After that, Orochimaru turned his head and fixed his gaze on the Six-Tails.
"The jinchūriki is at his limit."
He licked his lips.
A shadow appeared beside him without a sound.
The man was dressed like an Anbu shinobi—wearing a black cloak and black sunglasses.
There was also a streak of purple face paint at the right corner of his mouth.
It was none other than Aburame Tatsuma, once a prodigy of the Aburame clan.
But he had an even more famous title now: Deputy Commander of Root!
In terms of rank, he was—at least on paper—on the same level as Orochimaru.
Danzo Shimura's right-hand man.
"Orochimaru, why did you let Kiyohara stay behind alone? Given his potential and Danzo-sama's interest in him, ensuring his safe retreat should take priority."
"Heh…"
Orochimaru chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement.
He turned to look at Aburame Tatsuma.
Root shinobi, like Anbu, had only codenames—no real names.
But the truly powerful always ended up with a "name," or rather, a title.
Aburame Tatsuma was unquestionably one of those.
His skill in controlling kikaichū for attack and infiltration was among the most outstanding in Root history.
"Safe? There's no such thing as real safety for a shinobi. If he can't survive a predicament of this level, then his value ends here."
Orochimaru shook his head.
Did Danzo value Kiyohara as a person?
Of course not.
What he valued was the Magnet Release bloodline in Kiyohara's body—and how much he could contribute to Root, and to Danzo.
That old fox claimed he was willing to become darkness buried in the soil so Konoha's great tree could bathe in more sunlight—deepening its roots below.
But in truth, he was also seeking private gain.
Danzo did devote himself to "Konoha."
The question was whether it was everyone's Konoha—or his Konoha.
If he truly cared only about the village, would it matter whether he became Hokage?
Orochimaru still remembered an old predecessor named Maruhoshi Kosuke: monstrously strong, yet content to remain a lifelong genin.
"Even if he dies, I can still obtain what Danzo wants."
"As long as it doesn't interfere with Danzo-sama's larger plans," Aburame Tatsuma said coldly.
That was "Root" in a nutshell—no name, no feelings, no past, no future.
Only the mission.
Tatsuma didn't care whether Kiyohara lived or died—only whether Kiyohara's value, alive or dead, was enough to be "contribution" for Danzo.
"But if he survives—"
A hot glint flashed through Orochimaru's eyes.
"Then I wouldn't mind raising him as my direct subordinate. A future Hokage naturally needs the sharpest blade."
Aburame Tatsuma fell silent for a moment.
"Understood."
In the next instant, his figure vanished.
He knew Danzo intended to prop Orochimaru up as Hokage—but that wasn't something a subordinate could speculate about freely.
"Danzo… that old man really wants to prop me up as a puppet," Orochimaru licked his lips.
Danzo's scheme was obvious: make Orochimaru the public Hokage, while Danzo ruled from the shadows.
Or have Orochimaru step down later and "pass" the seat to Danzo as Fifth Hokage.
"Orochimaru—!"
A distant shout snapped Orochimaru back to reality.
"So you've finally arrived, Jiraiya."
Orochimaru turned and saw a gigantic toad bounding through the mountain ridges.
And atop it stood a tall figure—nearly 190 centimeters.
"Mount Myōboku~ toad spirits~ sage of immortal toads— the gallant Jiraiya makes his entrance!"
With Jiraiya's flamboyant self-introduction, he finally reached Orochimaru's side.
Orochimaru was long used to Jiraiya's ridiculousness.
"If the two of us fight together, buying more time won't be a problem," Orochimaru said flatly.
…
Mist's surprise assault detachment—temporary command post.
Higashino-yama, the commander of the Mist flank assault force—a stern middle-aged man with a deep knife scar over his left eye—stood on a raised rock, staring into the battlefield where chaotic white haze and red bloodlight churned.
His chakra sensing wasn't as sharp as a dedicated sensor's, but he could still clearly feel it:
Their chakra signatures in that sector were disappearing at an abnormal rate.
"Flank Sector D… what's going on?"
"Did Konoha throw an elite team at us? How many?"
Beside him stood Momochi Zabuza, his face wrapped in bandages, only his eyes exposed. He kept his eyes closed, guarding.
A sensory shinobi hurried over to report:
"Commander Higashino-yama, based on forward probing— it seems… there's only one person."
"One?"
The scarred brow furrowed.
"One person can cause this scale of chaos? How many of ours has he killed?"
"Judging by chakra drop-offs and screams… at least twenty-five. Mostly chūnin and genin."
Even the sensor's voice carried disbelief.
"His behavior is extremely slippery. He uses an invisible summon that spits lime powder to create confusion. He's insanely fast, targets the weakest points, strikes once and immediately disengages—never commits."
"Trash."
Higashino-yama spat the word—unclear whether he meant his dying subordinates or the jōnin failing to stop the enemy.
"Do we know who it is? Since when does Konoha have someone like this—good in mixed combat and assassination? Uchiha? Hyūga?"
The Mist sensor hesitated, then said:
"From the description—black hair, using a black ninjatō, specializes in shunshin, and can use magne—"
"It's that 'Magnet Release Kiyohara,' isn't it?" Zabuza spoke up.
He'd heard the name in the intelligence Mei had sent back earlier: showed brilliantly at Uzushio ruins, skilled in Magnet Release and swordsmanship, insanely fast—a new generation threat.
"Kiyohara? Never heard of him." Higashino-yama shook his head, contempt habitual in his tone.
He only respected famous monsters.
"So the brat has Magnet Release—so what? Bloodlines aren't strong by themselves. They're strong because the user is."
He dismissed Kiyohara with a sneer.
"A pup who only picks on the weak. A real strongman points his blade at stronger foes. This hyena just abuses speed and dirty tricks to disrupt formation."
But he couldn't ignore Sector D any longer. If the chaos didn't stop fast, the entire assault plan might be compromised.
And back in the Mist, failure often meant a fate more brutal than death.
"Suiryū Kūsora."
"Yes."
A figure appeared behind him—silent as mist.
Lean, standard Mist black-ops gear, a bizarre blade on his back, only half his face visible—cold and emotionless.
He was a reserve candidate for the Seven Swordsmen—an elite jōnin, especially skilled at Water Style and the Mist's "Water Flow Body Flicker," one of the fastest in the village.
If four of the legendary seven blades hadn't been captured by Konoha, he might've fought for a Seven Swordsmen seat.
"The chaos in Sector D ends with you," Higashino-yama ordered.
"That brat Kiyohara—dead or alive. But restore Sector D in ten minutes. We don't have time to play hide-and-seek with a rat."
"Yes. I'll be back in ten minutes."
Suiryū Kūsora's body wavered, liquefied into water, and seeped into the ground. In the next moment he re-formed in a narrow stream dozens of meters away, racing toward Kiyohara's battlefield at terrifying speed.
A faint trail of moisture lingered where he passed.
Higashino-yama continued issuing orders, adjusting deployments to plug any holes Sector D might cause, his face dark.
…
Outside the mountains after the retreat—over ten kilometers from the front.
At that distance, only a Beast Bomb could reach them.
While everyone else was retreating, several Yamanaka clan shinobi sat with sweat beading on their foreheads, sensing the chaotic battlefield chakra.
Their job was not only overall monitoring—to prevent infiltration—but also recording the battle as best they could.
By tracking chakra surges, sudden extinguishments, and the movement of unique chakra sources, they could later tally unit results—and, when clear enough, individual contributions.
Wartime merit affected rewards and promotions. Group results went to the unit; if a single person clearly produced massive casualties in an area, they often got separate credit.
Kurenai, Genma, and Kakashi and Rin—who had just retreated and were receiving quick treatment—were gathered here, anxiously waiting.
"Sentoku-senpai… what's happening up there?" Rin asked, worried.
Yamanaka Sentoku, a middle-aged Yamanaka shinobi, kept his eyes shut and answered slowly:
"Jiraiya-sama has arrived. He's fighting with Orochimaru-sama against the Six-Tails jinchūriki. The situation's stabilized—for now. But the Six-Tails is no ordinary threat. They're mainly buying time so the main force can withdraw."
"And the flank?" Kurenai couldn't help blurting out, fingers twisting together, ruby eyes full of anxiety. "Did Kiyohara… get out?"
Sentoku frowned.
In this chaos, how could he spare focus for a single chūnin?
He shook his head. "The flank is far, and the signals are mixed with huge water-style fluctuations and explosions. I can sense fierce fighting there—lots of chakra shutting off fast—but I can't identify who."
"Still… I can try to connect you."
He began a special Yamanaka transmission technique—long-range message relay that could be broadcast within a designated area.
Soon Sentoku linked to a node several kilometers ahead: Hyūga Natsu.
Each interval, a Hyūga or another sensor would anchor a point; the Yamanaka would relay across those points—like lighting up dots on a black map.
It was vital for coordinating mobile warfare, and one reason Konoha could survive multi-front chaos while preserving manpower.
"Looking for Kiyohara? I'll try," a clear young female voice came through—Hyūga Natsu.
Natsu was a young branch-family Hyūga kunoichi, also a graduate from Kiyohara's year.
The main-family members had already evacuated with the first wave. Branch members were ordered to delay in batches and gather intel.
She inhaled, formed seals—
"Byakugan!"
Veins bulged at her temples. Her vision pierced trees and earth toward the distant flank.
A few seconds later, her body jolted.
"I see him—Kiyohara!"
Her voice was shaken.
Sentoku relayed every word.
"He just summoned a huge chameleon and charged into the Mist formation! And—so much lime powder! The Mist is in total chaos!"
"How is he?!" Kurenai blurted.
Sentoku sped up, as if Natsu's voice were speaking through him.
"He's moving in the haze—so fast I can't track him cleanly. Mist shinobi are dropping one after another under his blade—wait, the fog's thinning. His summon looks hurt, it's slowing down!"
"And then?" Genma demanded.
He knew Kiyohara's "traditional ninja" nonsense—throw lime, win wars.
"Is he getting surrounded?" Rin asked, tense.
"The Mist survivors are fighting him again!"
Sentoku relayed quickly.
Everyone's faces tightened.
Kiyohara couldn't really be okay after that, right? Even without chakra, stamina would be gone.
"Then?" Kakashi asked.
"Then… all those Mist shinobi just died!"
Sentoku blurted.
Kurenai:
Kakashi:
Rin: "…"
Genma: "…"
"What else?" Kurenai stared at Sentoku.
The man was driving her crazy with half-sentences.
Sentoku, now visibly struggling not to crack his usual stern expression, kept relaying:
"And the Mist side—another shinobi is racing in toward Kiyohara. And Kiyohara—Kiyohara is… looting the bodies!"
Sentoku's face twitched.
Sure, profit is profit—but this?
On the battlefield?
Flank battlefield, outer edge.
The lime haze had thinned under wind and jutsu disturbance, losing its original coverage.
The invisible chameleon had taken multiple wounds; blood stained its shifting skin. It shot Kiyohara a weary look—
After one more spray of lime to blind a distant Mist chūnin, Kiyohara dismissed it, and it vanished into smoke.
~~~
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