Chapter 111: The Saboteurs
The atmosphere in Konoha's forward command was thick enough to choke on. Hatake Sakumo's usual calm was strained. Jiraiya's boisterousness was absent, replaced by a focused tension. And Tsunade was a live wire of volatile, sisterly terror. Orochimaru's notable absence only heightened the sense of a critical piece missing from the board.
"Report the situation, Captain," Ragnar repeated, his masked face giving away nothing.
"Rakshasa," Sakumo acknowledged, a thread of relief in his voice at the operative's arrival. "We have a coordinated problem."
So this is the famed Rakshasa, Jiraiya thought, his eyes analytically scanning the masked figure. Young voice. Reputation precedes him… but is the reputation deserved? A part of him, the competitive shinobi, couldn't help but compare. Compared to Orochimaru, his own talents might seem… eclectic. But he was still a Sannin in his prime. He found himself subtly sizing up the ANBU, trying to gauge the strength hidden beneath the cloak and porcelain. He found nothing. The black garb seemed to drink perception, leaving only an impression of coiled potential and cold intent. Only seeing him in action will tell.
"Iwagakure and Sunagakure have formalized their alliance and begun coordinated sabotage," Sakumo explained, his voice grim. "For nearly half a month, they've been hitting our rear supply lines. Not just one route—they're targeting the entire network."
"Just now," Jiraiya interjected, his tone uncharacteristically serious, "my student, Minato, was ambushed while on patrol near a secondary route. If he weren't the prodigy he is, with reflexes and skills beyond his rank, he wouldn't have made it back."
Ragnar processed this. Minato, attacked almost as soon as I left him? Unfortunate timing. But the future Fourth Hokage isn't dying to a roadside ambush.
"And the rope tree!" Tsunade burst out, her fist crashing down on the sturdy field table, which splintered with a loud CRACK. "That bastard Orochimaru actually took him on a supply escort! According to the last scout report, Orochimaru's unit was attacked. There's been no contact since!"
"Supply escort is typically a logistics or low-chunin duty," Ragnar stated, turning his mask toward Sakumo. "Why assign a Sannin?"
"Because ordinary ninjas can't handle it anymore," Sakumo replied, frustration leaking into his tone. "The attacks have been too effective. Most of our supply convoys have been interdicted. If the front line doesn't get resupplied, we'll wither on the vine. We had to send our best. Orochimaru volunteered to lead the last, critical run."
"The attacks are happening practically on our doorstep," Ragnar noted, his voice still flat. "For half a month. Our counter-intelligence has failed?"
"We've tried to respond," Jiraiya answered, rubbing his chin. "But they don't engage. It's classic guerrilla tactics. The Sand-nin, specifically Chiyo's people, have deployed those earth-boring puppets. They coordinate with Iwa's Earth Release specialists. They strike from underground, sever lines, plant explosives, and vanish back into the earth before we can pin them down. Konoha has few shinobi who specialize in deep-earth combat or sensing. We can't pursue, and we can't predict their emergence points."
Sakumo picked up the thread. "This time, it was Orochimaru. A Sannin. If even he has gone silent for this long, he's likely been trapped or immobilized, unable to send a messenger. The most critical point…" He glanced at Tsunade, whose face was pale. "…is that Nawaki was with him."
Nawaki was with him.
The sentence echoed in Ragnar's mind. A cold, logical part of him made the connection instantly. In the original timeline, Nawaki died on a mission with Orochimaru. Ambush. Trap. The coincidence was too stark to ignore.
He looked at Tsunade. The raw fear on her face was a foreign expression on the Slug Princess. If Nawaki died here, now, the blow would be catastrophic. It would break something in her, perhaps irreparably. In this world, the people he genuinely… noticed were few. Tsunade, with her clumsy, overbearing sisterly affection, was one of them. Her pain would be a variable he did not need.
"I've fought their harassment teams multiple times," Jiraiya continued, his brow furrowed. "They're cunning. They bury clusters of explosive tags along potential pursuit paths. We've lost good shinobi to collapsing tunnels. The key to countering them is speed. Overwhelming, immediate reaction force to hit them before they can submerge again. Rakshasa," he said, turning to the mask, "that's why you're here."
"Actually, my teleportation techniques are quite proficient, Sakumo-sama," Jiraiya added, a hint of his usual pride returning. "I could lead the response."
"I'm going too!" Tsunade insisted, her voice trembling with suppressed panic. "I have to find Nawaki! He needs me!"
"Tsunade, you should remain at camp. Rakshasa and Jiraiya will go," Sakumo said, his tone leaving little room for debate.
"No. Jiraiya, you stay. Rakshasa and I will go," Tsunade shot back, her eyes wild.
"What?" Jiraiya looked between them, confused.
Sakumo sighed, the weight of command heavy. "Tsunade, we need you here. Your medical skills are critical. And in your current state, you're a liability in the field. With Rakshasa and Jiraiya's combined speed and power, they can retrieve Nawaki and Orochimaru."
"Tsunade, he's right," Jiraiya said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I swear on my life, I'll bring your brother back."
Tsunade shook her head violently, about to erupt.
Then, a black-gloved hand settled on her other shoulder. The touch was firm, calm. The porcelain mask turned slightly toward her.
"Don't worry." The voice from behind the mask was the same cold monotone, but it carried a bedrock certainty. "I give you my word. Your brother will return safely."
For a moment, Jiraiya forgot the crisis. "Hey! Where do you think you're putting your hands?!" he blurted, a surge of irrational, protective jealousy flashing through him. He'd seen men try to touch Tsunade before. They usually ended up in the infirmary—or the morgue.
But Tsunade didn't react with violence. She looked up at the expressionless Rakshasa mask, her frantic energy stilling. She searched the dark eyeholes, seeing nothing, yet sensing the absolute conviction behind the words.
"…You promise?" she whispered, the fear in her voice laid bare.
"I promise."
A beat of silence. "…Alright," Tsunade said, her shoulders slumping in exhausted, desperate trust. "I believe you."
Jiraiya's jaw nearly hit the floor. What the hell? Since when does Tsunade listen to anyone like that? A horrible, sinking suspicion wormed into his mind. No… it can't be. She's not actually… interested in this masked kid, is she?
Sakumo gave a small, approving nod. The emotional storm had been quelled. "Jiraiya, you will lead this mission. Rakshasa will be your support."
Jiraiya puffed up slightly, some of his wounded pride soothed. Lead a mission with the legendary Rakshasa as his wingman? Not bad.
Then Sakumo continued. "However, Rakshasa is operating under ANBU special protocols. For mission efficiency and given the unique threat profile, he retains autonomous action authority. He may operate independently at his discretion. In fact, you are to provide him support if the tactical situation demands it. Understood?"
Jiraiya's brief moment of pride deflated. So… I'm basically his support? The irony was galling. But he was a professional. And he knew the chain of command. ANBU operatives of Rakshasa's rumored caliber answered to the Hokage, not field jonin.
"…Understood," Jiraiya managed, the words tasting faintly of ash.
"Good." Sakumo stood. "The rescue plan is set. Jiraiya, Rakshasa—prepare and depart immediately. Every minute counts."
The meeting broke. The tension remained, but it had been funneled into a single, sharp point: a rescue mission into the treacherous earth, against an enemy that struck from below and vanished like ghosts.
Jiraiya and the crimson-masked ANBU moved to leave, the weight of a promise and the fate of a Senju heir resting on their shoulders.
(End of Chapter)
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