Within the Land of Water, Kakashi led his ANBU squad forward at a swift, unwavering pace.
They had completely disguised themselves as Sunagakure ANBU—not through simple transformation techniques, but by physically changing into authentic gear. It was a deliberate choice. Transformation jutsu, while convenient, could be detected—especially at a place as sensitive as the entrance to Kirigakure, where sensory-type shinobi might be lurking unseen within the fog.
Kakashi, having spent considerable time under Natsuhiko's command, understood all too well how troublesome such sensory shinobi could be. He dared not take even the slightest risk. Compared to relying on chakra-based disguises, it was far safer to make use of the ANBU's stockpile—equipment that genuinely belonged to Sunagakure.
Their pace was relentless. Though the Land of Water was perpetually wrapped in dense, drifting mist, it did nothing to slow their advance. The fog clung to the earth like a living thing, obscuring sight and swallowing sound, yet the team moved through it as if guided by instinct alone.
At the center of the formation, Pakura followed in silence. Her presence was steady, her steps measured, as though she were walking not toward danger, but toward a truth she could no longer avoid. This journey was no longer about survival—it was about witnessing. She had to see for herself whether everything she had been told was real.
By now, the turmoil within her had largely settled. The conversation with Kakashi upon landing had forced her to confront her reality, stripping away any lingering illusions. The truth was simple and merciless—there was no returning to Sunagakure.
Rasa had already decided her fate, intending to trade her life for political gain. Even if she returned and exposed the betrayal, even if she dragged those who had plotted against her into the light, it would change nothing.
Because Konoha knew.
And if she refused to cooperate, Konoha would not hesitate to reveal everything. Such a revelation would plunge Sunagakure into even greater chaos. Worse still, by defying the Kazekage's orders, she herself would become the criminal.
The Kage was the supreme authority of a village, a symbol not only of power but of its very legitimacy. Even if that authority erred, the system would protect it. In the end, the one condemned—disgraced, judged, and perhaps executed—would only be her.
From the moment she accepted this mission, her ties to Sunagakure had been severed. To them, she was already as good as dead.
The weight of that realization settled heavily within her, leaving behind a hollow, desolate sorrow.
"We're almost there. Are you ready?" Kakashi's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp but controlled. "Stay focused. And don't let that expression show—you'll give yourself away."
"I know what I'm doing," Pakura replied, her voice calm, devoid of hesitation. "I won't make any mistakes."
Kakashi did not respond immediately. Instead, he studied her carefully, as if measuring the steadiness of her resolve. Only after a moment did he give a faint nod.
Reaching into his pouch, he took out a scroll and handed it to her. "Open it. Put on what's inside."
Pakura glanced at it with faint indifference before speaking, her tone edged with dry sarcasm. "So cautious? Afraid I might actually die?"
"I know you're wary. You'll have your own defensive measures," Kakashi said evenly. "But what we need… is for you to 'die' in front of them. What comes after—that's for us to handle."
"Another one of your Captain Nightingale's plans?" she asked, casting him a sidelong look as she broke the seal on the scroll.
A moment later, a standard Sunagakure uniform appeared in her hands. The weight of it told her everything she needed to know—this was no ordinary attire. Subtle modifications had been made, most likely to enhance its defensive capabilities, ensuring she wouldn't be killed outright.
"It seems," she said as she slipped the uniform on, "you value me more than I thought. Or is it my bloodline you're after?"
"That's something you'll have to ask the captain," Kakashi answered calmly. "This entire operation is his design. The entrance to Kirigakure is just ahead… from here on, it's up to you."
The captain… that Nightingale again?
Pakura silently etched the name deeper into her memory.
It was that man who had captured her, who had somehow obtained the intelligence regarding her mission, and who had orchestrated this entire chain of events with unsettling precision. The more she thought about him, the more her curiosity grew. She could still recall the moment he had stood before her, calmly conversing with the Fourth Hokage as if he belonged at that level. It was clear that he wielded considerable influence within Konoha—yet, from what she had seen, he was still so young.
She gave a faint shake of her head, forcing those thoughts aside. However mysterious he might be, she had a role to play, and now was not the time for distractions.
"I understand," she said at last. "It's about time I see the truth for myself."
Her gaze fixed on the faintly visible passageway ahead, half-concealed within the drifting mist. As she spoke, her voice grew colder, carrying a quiet edge.
"You may have Sunagakure's communication codes, and everything may appear convincing, but hearing is one thing and seeing is another. I only hope… you won't disappoint me again."
With that, she surged forward, accelerating into the mist alone, while behind her Kakashi signaled his team to slow their pace.
Watching her retreating figure, Kakashi gave a subtle nod. He understood the meaning behind her words. The defenses she had built around herself were beginning to crack.
"Prepare yourselves," Kakashi said quietly, scanning their surroundings before speaking in a low, controlled tone. "We cannot afford any mistakes in this operation. Understood?"
"Yes, Captain," the three ANBU behind him answered in unison.
"Good. Disperse."
At his command, they scattered soundlessly into the surrounding terrain, each seeking a concealed position from which to support Pakura's actions. Kakashi himself retrieved the scroll containing the sealed "corpse." When the moment came, he would need to replace her body seamlessly.
Pakura glanced back once, just briefly. By the time she did, Kakashi and the others had already vanished into the fog, leaving no trace of their presence. Only then did she slow her pace.
Within Kirigakure's territory, and under the guise of negotiation, haste would only arouse suspicion. She needed to appear composed—measured, deliberate.
As she moved deeper into the Land of Water, the world around her seemed to grow heavier. The dense mist hung thick and unmoving, refusing to fall as rain, pressing down with a suffocating stillness that seeped into her bones.
"Who goes there?" she called suddenly, her senses sharpening as she detected someone approaching through the fog.
"Are you the Scorch Release Hero, Lady Pakura of Sunagakure?" A figure emerged slowly from the mist—a shinobi bearing the forehead protector of Kirigakure. A faint smile rested on his face as he studied her, as though confirming her identity.
"It's me," Pakura replied with a slight nod.
"Excellent," the Kirigakure ninja said, his smile unchanged. "I've been sent to escort you."
"Is that so?" Pakura let out a quiet breath, as if relieved. "Then I appreciate the trouble. Though it's only a matter of crossing a valley—I doubt I would have lost my way."
"Ah, you're right," the man said, scratching his head in mild embarrassment, though the expression quickly faded as he regained his composure, his demeanor turning serious once more.
Moving with deliberate ease, the Kirigakure shinobi stepped naturally to Pakura's side. Lowering his head slightly, he spoke in a quiet, courteous tone, "This way, Lady Pakura."
She glanced at him, then gave a faint nod, as though accepting his words without suspicion, and continued forward.
In the very next instant, she felt the sharp, merciless thrust of a kunai driving into her back.
...
Moonlight filtered through the branches above, scattering across the forest floor in broken fragments of pale silver. Within that shifting pattern of light and shadow, Natsuhiko moved alone, his figure swift and silent as he made his way toward the outskirts.
This time, he had come by himself. He had not brought the four Senju with him; their task was to remain behind and watch over the captured Kumogakure ANBU.
In truth, their presence as guards was hardly necessary. The four prisoners' chakra had already been sealed by Natsuhiko himself. Thanks to the sealing techniques he had acquired through the system's "fruit," his proficiency in this art had grown increasingly formidable. Though he had yet to obtain a more advanced sealing ability, what he possessed now was more than sufficient.
Even a basic seal, in his hands, could completely suppress a person's chakra to the point that they could no longer perceive its existence within themselves.
And this was only the beginning.
Sealing techniques truly deserve their reputation as one of the most powerful arts in this world, Natsuhiko mused as he moved. In my previous life, they were always underestimated, yet here, their difficulty alone has kept most from mastering them. Even so, their practicality is undeniable—even without overwhelming destructive power.
As his thoughts flowed, his gaze settled upon a small, concealed cave nestled within the forest ahead.
In an instant, his perception expanded outward, slipping silently into the cave's interior. Within that unseen space, he detected numerous traces—faint chakra residues, the movements of small animals, and… something more unsettling.
Blood.
A great deal of it.
"And yet… no sign of people," he noted inwardly.
Without hesitation, he quickened his pace, his figure blurring like a streak of light as he rushed toward the cave. His senses had already confirmed the absence of traps; otherwise, he would never have entered so openly.
But the moment he crossed the threshold, his brow furrowed.
Outside, he had noticed little. Inside, however, the stench struck him with full force—a suffocating, metallic reek of blood so thick it was almost tangible.
Such an overwhelming odor could not have come from the death of merely one or two people—or even a handful of animals. And yet, strangely, there were no bodies to be found.
Have they already disposed of the corpses?
The thought lingered briefly before his attention shifted to the stone statues lining the cave.
At first glance, they resembled Buddhist figures, yet their expressions were grotesque, twisted into snarling visages that evoked demons rather than deities. There was none of the serenity one would expect—only something feral, something wrong.
Combined with the oppressive stench of blood, the place felt less like a shrine and more like a fragment of hell itself.
Suppressing his discomfort, Natsuhiko stepped further inside. Before long, his eyes were drawn to a peculiar pattern etched into the ground.
It appeared to have been formed with blood. A circle marked its outer boundary, and within it… a triangle lay inscribed.
Natsuhiko studied it in silence for a moment before a faint realization flickered across his mind.
It seems those Kumogakure shinobi weren't lying after all…
The moment Natsuhiko saw the pattern, he was certain—the Kumogakure ANBU had not made a mistake. They had found the right place.
In his memory, Hidan's technique worked precisely like this: first obtaining the enemy's blood, then constructing such a ritual diagram to transfer any damage inflicted upon himself onto his target.
As he studied the markings more closely, Natsuhiko could clearly sense traces of sealing techniques woven into its structure. Or rather, it was something derived from sealing arts—a construct akin to a barrier, formed through transformation and ritual.
Its danger was self-evident. Even though no chakra fluctuations could be detected, Natsuhiko had no intention of stepping carelessly into it. Some things did not need to be active to be lethal.
"Hm?"
His brow lifted slightly. Someone was approaching the cave—and not just anyone. One of them carried a surprisingly substantial reserve of chakra.
Two of them?
Without hesitation, he turned and began walking back toward the cave's entrance. It didn't matter who they were—he had already found what he came for. Now, all that remained was to see whether the answer he had uncovered would prove satisfactory.
As he stepped out into the dim, shifting light of the forest, his eyes fell upon an unexpected sight.
A man, perhaps in his forties or fifties, was approaching at a steady pace, leading along a child who looked no older than eight or nine.
The older man's chakra was impressive, yet there was something deeply unsettling about his presence—an indefinable strangeness that clung to him. But it was the child who truly drew Natsuhiko's attention.
Short silver hair. Eyes tinged with a hint of madness.
Almost instantly, a realization formed in his mind.
That child… is very likely Hidan.
"…So young?" Natsuhiko paused, momentarily taken aback. In the original story, Hidan hadn't seemed particularly old, but his exact age had never been something Natsuhiko paid much attention to. After all, Hidan had been one of the earlier casualties—though technically, Sasori had fallen first, his presence and impact far outweighed anything Hidan had brought to the table.
Natsuhiko remembered the man's abilities well enough—his taijutsu, and more importantly, that eerie, curse-based immortality—but as for something as trivial as his age, it had never seemed worth noting.
"ANBU?" the middle-aged man suddenly spoke, his gaze locking onto Natsuhiko. "And from Konoha, no less… It seems those above have finally taken notice of us."
"In a manner of speaking," Natsuhiko replied calmly, his eyes resting evenly on the two before him. "You haven't exactly been subtle. Being noticed was only a matter of time."
"Is that so?" The man nodded thoughtfully, though the air around him gradually grew more dangerous, his expression sharpening. "Then it seems we'll have to correct that moving forward. But tell me—coming here alone… what exactly do you think you can accomplish?"
"What can I accomplish?"
Natsuhiko echoed the question, as though considering it for a moment, before a faint smile curved at his lips—hidden, of course, beneath the mask that concealed his face. Still, the calm confidence in his gaze betrayed his mood entirely.
Looking at the two of them, he spoke at last, his tone unhurried, almost casual.
"Against the likes of you… do I really need anyone else?"