CH_11.2 (405)

Campbell exhaled through his nose, slow, steady. He adjusted his grip and kept his blade low with his shoulders rolled back. His stance was narrow, his feet silent on dirt. Every motion born of drilled repetition; every muscle etched with the shape of battle.

Across from him, Ratel bounced on the balls of his feet like a simmering fire. His eyes were focused, and his body was bubbling with energy, ready to be unleashed. He held his sword in one hand, tip down like he didn't care what it weighed. His thin arms were coiled tight with twitching potential. Campbell watched the sweat drip from his chin.

Ratel never held tension the way most fighters did. There was a lack of natural restraint—a limit that most people possessed. He wouldn't call it undisciplined; perhaps, wild suited him better, but it worked for him.

He burned hot. Burned through training, through exhaustion, through pain.

Ratel struck first.

He spat a piece of plastic he was chewing on and launched forward, a blur of speed and steel, gravel exploding under his boots. His sword came up in a brutal arc, wide and fast, meant to carve through flesh and bone in a single stroke. Campbell didn't bother meeting it. He redirected it—the blade edge kissed and slid away, bleeding the ferocious momentum. Even then, he felt some force travel up his arm. Ratel's strength had transformed in the past months. His training with weighted gear seemed to be paying dividends.

Then Ratel was inside his guard.

He came like a raging fire, striking everywhere from the elbow, knees, shoulder—battering him with force. It wasn't just raw power. His improving skill with the sword had allowed him to harness that raw potential. Others at his level couldn't move their blades that fast in arms so wild.

He had indeed improved, which was why they had moved from wooden practice swords to real blades with dulled edges. Campbell ducked under the blow, slid left, and brought his sword around low and cut across Ratel's thigh. It cut shallow, but it would bleed. Ratel didn't make a sound and hobbled half a step before swinging down like an executioner.

Campbell flowed past him, turning to face again. There was not a wasted movement in sight.

Ratel's focus deepened in his eyes. The wind stirred dust between them. His breath was calm. His bicep was numb from the earlier impact, but he didn't let it into his stance.

"There's a difference between agility and rushing. That difference is footwork," Campbell advised—but he also knew that Ratel would remember that angle and that strike.

Ratel said nothing. He surged forward again, faster this time. His blade flickered—feint, real strike, feint again—high, then low, then spinning. He was relentless. Every motion born of instinct and strength. Campbell blocked, parried, stepped back, his own sword a thin silver line in the sun.

They met clash after clash. Ratel pressed him, blow after blow, not giving him room to breathe. Not letting him rest or reset. Campbell felt the rhythm of the fight slip sideways, felt Ratel trying to overwhelm him, drown him in movement and endless aggression.

It almost worked. Almost.

It was frankly interesting. Having been there from the start, he had seen how Ratel had developed his sword. But he also sparred with Ratel without swords. His taijutsu and kenjutsu were quite different. The intensity and aggression were staples in both. His main goal was the utter decimation of his opponent till they couldn't raise a finger.

Whoever trained him in taijutsu basics had drilled the importance of pace into him, and that made him much more controlled in his approach while still being more forceful than most fighters. That hadn't been the case with kenjutsu. He had taught him the basics of kenjutsu, but he hadn't tried to make Ratel copy his style. Not only did he not want to influence Ratel's natural progression, but he also didn't think it would work. Ratel was a child when he learned taijutsu. He was already an accomplished fighter when he started kenjutsu. He had his own thoughts and beliefs and knew himself better. Spoonfeeding wouldn't have worked the same.

Campbell had let Ratel's experience and instinct inform his style. He simply guided him to shave the problems away and polish the strengths.

Of course, the journey of improvement was eternal.

Campbell caught the inside of Ratel's wrist with the flat of his blade. Used the deflection to pivot with swift footwork. A tight turn powered his sword, arcing up into Ratel's ribs.

It was blocked—barely. Ratel grunted as he twisted and brought his down towards Campbell's temple.

Campbell leaned back. The strike grazed him. Darkness dimmed at the edge of his vision. He blinked it away and stepped back into the guard. It wasn't just Ratel's strength that had changed; his speed had gained wings. Most shinobi who spent long hours behind desks tended to grow slower and weaker, and with how much Ratel worked, he should have stagnated, but he had only continued to grow.

Ratel didn't let off the steam. He acted as though the wound on his thigh might as well not be there. But Campbell could feel it. The tiniest hesitation on the lunge; the slightest attempt to protect his leg that was seeping everywhere.

He pressed for the first time. His strikes were surgical, characterised by tight arcs and minimal movements, while keeping his upper body open for free arcs. He aimed for the shoulder; parried. The quicks to the hip; blocked. Ratel had gotten better.

Then a thrust to the throat that came within an inch of drawing blood.

A fire burned in Ratel's eyes. It was as though he was insulted because he lunged again—harder this time. He slapped the thrust aside and countered—high and brutal, a cleaving overhead meant to end the fight. Campbell narrowly caught it on the crossguard, the impact jarring through his arms. The feral blade danced in a chaotic rhythm, accompanied by a symphony of metallic noise. Every strike was a question: Is this strong enough? Is this fast enough?

They broke apart.

Both of them bled now. Campbell from his shoulder, Ratel from his thigh and a shallow cut on his forearm. Dust swirled between them again in the silent training field.

Campbell tasted blood in his mouth. He had bitten his tongue when Ratel had slammed the hilt of his sword into his face.

But now it was his turn.

He stepped in, feinted left and cut right while his foot slid smoothly over gravel. Ratel blocked it. Campbell twisted and kicked at his knee. He saw it coming and stepped back, but Campbell stepped forward with a wide swing that made Ratel lean back. He saw an opening and turned it into an opportunity, and sliced his blade upward.

Ratel's arm came up too late. The dull sword carved across his side. Not deep, but it opened the skin. Ratel was nothing if not resilient as he charged, swinging his blade in a powerful arc. Campbell's sword came like a hammer. The force buckled his knees, but he caught the blade with his own, turned it, and stepped into the blow as he let the blade slide across his own to trap. He clenched his muscles to compensate for his poor balance as he the blades locked with each other before he ripped Ratel's weapon from his grip.

The sword clattered across the field before there was silence.

Campbell's blade was at Ratel's throat.

His breath came hard, and his shoulder burned, but his stance was steady. His sword didn't waver.

"Yield," he said.

Ratel didn't move. His focus remained strong for a couple more seconds before his eyes softened, and he let himself fall to the ground.

"You win," he groaned. "Again."

Campbell finally let himself breathe freely. He rested his sword and sat beside him.

"Maybe it's wrong to say this, but I don't think you'll beat me at pure kenjutsu anytime soon—unless you far outgrow me in the physical sense. That will probably happen in a few years."

For him, the sword was his style. The entirety of his combat was based around the sword in the middle. He knew just as many bukijutsu as he knew pure ninjutsu. But for Ratel, the sword was just another weapon in his arsenal, and he didn't think that was going to change anytime soon. The amount of time and commitment he could put into learning the sword would always be limited when compared to how much Campbell had done at every stage of his personal development.

"No, I get what you're saying, but don't count me out yet. If I can get more clone bandwidth, I might just go for it," Ratel said.

He looked to the side like he noticed something, sighed, and then rolled his eyes.

"Something happened?" Campbell asked, looking in the direction Ratel was looking. He saw nothing.

Ratel waved it off. "Just an annoying memory."

"I heard you're leaving tomorrow," Campbell said. "Another ROOT excursion?"

Ratel and Kestrel had joined Weasel's ROOT joint initiative. They still handled cases that came to them via the inquisitor unit because they were still part of the unit; however, the majority of their workload was tied to ROOT. He and his superiors were fine with that because it was important work—and because it had secured the unit more funding.

"...Something like that," said Ratel.

———

 .

At home, Takuma opened the file Itachi had given him. He had lied to Campbell about it being a ROOT case because he didn't want his squad leader to know that he had gotten a case from another captain. Work related to ROOT was fine because he was officially part of the initiative, and the unit was being compensated for it, but anything other than that, he needed to get it approved.

It wouldn't be a problem if Itachi followed official channels and followed protocol to assign him a case, but he wanted to keep it discreet, so he couldn't reveal that he was using the unit's funds to run a case from the outside.

He opened the file to see what Itachi wanted him to do.

In the borderlands of the Land of Fire and the Land of Earth, a series of violent skirmishes were breaking out between Stone-aligned traders from the Land of Earth and bandits in the Land of Fire. Border patrols that were assigned to fortify the routes to protect the traders had also been ambushed, and shinobi had been killed. The real problem was that only Stone-aligned traders were getting targeted. There were cases of Leaf-aligned traders getting targeted, but they were inconsequential when compared to how Stone-aligned traders were getting their goods stolen.

Things had gotten so bad that Hidden Stone had been seriously displeased and were all but openly blaming Hidden Leaf for targeting them.

His job was to identify the bandits and stop them.

Itachi thought he would be well-suited for the case after learning about his work from reading about the Maizuru Assassinations case.

In addition to the usual challenges that came with any case, this case presented some unique ones. He didn't have access to any help with the case, neither from his teammates nor from the staff, who provided very limited assistance. Not to mention, he couldn't spend a lot of time away from home because it would inevitably attract questions.

He had at most a week, or ten days if he played it risky.

The case represented Itachi's trust in his abilities. He didn't want to disappoint him and lower that trust because having an ANBU Captain know him for his competence meant having connections in high places. He could even get trusted for more, high-level cases in the future.

In Takuma's opinion, it was time for him to get a promotion.

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