

A moment later, a servant entered the room. She was an older woman with a kind face who moved with a quiet efficiency. She bowed to the Hokage, then to me, before pouring us both a cup of steaming green tea from a small iron pot. The only sounds were the gentle clink of the ceramic cups and the soft hiss of the pouring liquid. After placing the cups before us, she bowed again and left the room, sliding the shoji door silently shut behind her.

The silence that settled between us wasn't awkward like the first time we sat here. It was a comfortable, earned quiet. I sat straight, my hands resting on my knees, without the nervous fidgeting that had defined our initial meetings. I was still wary of the man opposite me, but I was no longer terrified of him.

He broke the silence first, his voice calm as he took a slow sip of his tea. "Your team will be starting missions, likely tomorrow after your sensei returns. I believe you are prepared. Over qualified, I would rather say."

Wasn't that the truth? I was strong. A particularly frustrating spar a month ago came to mind, where I had held back too much and been soundly defeated by one of his clone's precise counters. I had been visibly frustrated at my weakness, and Hiruzen had scolded me for it afterwards. "Do not disrespect your own strength by pretending it is less than it is, Yuuki-kun. Your strength is a tool, to not acknowledge and be aware of your real level is to downplay it and use it poorly." He was right. If it wasn't for my lack of experience in the field, in terms of raw strength, I was easily at an Elite Jonin level.

It was partly why I didn't worry about starting missions. I had my own considerable skills, my teammates had improved drastically as well, and we had a Sannin with us. We were more than ready for whatever the village could throw at us.

"I see," I said simply, my gaze steady. "C-Ranks, I presume?"

"Yes, but I have told you already of the state of the war," he replied, his gaze distant for a moment.

His words brought back the lessons from our previous conversations. The war was not just fought on battlefields with kunai and jutsu; it was a slow drain on the village's coffers. It placed a heavy financial burden not only on Konoha, but on the Fire Daimyo himself. I took a slow sip of my tea as I gathered my thoughts and remembered our previous conversations.

Like any war, targeting the enemy's resources was a primary strategy. Merchant caravans, supply lines, and resource-rich territories were all targets. This meant that a large portion of Konoha's shinobi were tied up in guard duty around these important locations. Every time a bridge was destroyed or a shipment was lost, the Daimyo had to provide more resources to rebuild and replace, a fact he was undoubtedly reminded of every time he paid for a new bridge construction or town reconstruction.

"Yes," I answered, showing I understood. "In a time of war like this, mission prices are hiked up considerably to account for the increased risk. As such, some clients are tempted to downplay or lie about the severity of a mission to save money. This can lead to the wrong team being assigned, a team unsuited for the real threat, which results in casualties."

That was the internal problem. Then there was the external one. Mission sabotage by the other great nations was a constant threat. A simple escort mission could cross paths with an enemy squad on their own mission. A waypoint town you were resting in for the night could have enemy shinobi passing through. If any shinobi from another village saw your headband, you were bound to get into a confrontation. It was a lose-lose situation. If your client died, it was a stain on Konoha's reputation, leading to fewer missions and less income during a time when both were desperately needed. If you won the fight against the enemy shinobi, but leveled half the town with collateral damage in the process, that was also bad for your reputation.

There was an unspoken rule for every Chunin Team and Jonin operating outside the village walls. If you saw a shinobi from an enemy village, you engaged them. You eliminated the threat before it could compromise your mission or bring harm to your village.

"Indeed," Hiruzen said, his focus returning to me. "And your team, specifically, will likely face a larger amount of these volatile missions than a standard genin squad." His time was leading, questioning if I understood the reason behind that.

The conclusion was obvious.

"Because of our sensei," I replied simply. Any client with a C-Rank mission they secretly knew was more dangerous would see two options: risk a standard team and hope for the best, or pay the same fee for a team led by a Sannin. We were the perfect, low-cost insurance policy. This meant we would be the first choice for every undersold, high-risk job that came through the door. On top of that, the name 'Team Orochimaru' would attract trouble on its own. Enemy shinobi would see us as a high-value target. We wouldn't just be taking on missions with hidden dangers; we would be actively attracting new ones.

We finished our tea in a comfortable and contemplative silence. As I stood to leave, Hiruzen simply nodded, his eyes soft and weary but firm.

I walked out of the Hokage’s house and into the fading light of evening. The village was quiet, settling in for the night, a peaceful night.

Let's see what tomorrow brings.

— INWAS —

The next morning, the air in Training Ground Three was cool and still. I was leaning against a tree, watching Anko and Asuma. Their dynamic had settled into a kind of familiar friction.

“Come on, one more round before sensei gets here!” Anko insisted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was already sweating from her own warm-ups.

“Forget it,” Asuma retorted, lazily stretching his arms over his head. “I’m saving my energy. Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to punch the air for an hour straight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, pretty boy?!”

“It means—”

He was simply there.

One moment, the space between them was empty. The next, Orochimaru stood there, his hands clasped behind his back. The bickering stopped instantly. Anko snapped her mouth shut, and Asuma’s lazy posture straightened into one of military attention. I’d become a lot more relaxed around him through a by product of time passing.

“Your first mission begins today,” Orochimaru announced, a light serpentine smile on his face, his voice smooth and devoid of preamble. He didn’t mind their dynamic and sometimes even joined in. “A C-Rank escort. You will be guarding a merchant transporting sensitive medical supplies to a town near the border.”

He paused, his golden eyes sweeping over the three of us, his expression unreadable.

“I will be an observer only,” he stated, the words carrying a distinct finality. “The mission’s success rests on the three of you. Do not expect me to intervene.”

We met our client at the main gate an hour later. He was a short, round man with a nervous disposition, his eyes constantly darting around as if expecting an attack at any moment. He introduced himself as Kenji, and bowed deeply when he saw us, his relief at having shinobi guards palpable.

Several hours into the journey, the initial novelty of being on a real mission had completely worn off. Missions like this were boring. We were with a civilian, which meant our pace was, frankly, killing me. We also had to stop several times for the client to rest. It was the kind of tedious reality that was never shown in the stories.

We were moving down a narrow path, dense forest pressing in on both sides. I was guarding the rear, my senses on high alert. 

It was a sound a normal person wouldn't have registered until it was too late. But my hearing, honed by [Train The Slayer], caught it instantly. A series of sharp, distinct whistles cutting through the air, their trajectory aimed directly at the merchant walking ahead of me.

I didn't shout a warning. There was no time.

The single word command, Swift, formed in my mind. The world slowed down, and my body became impossibly fast. My hand shot out, grabbing the collar of the merchant's robe and yanking him down to the dirt.

In the same fluid motion, my other hand went to my hip pouch. My fingers closed around the cool metal of a kunai just as the dark shapes of the shuriken broke through the canopy. I turned, my body a blur.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

My kunai moved in a tight, precise arc, flicking each shuriken away from its path. They clattered harmlessly into the dirt and tree trunks around us. The merchant let out a terrified squeak from the ground where I’d pulled him. I landed in a low crouch between him and the direction of the attack, my own kunai held ready, my eyes already scanning the trees for the source.

My kunai was steady in my hand, my eyes scanning the dense foliage. The merchant was still on the ground behind me, letting out small, shaky breaths. The forest was quiet again, but it was the heavy silence of a held breath, not of peace.

Figures emerged from behind the trees. There were maybe a dozen of them, a ragged-looking group of men armed with rusty swords and chipped axes. Bandits. But my attention wasn't on them. Two other figures stood with them, their presence immediately setting them apart. They wore flak jackets that were worn and dirty, but the way they held themselves spoke of real training. Their scratched-out headbands confirmed it. Two Chunin.

"I'll take the one on the right!"

Asuma didn't wait for a plan. He didn't wait for orders. He yelled his intention, his voice full of a reckless confidence that made my stomach tighten. He pointed his kunai at the Chunin on the right and charged, clearly eager to prove himself against a real shinobi.

His pride was going to get us all killed.

I let out a quiet sigh of frustration. There was no time to scold him. He had already dictated the terms of the engagement. Anko was already moving, her eyes locked on the larger group of bandits, her body coiled like a spring ready to be unleashed.

I gave her a sharp nod as she shot me a quick glance. "Take care of the bandits," I said, my voice low and firm. "I'll handle this one and back him up."

She didn't need to be told twice. She was a blur of motion, heading straight for the disorganized mob.

That left me with the second Chunin. He was watching Asuma’s foolish charge with an amused smirk, completely dismissing me. He was tall and lean, a long scar cutting across his left eyebrow. He held no weapon, his hands loose at his sides. He saw children, easy targets for a quick payday. He was about to find out how wrong he was.

— Anko Mitarashi —

Anko rolled her eyes at Asuma’s bravado but didn't waste a second. Her task was clear. The bandits were a sloppy mob, waving rusty swords and kunai with no real form. They were an obstacle, nothing more.

She met them not with brute force, but with the fluid, relentless Taijutsu style her sensei had drilled into her for the last three months. She stayed low to the ground, her movements like a coiling serpent. A large, bearded man charged at her, his axe raised high. She didn't meet the charge. She slid past him, her motion almost liquid, letting his own momentum carry him forward. As he stumbled past, her hand darted out, two stiff fingers jabbing hard into the cluster of nerves behind his knee. His leg buckled instantly, and he went down with a howl of pain.

She was a trained Kunoichi facing amateurs, and the difference was stark. She flowed through them, a purple-haired blur of efficient motion. Another bandit lunged with a kunai. She didn't block; she weaved under his arm, her own arm shooting up to deliver a sharp, punishing elbow strike directly to his floating ribs. He gasped, the air exploding from his lungs as he crumpled.

Her sensei's voice echoed in her memory. The style is not about power. It is about precision. Why shatter a bone when you can sever a nerve?

She saw another two bandits coming at her from either side. She didn't try to fight them both at once. She dropped into a slide, the dirt spraying up around her as she shot between their legs. As she came up behind them, she spun, her legs sweeping out in a low, powerful arc. One bandit's feet were knocked out from under him. The other she met with a sharp jab to a pressure point at the base of his neck. He slumped to the ground, unconscious before he even realized what had happened.

She wasn't just fighting; she was dismantling them. Her anger, her constant frustration at being outmatched by her teammates, was channeled into a focused cold efficiency. Each movement had a purpose. There was no wasted energy, no hesitation. This was what she had been trained for. This was what it felt like to be truly dangerous.

— Asuma Sarutobi —

He rushed the Chunin, fueled by a burning need to prove himself. He was the Hokage’s son. He was a shinobi of Konoha, and he would not be outshined by the orphan with the freakish abilities. His other teammate was handling the small fry; this was his fight. A real fight, against a real shinobi.

He held his own at first. His Clan Taijutsu was solid, refined by three months of Orochimaru’s grueling training and the hours of effort he put in outside. He parried the Chunin’s initial flurry of punches, his movements crisp and sure. He even managed to land a solid kick to the man's side, forcing him back a step. A surge of confidence, hot and sharp, coursed through him. This wasn't so hard.

But the missing-nin was more experienced. He was weathered. He settled into his stance after taking the kick, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. He’d been testing Asuma, feeling him out. Now, the real fight began.

The Chunin’s counter-attack was faster, heavier. He parried Asuma's next punch and drove a hard knee into his stomach, making Asuma grunt and stumble back. Before he could recover his balance, a sharp, spinning kick caught him high on the ribs, the impact stealing his breath. Another glancing blow clipped his jaw, making his head ring. He was being pushed back, his confidence rapidly evaporating and being replaced by the stinging shame of being outmatched.

The Chunin created distance, his hands a blur as they flew through a sequence of seals he recognized immediately.

“Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!”

A massive sphere of orange flame roared towards him. Asuma’s mind screamed the counter. Wind Style: Great Breakthrough! It was the perfect jutsu for this. He had drilled it hundreds, thousands of times. He knew the seals. He knew the feeling of the chakra gathering.

But he froze.

His hands, poised to form the seals, felt like stone. The heat from the approaching fireball washed over him, the roar of the inferno filling his ears, drowning out every thought except the paralyzing certainty of his own failure.

Just as the flames were about to engulf him, a grey blur slammed into his side. The impact was violent, shoving him out of the path of the jutsu and sending him tumbling hard across the forest floor.

He landed in a heap, the breath knocked from his lungs. He looked up, his head ringing, to see Yuuki standing where he had been a moment before. The fireball exploded harmlessly against the trees in the distance. He watched Yuuki turn his attention back to the enemy shinobi, his posture calm and ready.

Asuma’s fists clenched, digging into the damp earth.

Not again... damn it!

— Yuuki Kagurazaka —

I saw Asuma charge in and knew this would be a problem. His pride was a weakness the size of the Hokage monument. I had to end my fight quickly. The Chunin facing me was cautious, the initial smirk gone, replaced by the wary focus of a professional. He saw me deflect the shuriken volley, and he wasn't underestimating me anymore.

I stayed in my "Swift" configuration, a balanced state that prioritized agility without completely sacrificing my strength. The Chunin lunged, his katana a blur of steel aimed at my throat. I didn't meet the blade. I weaved under his attack, my movements fluid, the world seeming to move just a fraction slower from my perspective. His katana cut through empty air.

Seeing an opening as he overextended, my fingers flew, forming the single bird seal with one hand. My chest expanded slightly as I gathered my wind-natured chakra, preparing to release it.

“A one-handed seal!?” the Chunin yelled in surprise. He was skilled enough to recognize the advanced technique and immediately disengaged, leaping back to get clear of the potential attack vector.

But I was quicker. I didn't release the jutsu. It was a feint. I turned faster than he anticipated and closed the distance he had just created. My open palm, not enhanced with my "Might" state but still carrying considerable force, slammed into his chest. The impact sent him flying several dozen feet away, crashing hard against the trunk of a large oak. He slumped to the ground, out of the fight.

I turned just in time to see the fireball roaring towards a frozen Asuma.

There was no other choice. My mind gave the command, pouring nearly all of my points from Strength and half from Defense into Agility. The world slowed to a crawl. I could see the individual tongues of flame licking through the air, the heat rippling towards Asuma's petrified form.

I crossed the distance in what felt like a single, silent step. I reached him just as the intense heat from the fireball began to singe the fabric of his clothes. I shoved him hard, sending us both tumbling away as the jutsu detonated behind us in a wave of heat and splintered wood.

I landed on my feet and immediately rebalanced my stats, my mind already focused on the remaining threat. The fire-user was momentarily exposed, his jutsu complete, his stance not yet recovered.

I didn’t give him time to recover, I dashed at him, pushing forward at the last moment. I transitioned. 

Swift to Might.

My fist, carrying all the momentum of my charge, instantly converted into pure, crushing mass. It slammed into his sternum. There was a sickening, wet crack. His eyes went wide with a look of pure shock, the life fading from them before he even hit the ground. He crumpled, a broken puppet whose strings had just been cut.

I stood over his body for a fraction of a second, my fist still clenched, then turned my attention back to the rest of the clearing. The fight was over.

The forest was silent again. The sudden quiet felt louder than the chaos of the fight. Anko was tying up the last of the groaning bandits with practiced efficiency, her movements sharp and business-like. Asuma was on his feet now, standing a short distance away, staring at me with a complicated expression I couldn't quite decipher. It was a mixture of relief, shame, and something else — something harder. The merchant was huddled by a tree, thankfully unharmed.

I stood over the body of the man I had killed. The air was still hot and smell of ozone from the fireball jutsu. I looked down at him. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the canopy above. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He was a threat, and now he was neutralized. It was a task, completed.

I waited.

I waited to feel something. Revulsion. Sickness. The gut-wrenching guilt I had read about. The adrenaline from the fight was fading, leaving a strange calm in its wake. But nothing else came. There was just a quiet emptiness, like closing a book after finishing a chapter. It was easy. Too easy.

Why can't I feel anything? The question wasn't panicked. It wasn't born of shock. It was a cold, detached query, as if I were observing a stranger. I knew I would have to do this someday. I expected it to feel… important. Heavy. But it doesn't. It feels like nothing at all. Is there something wrong with me?

A flicker of movement at the edge of the clearing drew my attention. Orochimaru faded into existence, leaning against a tree. He surveyed the scene, his golden eyes taking in the disabled bandits, the unconscious Chunin, and finally, his gaze rested on the corpse at my feet. A thin, unreadable smile touched his lips.

“Acceptable,” he said. He pushed himself off the tree and walked calmly into the clearing. “Anko, your technique was efficient. Asuma, you were reckless, but your fundamentals are sound. We will take ten minutes to recuperate. Tend to your wounds and check on the client.”

As Anko and Asuma moved to do as he said, he gestured for me to follow him with a slight tilt of his head. We walked a short distance away, circling the perimeter of the clearing while the others were occupied.

“I can see by your expression that you are conflicted,” he said quietly, his voice unusually soft. “I have… had the displeasure of seeing a lot of first kills.”

“What are the typical reactions?” I asked, my gaze fixed on the forest floor, unable to look at him.

“Horror. Grief,” he answered simply. “My teammate Jiraiya… his first kill was not clean. He was shaken for days.”

A fresh wave of unease washed over me. Shame. If someone born and raised in this violent world had such a strong reaction, then shouldn't I, from a world of peace, feel something? Anything?

“But some, like my other teammate Tsunade, had a tamer reaction,” he continued. “She knew from the start what had to be done. Her thoughts may have lingered on it for a bit, but she was over it quickly. She understood the necessity.”

I finally looked up at him. “And how did you feel?” The question came out before I could stop it. At this point, I knew he wasn't going to just take me and strap me to a lab table. He was my sensei.

“Nothing.” His answer was succinct, delivered without a flicker of emotion. “It felt easy. Too easy. It still does, sometimes.” He stopped walking and met my gaze. “I will not give you the ‘life is precious’ speech that my sensei did. I am not him. This is our reality. We fight because it is our job to do so. That is all there is to it.”

I stayed quiet as we walked back to the group. Asuma was in a foul mood, likely stewing over being saved. I did not have enough energy to deal with his drama right now.

As we gathered our things, a familiar blue screen shimmered into my vision, unseen by anyone else.

[Achievement Unlocked: First Kill!] - Rank: LOW
[Bonus: Chunin-ranked Shinobi killed]
[Rank Recalibrated… First Kill!] - Rank: MID

[Roll Now?]

Odd. That was the first time it had ever given me a choice. Still, rolling for a new ability in the middle of a mission wouldn't be a good thing. Later, I thought, mentally dismissing the screen.

The rest of the mission went without a hitch. A few more hours of travel and we were at our destination, a small, fortified town, just as the sun began to set. We unanimously made the decision to rest for only a short time before leaving immediately. Pre-war, you could loiter and rest, but now, you couldn’t take that risk.

The journey back was long and tense, but uneventful. A few more hours of travel through the dark, and we finally arrived back at the Konoha gates, dead exhausted. Just as we passed through the gate and officially completed the mission, another screen popped into view.

[Achievement Unlocked: First Mission Completed] - Rank: LOW

[Roll Now?]

Tomorrow, I thought again, dismissing it just as quickly. All I wanted was my futon.

AN: Heya, Patreon gang. Sorry for posting this late. I usually post this a couple hours earlier but I’ve been having a lot of IRL issues, jobs, adulting, yada yada. Yuuki’s first mission and kill, I hope it was a fun read! I’ll see you all next week! + a low and mid roll for the next chappie. Honestly, I'm getting lightly burnt out with this story. I'll maybe focus on Fallen One or Weedlin Along next week, as to already let y'all know! I know you came here for this, but I hope you find those entertaining as well, they are on QQ. Honestly, this might be the worst thing I've written.

Weedlin' Along and Fallen One (DxD Gamer)