One Long Mission

One second he was fighting, a whirlwind of bloodied blade and extremely effective taijutsu. No, really, even when another opponent arrived and a third in reinforcement, the odds were still in his favor, because only a few people could contend against him on equal footing.

Suddenly, the foe he had been pushing against, fairly overwhelming, and that exposed jugular he was about to cleanly slice...
...vanished.

He had a split-second to react, and did with pristine reflexes, rolling on the ground and coming up on his feet, sharingan studying the new environment quickly as he guarded, fresh blood still dripping off the blade he held.
This was no genjutsu, because he would be able to tell. His awareness only increased as time passed. The battlefield, the war being waged? it was nowhere. No screams, no shouts, nothing. There was the strange stillness of peace.

This was impossible. There was no peace... unless he had ended up in a neigbouring village? This was a possibility, but again, the whole -how- remained. Some time-space jutsu may have been used, and if -that- was the case, he needed to get back to the battlefield as soon as possible! Eyes went to the sky as he tried to orient himself. There was a sharp coldness to the air. He must have ended up to the north... somehow.

And so, he rushed off towards the south, sheating the still-bloodied blade, although he had yet to let his sharingan fade. There were enemy clans all over, and they would surely know the symbol upon his back.