A week later, they arrived at the outskirts of the Yugakure.
Standing just beyond its entrance, Sparrowhawk—Senju Kenichi—lowered his voice and spoke respectfully, "Sir, we've arrived."
Natsuhiko's gaze lingered on the village ahead as he silently took stock of the four men at his side—Sparrowhawk Senju Kenichi, Red Hawk Senju Kaisho, Harrier Hawk Senju Keita, and Snow Hawk Senju Akira.
These were the only ones he had brought along for this mission. It was not that he trusted them completely; rather, among the Third Division, there were simply too few he deemed worthy of even cautious reliance.
Still, these four were all members of the Senju clan, and that alone set them apart. More importantly, Snow Hawk—Senju Akira—had already, in his own quiet way, aligned himself with Natsuhiko.
Akira had once served under Senju Ryota, his situation not unlike that of Senju Renge. But after Natsuhiko had forced Ryota from power through sheer pressure and calculated maneuvering, Akira, too, had been freed in a sense. Though he had never expressed gratitude outright, his actions spoke clearly enough.
And Natsuhiko had never been one to place stock in words. What mattered to him was action—what lay beneath the surface. Flowery promises meant nothing if they concealed ulterior motives or treachery. He had seen too many such people.
The most obvious example, he often thought with a trace of irony, was himself.
Knowing what he was, how could he ever take others at their word?
"Let's move," Natsuhiko said at last.
Natsuhiko swept his gaze across the outskirts of Yugakure before giving a faint shake of his head.
"This village has almost no defenses. No wonder they asked for help," he said calmly. "And I doubt they reached out only to Konoha. Kumogakure may have received the same request."
His tone remained even, but decisive.
"So we won't waste time. We go straight to their leader."
"Yes, sir."
The four Senju nodded in unison, and without another word, they followed Natsuhiko as they slipped quietly into the village.
Inside, Yugakure felt… peaceful.
People moved about freely, their expressions relaxed, their lives seemingly untouched by the lingering shadows of war. It was difficult to believe that this place had ever known conflict at all.
Its famed hot springs were everywhere—bathhouses rising one after another, steam drifting lazily into the air. Even Natsuhiko found himself momentarily tempted.
He had never truly experienced a proper hot spring. Time had never allowed it, and his age had limited him to the more conventional establishments. If he were to indulge, though… shouldn't he at least do it properly?
After all, wasn't that how Jiraiya approached such things?
Ordinary bathhouses held little appeal. If anything, the more indulgent establishments seemed far more… interesting.
He shook his head lightly, dismissing the wandering thought before it could take root. There was no time for distractions.
They moved swiftly, and in just over ten minutes, they arrived at the residence of the Yugakure's leader.
Their pace was swift and deliberate, and in just over ten minutes, they arrived at the residence of Yugakure's leader.
Yugakure, after all, was unlike the other great hidden villages.
Here, the one in charge was not the strongest shinobi, but rather an ordinary person—someone respected for their character and wisdom.
This peculiar system traced back to the village's founding.
The founders of Yugakure had not been shinobi at all, but a simple couple. By chance, they had come into possession of a fragment of a strange and ancient scroll. Over decades of tireless study, they developed a unique technique from it, laying the foundation for Yugakure's distinct shinobi system.
In the years that followed, generation after generation of capable Yugakure shinobi were trained under that system. And even after the couple passed away, certain traditions endured.
One of them was this:
The village would be governed not by powerful ninja, but by ordinary people.
It was a choice with both strengths and flaws—because, in the end, it was ordinary people who best understood what other ordinary people truly desired.
Yet ordinary people did not necessarily understand the terror of shinobi. Lacking that awareness, they often clung to strange notions and made decisions that were, at times, utterly baffling.
Take the present situation, for example. Despite possessing ample financial resources, Yugakure had inexplicably weakened its own shinobi system—so much so that it was almost equivalent to outsourcing its defenses to the great hidden villages. Perhaps this was simply the way smaller villages survived in a world dominated by giants. And yet, shaped by the principles and education of his previous life, Natsuhiko could not help but see such a choice as profoundly foolish.
Still, other people's decisions were not his concern. He had neither the obligation nor the inclination to interfere. His task was simply to fulfill his own mission.
And yet, there was something else he could not ignore.
From the moment they entered the village, he had felt it—a persistent gaze, subtle but unmistakable, trailing them from the shadows.
Kumogakure? Or those cultists? he wondered. And if so… why did they withdraw?
The instant he sensed he was being watched, Natsuhiko had quietly extended his perception, letting it spread outward like an invisible net. It did not take long before he pinpointed them—four figures, their presence distinct and undeniable.
But what followed only deepened the mystery.
After seemingly confirming something, the four individuals retreated without hesitation, making no attempt to approach or confront Natsuhiko's group.
It made little sense.
Judging from their chakra, they were far from weak. Perhaps they could not match his side, but that was only natural. After all, those standing with him were members of the Senju clan, each one a carefully selected talent worthy of the Anbu. Their abilities—especially their chakra—were exceptional even among their peers.
And as for Natsuhiko himself…
Ever since that incident in the Land of Wind, when all the "seeds" within him had matured at once, his chakra had been completely unleashed. For the time being, he had chosen to maintain that state—at least until the matter of the Nine-Tails was resolved. Beyond that, he would decide his next course.
For now, there were no new seeds to cultivate, no need to restrain himself.
The sheer scale of his chakra could only be described as monstrous.
Did they judge strength purely by chakra alone? he mused, a faint crease forming between his brows. If that's the case, then their judgment is deeply flawed.
Still, confusion did not dull his instincts. Since they had crossed paths, there was no reason to let such potential leads slip away. Information, after all, often revealed itself in the most unexpected places.
Long before arriving here, Natsuhiko had already prepared for such contingencies. A shadow clone had been dispatched in advance, silently trailing the four figures as they withdrew. Upon it, he had placed his own mark.
If anything went wrong—if the clone were discovered or attacked—he would know immediately. And when that happened, he would find them.
And then, perhaps, they could have a proper… conversation.
Drawing his thoughts back to the present, Natsuhiko spoke in a calm, measured tone.
"Snow Hawk, go knock."
"Yes, sir."
Senju Akira responded with quiet respect before stepping forward without hesitation, his figure moving toward the door as the moment of contact drew near.
As foreign shinobi, even though they belonged to Konoha's Anbu, there were still rules that had to be followed—and they followed them without complaint.
After all, this was the shinobi world. While violence was never far away, what truly mattered was understanding the subtle currents of human relations, the unspoken rules that governed interactions. Even if the five of them possessed enough strength to raze a small place like Yugakure to the ground, that did not mean they could simply act without restraint.
...
"Are you certain? It's really him?"
In a secluded corner of Yugakure, four shadowed figures gathered in hushed conversation. Their voices were low, but beneath the restraint lingered a tremor they could not quite conceal—a quiet, involuntary edge of fear.
And that fear was real.
They could hardly believe it themselves—they had actually encountered that man, the one whose name had already begun to take on the weight of legend.
The intelligence Natsuhiko had gathered was accurate. These four were members of Kumogakure's Anbu. Clearly, Yugakure had not limited its plea for aid to Konoha alone; Kumogakure had received the same request.
Their mission was twofold: to investigate the mysterious cult lurking within Yugakure—and, if possible, to draw the village closer into Kumogakure's sphere of influence.
Kumogakure was, without question, a village that favored strength, one that did not shy away from using force to obtain what it desired. But it was not so foolish as to rely on brute strength alone.
In some ways, their thinking was not so different from Natsuhiko's own. Power could be displayed to inspire fear and respect, but only a fool would believe that power alone could secure everything.
Whether or not the phrase carrot and stick existed in this world, its essence was clearly understood.
During the Third Great Ninja War, Kumogakure had chosen to withdraw early, preserving much of its strength. Though the Fourth Raikage had used that time to consolidate his authority, the village had never truly ceased its conflicts.
And behind it all lay an ambition both bold and dangerous:
They intended to seize from Konoha the title of the strongest village in the shinobi world.
It was not merely a contest of raw strength, but of influence—of hard power and soft. The rewards of holding that title were immense. Chief among them was access to a greater share of missions, particularly those commissioned by external parties.
The economy of a hidden village, after all, rested on three pillars.
The first was internal development—the everyday lives of its people, trade, agriculture, and local enterprise.
The second, and largest portion, came from the daimyo's financial support. Daimyo were wealthy beyond comparison, and in theory, the hidden villages existed under their authority, subject to their command.
In reality, only the most desperate and impoverished villages truly obeyed without question. Power had a way of redefining such relationships. It was said that a single glance from Danzo Shimura had once silenced the Fire Country's daimyo—a telling reminder of who truly held dominance.
The third pillar was the wealth generated by the shinobi themselves. Though smaller than the daimyo's contributions, it was still vast—and far more promising in its potential.
After all, if a single great village could command half of all missions across the shinobi world, the resulting wealth would far surpass any daimyo's patronage.
And the key to achieving that dominance was simple:
To be recognized as number one.
That title had long been held by Konoha. Even now, weakened as it was, many still believed in its supremacy.
The Fourth Raikage, however, was a man of ambition. His vision was clear—to elevate Kumogakure to the pinnacle of the shinobi world. He understood that such a goal would inevitably require a confrontation with Konoha.
But not yet.
For now, he remained occupied with consolidating power within his own village. And so, instead of direct conflict, he turned to more subtle means—expanding influence through diplomacy, presence, and calculated intervention.
Sending aid to the Land of Hot Water…
That, too, was part of his design.
The ones he had sent were the elite of Kumogakure—trusted personally by the Fourth Raikage, granted access to sensitive intelligence, and possessing strength well above the ordinary. It was only natural that the four of them carried themselves with confidence. Yugakure was, after all, a minor village; by their estimation, a mission here should have posed no real challenge.
What they had never anticipated, however, was that during what should have been a simple reconnaissance operation, they would encounter shinobi from another great village.
Of course, they had considered the possibility in passing. Yugakure seeking aid from more than one village was hardly surprising. It was, in fact, the most reasonable course of action.
But expectation was one thing—reality another entirely.
The moment they realized who had arrived, composure slipped from their grasp.
"If there's no mistake… that man… that man is Konoha's Nightingale!"
"Damn it—why is he here?"
"Wasn't he already promoted to a division commander in Konoha's Anbu? Why would someone like him take on a mission like this?"
Their voices, though hushed, betrayed unmistakable unease. None of them had imagined that their opponent—if it came to that—would be someone like him.
Who was Konoha's Nightingale?
Perhaps ordinary shinobi knew little of the name. But among Anbu, there was no one who did not recognize it.
Across every hidden village that maintained its own covert forces, the name had spread like a shadow whispered in the dark.
A man who had slaughtered hundreds of shinobi single-handedly—a veritable asura clad in silence.
A monster who had, by himself, wiped out nearly half of Sunagakure's Anbu.
And, according to rumor—though few could confirm it—he had even annihilated an entire sealing unit of Sunagakure alone.
Sealing units were not known for combat prowess; that much was common knowledge. But their strategic importance was immeasurable. For that very reason, they were never deployed without protection.
Yet Nightingale had accomplished this feat while escaping pursuit, casually erasing the unit along the way.
That was what made it truly terrifying.
No village had ever verified the story directly—they simply lacked the means to obtain such information. And yet, recent instability in Sunagakure's barrier systems seemed to lend the tale an unsettling degree of credibility.
Whether truth or exaggeration, the effect was undeniable.
The name "Nightingale" had, almost simultaneously, appeared in the internal registries of Anbu units across the shinobi world.
Fortunately, Anbu masks followed an unspoken but universal rule: once assigned, a mask remained with its bearer until death. It was a silent contract observed by all villages, allowing operatives to identify one another—even across enemy lines—and to record encounters with individuals deemed too dangerous to engage.
And Nightingale was one such individual.
Within those registries, encountering him warranted treatment not unlike that reserved for Minato Namikaze.
"If encountered during a mission, and if circumstances are severe, withdrawal is permitted at discretion and will not be considered mission failure."
Strictly speaking, Natsuhiko's designation was even more alarming—more oppressive—than Minato's.
Anbu missions were, by nature, the most dangerous, and retreat was almost never an option. To be granted permission to withdraw under any circumstances was, in itself, a mark of overwhelming threat.
In that sense, the danger he represented had already surpassed even that of the famed Yellow Flash.
It was precisely for this reason that the four Kumogakure Anbu found themselves caught between hesitation and fear.
"So… what do we do now?" one of them finally asked, breaking the uneasy silence.
The squad leader let out a long, quiet sigh before answering.
"We observe. Avoid conflict if at all possible. This mission was never about clashing with them."
"So we just… keep our distance?"
"Yes," he replied, his voice heavy with reluctant resolve. "That's all we can do."
They continued their whispered discussion in that hidden corner, unaware—
—that directly above them, standing in stillness like a shadow carved into the air itself, Natsuhiko watched them in silence, his gaze calm, unreadable, and already far too close.
...
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