Zabuza loved to hate Kirigakure. He couldn’t help it and it seemed neither could the village, it kept giving him more reasons to hate and loath as he did. There was little else but the faint familiarity of its walls keeping him in the village, he had no close friends beyond contacts in alleyways, brothels and the like and he had no family, his own clan name was nothing more than a faded memory in Kirigakure’s long history of battle and subjugation, utter and complete in that his family no longer existed beyond himself and his balls.
But they were weak, weaker still for allowing themselves to be lost in the dynastic trees of greater families. But Zabuza didn’t hate Kirigakure for smothering the weak, it’s the most common sense thing to do and it’s what he’s been doing all day long. The strong existed for this world and the weak, they were little more than a warning to the strong. A warning he took very seriously.
Over three years ago now Zabuza became the one regarded as the Demon of the Mist. All it took was smothering every single weak child and teen in the Academy that year without exception and finally his strength was recognized. Yet, three years have passed and here he was, a mere Genin still despite proving time and time again otherwise.
He thought his infamy as the Demon of the Mist would improve his chances at rising to the top of the dogpile but his low caste, weakling blood marred him still and he’s only been taken advantage of. Sent on Chuunin, even Jounin level missions, left without a mentor or even a teacher and cast aside once his usefulness was done for the day, night or month worth of missions.
Low caste as he was his pay as Genin was little more than peanuts compared to the regulars enjoying leisure strolls and boat rides patrolling the border and coasts. But that was merely another reason why he was here, why he pulled himself back into the squalor of low caste society, scourged through deals, performed unsanctioned assassinations for characters even more vile than he and emptied his savings, stole some of others and bought his way into this tournament of weaklings.
The true event, Kisame Hoshigaki against Suikazan Fuguki was yet to come and it seemed even the Mizukage was as bored as he was with the opponents that threw themselves on his blade to fill time and build the hype. Zabuza had ample time to watch the Mizukage while he fought on stage, the man was unbelievable every time he looked. Only five years older than Zabuza himself and yet so much strength…the strongest.
He wondered what he was like, all Zabuza knew was that he fought exceptionally during the past war, enough to gather renown around his prodigious self and be picked as candidate amongst others like Fuguki, Kisame, Raiga and even Juzo for the chance at becoming Mizukage. Zabuza believed a swordsman would surely win and Kirigakure would see a new age and yet…
Now, across the blood sands was Mangetsu Hozuki, another so-called prodigy but one that the Mizuakge had apparently taken a liking to, enough to claim as an apprentice if the murmurs and betting machinations of the spectators were true.
Zabuza’s original plan was simply to beat everyone in his way and earn a battle with one of the Legendary Swordsmen— a good performance against one would all but assure his enlistment into their organisation and a change of pace from his low caste struggles.
But now… “You should quit while you’re ahead, Hozuki boy.” Zabuza said as the proctor still stood between them. Mangetsu narrowed his eyes at him and Zabuza smirked, “I’ve had more practise killing your kind than you have wetting the bed.”
That got the boy to growl, his nostrils flared but a quick glance at the top balcony where his clan head and Mizukage were watching calmed his rising rage as he unsheathed his tanto, “You’re not the only one with something at stake. May the best swordsman win.”
Zabuza ripped his wakizashi and grinned, “I will.”
“Begin!”
Zabuza was on Mangetsu before the sand from the proctor’s feet returned to the lot. His blade smashed against Mangetsu’s hastily raised guard with such force the smaller boy was forced to place a foot back. Zabuza grinned at that and extended his own foot into Mangetsu’s trembling stance but the boy caught on quick and disengaged before he could be taken off his feet entirely.
He dashed away to make space but Zabuza was having none of it, he pressed the boy with thunderous swipes, strikes and a free kick to the chest once his guard was loose again. Mangetsu coughed, the air knocked out his lungs as he scarcesly saved himself from falling over the edge.
Zabuza’s grin endured, he stood for a moment, letting the boy catch his breath, “Most of my opponents until now would have been out of the ring, you’re less weak than them, but you’re not strong.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
He lurched at Mangetsu again, his charge filled manical glee as his wakizashi scored the sand into an upward swipe Mangetsu shielded his eyes from. With the boy temporarily blinded Zabuza did the last thing he would expect and stalled his momentum with a slide that would take the boy off his feet.
To his surprise Mangetsu leaped over his sliding form all while his eyes were shut. He rotated counter-clockwise in the air and landed an inch closer to where Zabuza’s sliding momentum ended. The Hozuki prodigy struck blind but true, drawing blood from Zabuza’s elbow as he frantically rolled away from the jabs.
Zabuza kicked off the sand back to his feet only to find himself beset by the Mangetsu’s flourish of slashes. Fortunately, the boy had little strength in those arms and deflecting and even parrying his attacks were simple feats for Zabuza. Until he sped up, forcing Zabuza to blink rapidly as afterimages of his arms and blade obscured the true strikes that succeeded in drawing blood yet again.
Zabuza growled, leaped away and breathed deeply. Mangetsu didn’t give chase, he stood across the sands for a moment, studying Zabuza’s breathing with a furrowed brow. Zabuza was more furious than out of breath; how had the child managed to draw first blood? Had he underestimated his strength? No, he’s already tired, that kick to the chest put him on the back foot already and this…this is the peak of his skill.
Through gritted teeth Zabuza tightened his grip on his wakizashi and prepared to put the boy down. He was about twice his age and easily three times as strong, it wouldn’t be a problem, what would be a problem though…
Mangetsu broke the stalemate with a quick zigzag dash, Zabuza parried his strike but the boy let go of his weapon? Before Zabuza knew what was happening he’d been used as a stepping stool and the short boy was soaring above his head with a fist cocked back.
Even with his jaw tightened to take on the blow Zabuza’s head was jolted by the force, he felt his fingers nearly lose grip of his weapon as his body tossed across the sands, nearing the edge by a margin. Hasty footsteps followed through Zabuza’s rattled senses and through sheer will he picked himself in time to catch Mangetsu’s follow up dropkick.
“Not again.” Zabuza spat out a glob of blood and snatched Mangetsu’s offending foot. “That punch hurt but this is a Kenjutsu duel kid, never lose your weapon.” He readied his wakizashi and yanked the Hozuki boy towards it glinted tip.
“Halt!”
Had the word come a fraction of a second later Mangetsu’s throat would be skewered through. The proctor landed and nodded at both duellists. Zabuza let the boy’s foot free and spat out another irritating bit of blood and flesh, he regarded Mangetsu with a sneer, extremely upset he’d won without filleting that baby smooth skin of his but at the same time, he couldn’t help feeling impressed.
“You did a good one, Hozuki.” Zabuza said to him before he vacated the stage. The prodigy had no words for him, merely a defeated look of dread as he looked up at the presiding balcony.
The proctor snatch Zabuza’s arm and yelled over the jeering crowd, “And the winner, the champion, the one worth a battle with a legendary swordsman is—!”
“Is me!” Zabuza roared, “The Demon of the Mist!”
The crowds tune changed as those jeering and booing his low caste blood were drowned underneath the sensible and truth seekers. They chanted his name, Zabuza, Zabuza, Zabuza!
***
Zabuza returned to the locker room where most of the participants arranged themselves and equipment. It was completely empty now unlike this morning when it was bursting with weaklings lining up to lose against him. He retrieved his belongings from the temporary locker he’d been assigned and sat on a bench with a bucket of water and a clean rag.
He fetched some with a pail and poured it over his head, letting it cool his pumped blood and soothe his open injuries. He’d refused to let a medic touch him even though his next battle would be against a true swordsman, a legendary one. The wounds would hasten his strength, sharpen his mind.
Still, he wiped them clean from infection with the rag and tore open his last snack for the day. He was told to wait here for someone to prepare him for the next step, he wasn’t sure which of the swordsmen he’d be fighting to prove his worth but it surely wouldn’t be Kisame or Fuguki. That left Juzo and Raiga but Raiga hadn’t been seen around since and he doubted he’d show up just to face Zabuza.
Juzo it is then. Zabuza went through what he knew about Juzo which wasn’t much, the man wielded the Kurikiribocho and was proficient in Water Release but that didn’t matter in Kenjutsu duels. He’d never been privileged enough to submit himself as a study to witness the few practise sessions and training days Fuguki was said to organize for the Seven when they weren’t on mission.
However, what he did know was that Juzo was a clanless shinobi. That alone would have him slotted as low caste or near it but his skill, his strength spoke a different story.
“Hello.”
Zabuza jolted from his thoughts at the voice. He looked, expecting to find some acolyte come to tell him when to come for the battle but instead found the Mizukage, the Fourth Mizukage. He choked. It was his goal to garner attention from the man by beating his apprentice but Zabuza felt Mangetsu got away scot free and yet…
Yagura raised a brow and Zabuza remembered himself, he fell to a knee and greeted with deference, “Mizukage-sama, I’m honoured.”
“I am as well. The infamous Demon of the Mist right before me...you fought well, very well. Mangetsu is quite capable but you…you simply have that innate strength, don’t you?”
“Y-yes! I do.”
“Come by my estate sometime then, I have a need for strength.”
“Of course, I will sir!” He looked up to begin thanking the Mizukage for the sliver of acknowledgement but the man was gone as quickly as he’d come. But now, now even an entire bucket of water wouldn’t cool the excitement racing through his blood.