While resting in their separate tents within the camp, the Uzumaki siblings allowed themselves a rare moment of respite. The day's fierce battle had drained their strength, and now, with night covering the sky, they lay in silence, recovering from the exhausting clash of the afternoon.
At the same time, far away in Amegakure, the atmosphere was entirely different. Deep into the night, the upper ranks of the village had been thrown into a state of alarm. Word had arrived that the entire battalion dispatched under Hanzō's orders—to ambush and eliminate the daimyo's son of the Land of Hot Water—had been utterly destroyed. The scale of the loss was nothing short of catastrophic, and every high-level official of the village had been summoned at once.
Inside a spacious, dimly lit room, Hanzō himself sat at the head of a long table, his presence dominating the chamber. Around him were gathered several of Amegakure's senior officers and advisors, their faces marked by unease. Without wasting time, Hanzō fixed his gaze upon the scout kneeling before him and demanded in a low, firm voice:
"Are you certain of your report? The entire battalion… wiped out by only ten Uzumaki from the Land of Hot Water?"
The scout, who had observed the confrontation from a safe distance, did not waver. Bowing respectfully, he answered with confidence, his words carrying the weight of absolute certainty.
"Yes, Lord Hanzō. I am sure. I watched the entire battle unfold with my own eyes. There were ten of them, each with unmistakable red hair—a clear mark of the Uzumaki Clan."
A tense silence followed his declaration, the weight of his words settling heavily over the room. One of the senior shinobi leaned forward, his tone grave as he spoke.
"We have heard rumors before, whispers of a group of young Uzumaki moving about in the Land of Hot Water. If the scout's report is true, then it seems these are indeed those same Uzumaki… and it would mean they are the ones personally guarding the daimyo's son."
Hanzō's hand came crashing down on the armrest of his chair with a sharp crack, the sound echoing through the chamber like a whip. His voice followed, cold and filled with controlled fury.
"Just one man—Shanks Uzumaki—has given these Uzumaki brats the confidence to march into the Land of Rain and slaughter our shinobi without hesitation. They dare to stain our soil with the blood of Amegakure's forces because of him."
His masked face tilted slightly, and his tone grew darker, edged with disdain.
"It seems my name no longer strikes the fear it once did. People forget too quickly. They have already cast aside the memory of my feat—when I alone crushed an entire battalion of Konoha's finest and forced the so-called legends of their village to their knees. It was I who pinned down the Sannin of Konoha and it was I who gave those three the very title by which they are still known."
The weight of his words settled over the room like a suffocating mist. No one present dared to interrupt, for every statement was fact. Hanzō was not merely their leader—he was the pillar of Amegakure, the figure who carried the village's strength on his shoulders.
After a long silence, one of the senior officers finally spoke, his voice hesitant but steady.
"Lord Hanzō… sending another battalion would be futile. Their strength is too similar to those who were just defeated, and they would suffer the same fate. To overcome these Uzumaki, we would need a full-scale deployment—an army of no less than one to two thousand shinobi."
A weary sigh rippled through the gathered leaders. Each man knew the truth of those words, and the reality weighed heavily upon them. Amegakure was not a great village like Konoha or Iwa; it was smaller, its resources thinner, its high-ranking shinobi far fewer. In total, their standing forces numbered only around three thousand. And now, in a single day, nearly two hundred had been cut down by just ten Uzumaki—an entire tenth of their strength erased in a single clash. Among the dead were ten jōnin, a loss that was almost crippling. For Amegakure, producing even one shinobi of that caliber was a rare and arduous task. To lose ten at once was nothing short of devastating.
Hanzō rose slowly to his feet, the motion alone commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He knew better than anyone the delicate structure of his forces, the fragile balance that kept Amegakure standing amidst its powerful neighbors. Even if he unleashed the full might of his army, the Uzumaki would drag them into the depths of ruin before they could be destroyed. His masked gaze swept over his officers as he spoke in a voice that brooked no argument.
"Enough. I will go and deal with them myself."
When Hanzō declared his intent, not a single high-ranking shinobi in the chamber voiced objection. None dared to challenge his decision, nor did they have reason to. His words carried not only authority but undeniable logic. If Hanzō himself went to confront the Uzumaki, his presence alone would be more than sufficient. It was a far better option than recklessly throwing their forces at the enemy, where entire units would only serve as cannon fodder before being cut down by those ten red-haired warriors.
The very fact that the Uzumaki siblings had slaughtered a battalion of two hundred Amegakure shinobi was proof enough of their terrifying calibre. Their performance had established them on par with elite Jonin from the great villages. And everyone in that room knew the difference well: a Jonin of a major village was leagues apart from a Jonin of a minor one. If all ten of these Uzumaki truly possessed the strength of major-village elites, then even sending the whole of Amegakure shinobi forces would accomplish little other than crippling the village itself.
Thus, Hanzō's decision was not only final—it was the only one that made sense. After the acknowledgment of his choice, the meeting drew to a close. Hanzō rose and exited the chamber first, and the remaining officials filed out in silence soon after, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on their shoulders.
By the time dawn came, the Land of Rain revealed its usual grim morning. There was no sunrise to speak of, no golden rays breaking through the clouds—only the familiar, muted spread of daylight. The sky remained heavy and endless, shrouded in sheets of gray, while the rain continued to fall in its steady, unrelenting rhythm. The land knew no warmth, only the damp chill of an eternal rain.
It was beneath this weeping sky that Hanzō departed from Amegakure. Moving swiftly and without hesitation, he set his course toward the last known position of the Uzumaki siblings, who were traveling in the caravan escorting the Land of Hot Water's young daimyo. His departure, however, did not go unnoticed. Before long, word of his movements spread beyond the village walls, and by the time he was on the march, the news had already reached the ears of Konoha's encampment within the Land of Rain.
At that time, all three of Konoha's famed Sannin were stationed within the Land of Rain. However, at the army encampment, only Tsunade and Orochimaru were present. The large command tent was quiet except for the patter of rain against its canvas, the sound blending seamlessly with the ever-present gloom of the country.
Tsunade, arms folded and her expression sharp with thought, fixed her gaze upon the masked ANBU kneeling before her. Her voice was low, yet edged with concern.
"Why has Hanzō left Amegakure now, in the middle of open conflict? Is he coming for us?"
The ANBU shook his head firmly.
"No, Lady Tsunade. His movements are in another direction entirely. He has not turned toward our camp. As of now, we are still investigating his intentions. Our network of spies is already in motion—we should receive word soon regarding his true objective."
Tsunade regarded the ANBU for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. She did not press further, though the tension in her shoulders did not ease.
"If Hanzō has left his village, then something significant is unfolding. But if his path doesn't lead here, then this isn't our immediate concern."
With that, she fell silent. Still, beneath her calm exterior, the thought lingered—Hanzō's movements were never trivial, and any shift in his focus could alter the balance of the entire war.
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