The soft scratch of charcoal on parchment was the only sound in Azula's cabin, a stark contrast to the churning sea outside.
She was meticulously adding details to a sketch of a man without a shirt who looked very tough when a polite knock interrupted the silence.
"Azula-sama, we have arrived at Uzushiogakure."
She didn't look up—not because she was rude, but because she already knew.
A faint pop in the back of her mind, accompanied by a rush of sensory information, had already announced their arrival a full minute ago. Her shadow clone on deck had dutifully completed its reconnaissance and dispersed.
"Understood," she said, her voice calm. She carefully set her drawing aside, a flicker of pride in her work before she schooled her features into the composed mask of a clan matriarch.
Stepping out onto the deck, the sight before her was… anticlimactic. There was an island, sure, but it was shrouded in a visible, shimmering distortion—like looking through a heat haze.
Her senses, sharpened to a razor's edge, skated right off its surface, unable to penetrate an inch.
A slow, appreciative smile tugged at her lips.
Of course, she thought, a thrill of professional respect running through her. The Uzumaki. Masters of the art of "stay the hell out."
In a world where entire villages could be wiped out in a night, and you were targeted by four of the strongest five villages, this kind of paranoid, all-encompassing barrier wasn't just smart; it was a statement. A very loud, very clear, We see you, and we're prepared.
She didn't bother with boats but sensed her kunai in the first one. In a flash of intent and chakra that still felt like a minor miracle, she simply disappeared. She was no longer on her ship but standing steadily on the deck of the lead vessel, right beside her parents.
"Father," Azula began, her tone very impressed. "You're looking unusually… vibrant. The sea air seems to have reversed your age by a decade."
Tajima, former patriarch and current professional grump, stood with his arms crossed, trying to project an aura of stoic authority. It was somewhat undermined by the relaxed set of his shoulders and the healthy color in his cheeks.
Beside him, his wife, Asami, let out a warm, genuine laugh. It was a sound Azula didn't hear nearly enough since she and Fugaku had taken over the clan's heavy burdens. "He's been like this since we set sail, Azula. I think without a mountain of scrolls to frown at, he's forgotten how to be properly miserable."
Tajima's ears turned a faint shade of pink, a dead giveaway for any Uchiha. He cleared his throat—the picture of a man desperately trying to reclaim his dignity.
"Enough of this frivolity. We are at the doorstep of an allied village, on the brink of war. This is a battlefield, not a family vacation. You," he said, pointing a finger at Azula, "should take the initiative and make contact with their representative. Immediately."
Azula saw right through him. This was the get the embarrassingly perceptive daughter away from me before she makes another comment maneuver—one he'd perfected over years of clan politics.
But he wasn't wrong. She could feel a powerful chakra signature approaching the barrier's edge, a presence that burned like a bonfire, easily at the Kage level.
"Try not to have too much fun without me," she said with a wink at her mother, who smiled back conspiratorially.
Without another word, she took a running leap off the bow, her cloak flapping behind her. She landed with a soft crunch on the white sandy beach, her posture perfectly poised as she faced the Uzumaki delegation.
The man at their head was the source of that formidable chakra.
Mugetsu Uzumaki, the military leader of Uzushiogakure—the very man who had infiltrated Kiri to verify Mito's anonymous warnings.
His crimson hair was like a banner, and his eyes, sharp and assessing, were already taking her measure.
As Azula coolly evaluated him—strong, experienced, weary but unbroken—he was doing the same to her. And what he found made his Uzumaki soul, so proud of its legendary life force and chakra reserves, want to sigh in sheer exasperation.
Is this what Mito-sama meant by "prodigy"? She's a child! Fourteen, if the intelligence is correct. How in the name of all that is sealed does an Uchiha have a chakra pool that rivals mine? It's… utterly unreasonable.
The brief professional jealousy was there and gone in a heartbeat, washed away by a wave of profound relief.
This "unreasonable" talent wasn't here to besiege them. She was reinforcement. She was hope. She was the beloved disciple of their beloved Mito-sama.
However he looked at it, this formidable young woman with her reputation for fighting two Kage at the same time was, for this moment at least, unequivocally on their side. And for a village staring into the abyss, that made all the difference in the world.
"Welcome to Uzushiogakure! And a true honor to host you, Azula-sama," he said, his voice warm and dripping with what he hoped was the right amount of respectful camaraderie.
He was practically radiating goodwill, a technique as important as any jutsu.
Azula felt it, of course. She felt everything. The deference, the unspoken questions, the slight tension in the Uzumaki guards behind Mugetsu.
Being called sama by a man her father's age was nothing new; status was a cage as much as it was a throne. It was all a bit… tedious.
In a world where a five-year-old with a kunai could end a dynasty, ceremony often felt like painting a mask on a hurricane.
"The honor is shared," she replied, her voice a calm, measured counterpoint to his sunnier tone. "The Uchiha have come a long way to answer the call. It is what allies do for one another."
She stated it as simple fact, but the implication was clear: You need help. We are here. Remember that.
With a barely perceptible lift of her hand, the Uchiha on the ship began to disembark. It was like watching a shadow detach itself from the hull.
They moved with a silent, synchronized grace, their faces carved from stone—a professional indifference to life and death that was both intimidating and, frankly, a little extra.
But it was their brand.
Mugetsu couldn't help but let an appreciative look appear on his face.
His mind instantly conjured an image of his own Uzumaki kin—brilliant, powerful, but about as disciplined as a pack of sun-drunk kittens after a decade of peace.
The comparison was brutally unfair and entirely accurate.
"Now that's what I'm talking about," he said, his voice carrying easily to all the ninja present. He wasn't even lying; it was genuine admiration.
"The Uchiha reputation is well-earned. So many shinobi, yet every one of them looks like they could face death without fear. If I could get my lot to stop napping on watch long enough to look half that put-together, I could die a happy man."
A ripple of pleased smirks passed through the Uchiha ranks. They were prideful, yes, but being praised by someone of Mugetsu's caliber—a man known for his own formidable skills—felt less like flattery and more like a statement of fact.
It was appreciated.
Thankfully, they all knew better than to linger in a mutual admiration society on an open beach. With the pleasantries observed, Mugetsu gestured for them to follow. "Right this way. The village itself is a bit of a hike."
What lay before them was just a dense, seemingly untouched forest. Uzushiogakure was nestled deep within the island's heart, a secret worth protecting.
The Land of Whirlpools was no Land of Fire, but it wasn't a sandbar either. Even at a shinobi's pace, the journey to the village proper took the better part of an hour.
When they finally arrived, the village was encased in a second barrier, a masterpiece of swirling, translucent red energy that made the island's perimeter shield look like child's play.
Azula's analytical mind, never truly off, immediately began dissecting it. The chakra density is immense. A direct hit from a Tailed Beast Bomb might not even breach it… and given enough time and fuel, the damn thing could probably regenerate.
A part of her, the part that was always thinking ten steps ahead for her own, was already green with envy. Imagine draping this over the entire Leaf Village. Daily.
Before they could even be asked for entry credentials, a section of the shimmering wall dissolved without a sound. On the other side stood a welcoming committee, and Azula's eyebrows crept upward for the second time that day.
It was the highest honor the Uzumaki could possibly extend.
Standing at the forefront, his own fiery red hair a declaration of his heritage, was Shinki Uzumaki himself—not just the Clan Head, but the Daimyō of all Uzushiogakure.
"Welcome to Uzushiogakure," he said with a broad, diplomatic smile. Behind him, dozens of Uzumaki elites and high-ranking officials lined up, their chakra flaring faintly like a living sea of red.
"Welcome to Uzushiogakure, Uchiha!"
"Welcome to Uzushiogakure!"
"Welcome!"
The chorus of voices echoed through the frontal entrance of Uzushiogakure, a warm yet slightly formal reception.
Azula stepped forward, her long dark hair swaying with the sea breeze, the crimson of her Uchiha crest catching the light.
Her expression was poised—serious but not cold. When she smiled, it wasn't the kind that invited closeness, but the kind that said: I am perfectly in control of this moment.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said smoothly, and spoke just enough to be respectful. "I'm Azula Uchiha—Matriarch of the Uchiha clan."
Of course, everyone already knew who she was. Her portrait had been painted, copied, and circulated across the Five Nations—some said she was the most recognizable kunoichi of her generation.
Still, formalities were formalities. And Azula was not a woman who skipped the rules—she bent them only when it served her.
Shinki, the head of his clan and Daimyō of Uzushiogakure, studied her with hidden curiosity. He had expected arrogance from the young matriarch, a child of war raised in one of the proudest clans on earth.
He wasn't entirely wrong—she was arrogant. But it was a refined arrogance. The kind that didn't scream I'm better than you, but instead whispered, I don't need to prove that I am.
It was a subtle, dangerous difference—and Shinki respected it.
He bowed slightly, his tone warm but deliberate. "I'm Shinki Uzumaki, head of the Uzumaki clan and Daimyō of Uzushiogakure. On behalf of my people, I thank the Uchiha for coming to support us during such difficult times. The Uzumaki will never forget this kindness."
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
We were not even on the top twenty on Monday before publishing the chapter but now we are the first, very cool friends, thanks 👍.