Mizuki Ryosuke formed a single-handed seal, and a razor-sharp ice blade rapidly materialized along the edge of his palm. With precise control, he carefully sliced open Terumi Mei's blood-soaked upper garments, exposing the grievous wound that had pierced through her chest and abdomen. His expression darkened as he examined the near-fatal injury.
From the depth and angle of the wound, Ryosuke deduced that a spear-like weapon had impaled her from behind. Given the chakra-infused nature of the damage, it was likely a weapon wielded with expert precision—possibly a Kekkei Genkai technique or a jutsu-enhanced strike. The severity of the injury left little room for hesitation.
Despite the dire situation, Ryosuke remained composed, his focus locked onto the task at hand. Any distractions—such as the inevitable exposure of certain areas—were drowned out by the brutal reality of Terumi Mei's condition.
First, the mangled flesh around the wound was too severe to ignore. The injury alone was enough to bring an average shinobi to the brink of death. Second, with Terumi Mei's life hanging in the balance, there was no time for idle thoughts.
Still, despite her pale, blood-drained face, a faint blush colored Mei's cheeks. She closed her eyes, surrendering her body to Ryosuke's care—her trust evident even through her agony.
Ryosuke didn't rush. First, he assessed her overall condition, identifying the two most severe injuries: the right arm's fracture and the deep abdominal wound. Other minor abrasions, though painful, were secondary concerns.
With an experienced touch, Ryosuke retrieved sterile tools from his medical pouch. Before proceeding, he performed an initial treatment using Shōsen Jutsu (Mystical Palm Technique), his chakra flowing into the wound to stabilize her vitals. He then deftly sutured the torn flesh, his ice-honed fingers moving with surgical precision.
Terumi Mei clenched her teeth, her body trembling under the silent torment. The Yin-infused mist muffled all sounds, amplifying the oppressive weight of her suffering.
Over ten agonizing minutes later, Ryosuke had successfully sealed the worst of the wound. He then focused on resetting the fractured bone in her right arm, encasing it in a custom splint forged from ice chakra—reinforced with a technique similar to Hyōton: Hyouro no Jutsu (Ice Prison Technique) to ensure stability.
Terumi Mei was now out of immediate danger, but her body had been pushed beyond its limits. Exhausted, drenched in cold sweat, she lay limp, barely conscious.
Even in this vulnerable state, her presence carried a delicate beauty—a stark contrast to the brutal injuries she bore.
Without hesitation, Ryosuke removed his outer robe, tearing it into strips to create bandages. He carefully wrapped her wounds, ensuring she was covered before discarding his own unnecessary layers. His torso, now exposed, revealed the hardened physique of a shinobi forged through relentless training.
In the dim confines of their icy shelter, Terumi Mei's hazy gaze lingered on Ryosuke, an unreadable emotion flickering in her weary eyes.
With her condition stabilized, Ryosuke turned his attention to their next course of action.
Given Mei's injuries, verbal communication was impossible, and sign language was limited due to her fractured arm. Ryosuke was left to analyze the situation based on the facts at hand.
From what he could infer, her broken arm and deep wound were likely caused by a combination of perception-distorting falls and an external attacker. The latter was the real concern.
There were two possibilities:
1. The enemy who had been pursuing them had inflicted this injury.
2. A separate, unknown entity lurked within this mist—one that struck without warning.
Ryosuke leaned toward the second theory.
At that moment, Mei struggled to raise her left hand, forming a simple but deliberate gesture in sign language: Ghost.
Ryosuke's eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam flashing within them.
A suffocating pressure radiated from his body, his killing intent rolling off in waves. Whether it was an enemy shinobi or an inhuman entity, whatever had harmed Mei was already as good as dead.
A murderous glint surfaced in Ryosuke's expression. Seeing Mei's battered state ignited a fury that burned cold within him.
Even though Mei was in no condition to move, leaving her alone in this accursed fog was not an option.
Ignoring the pain lingering in his own body, Ryosuke gathered her into his arms, lifting her gently. He met her gaze, silently conveying a single promise—one that required no words.
I will never leave you behind.
Mei's vision blurred. An inexplicable warmth surged in her chest, despite the pain. Her heart pounded erratically, a foreign and untraceable feeling rising within her.
She averted her gaze, choosing instead to bury her face against his chest.
Ryosuke, unaware of the turmoil in her heart, simply assumed she was struggling with lingering trauma.
The next moment, the protective wings of ice—his Hyōton: Tsubasa no Tate (Ice Style: Shielding Wings)—dissipated, allowing the mist to engulf them once more.
The vastness of the Yin-infused haze could leave even seasoned shinobi completely disoriented.
In the shinobi world, 99.9% of ninja would be rendered helpless in such an environment.
This was not a simple directional illusion—this mist warped perception on every level.
Even elemental ninjutsu became unreliable. A jutsu intended for a frontal attack could inexplicably veer sideways. A technique meant to strike an enemy could curve back and strike its own caster.
However, Ryosuke was not like other shinobi.
He had multiple ways to bypass this unnatural distortion, but considering Mei's injuries, he opted for the safest route.
Raising a single finger, he executed a rapid sequence of hand seals at a speed few could comprehend.
Suiton: Bakusui Shōha! (Water Style: Exploding Water Shockwave!)
A massive surge of water erupted from beneath his feet, expanding outward with unstoppable force.
As the liquid rapidly filled the fog-drenched space, Ryosuke analyzed its movement, using the flow to gauge the true boundaries of their surroundings.
Contrary to the illusion of boundless mist, this space was no more than ten square kilometers in diameter.
As the water level rose, Ryosuke maintained his footing, carefully balancing with Mei still secured in his arms.
One meter. Three meters. Five meters.
With each surge, his control over the water granted him a clearer picture of their surroundings.
Suddenly, Ryosuke sensed movement beneath the surface.
A presence.
With a flick of his wrist, he manipulated the currents, forcefully dragging the creature into view.
Lifting it from the water, he found himself staring at an unexpected sight—a drenched, shivering, orange-furred cat.
Ryosuke's cold gaze analyzed its soaked fur, claw structure, and chakra signature.
There was no mistaking it.
This thing was the elusive "attacker" that had drawn them into this accursed space.
But at this moment, its condition was far from intimidating.
It was utterly drenched, looking more pathetic than menacing.
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