The final trace of warmth from the New Year festival faded, like a paper lantern soaked by rain, quickly dimming and extinguishing in the streets of Konoha.
The shocking frontline report, announcing the sudden alliance between Suna and Amegakure struck every heart like a hammer.
Ryo, Tsunade, Mikoto, Nawaki and the others lost every trace of ease from their faces, replaced once more by the iron stench and blood of the battlefield.
Danzō's urgent plea for reinforcements read like a death warrant, and the elders' plan to suppress Hatake Sakumo was put on hold by Hiruzen, faced with the brutal reality that the blade known as the White Fang had to guard against Suna's advance through the Land of Rivers.
Three months later
A battlefield somewhere on the front lines in the Land of Rain.
Rain poured endlessly, drowning the land into a boundless swamp of mud and graves.
"Aaagh!"
A sharp, agonizing scream was cut short. Nawaki's nicked kunai plunged deep into the throat of the last Suna shinobi. Warm blood sprayed across his face.
He panted violently, like an old bellows. A deep wound, reaching the bone, gushed blood from his left arm, the mix of mud and enemy's dark filth dripping steadily onto the ground.
His once new chūnin vest was unrecognizable, caked in mud, grass, and layers of dried scabs. He looked like he'd just crawled out of a slaughterhouse.
His right palm was split open and trembling, barely able to grip the kunai worn down like a piece of scrap metal.
With a splash, Nawaki dropped to his knees in the mud. His heavy breaths released thick clouds of mist. He struggled to turn his head toward the nearby skirmish.
Mikoto had her back to him.
Her twin tomoe Sharingan spun rapidly, glowing crimson and locking on to three Amegakure shinobi moving in formation.
The kunai in her hand became streaks of black light, precisely deflecting incoming poisoned blades and chains, warding off the deadly strikes.
The churned ground beneath her feet was a mess of deep, chaotic footprints and scattered mud. Her dark blue clothes were soaked with sweat, rain, and droplets of blood, clinging to her body and tracing a thin, stubborn silhouette.
The three Rain shinobi fought with seasoned precision. One attacked head-on to draw her attention, another hurled poisoned senbon from the flank, while the third manipulated the muddy terrain to slow her movement.
A poisoned kunai grazed past her neck. She leaned back in a sudden arch, the blade whistling past her nose, its wind cutting her cheek painfully.
At the same time, her Sharingan caught a subtle twitch in the wrist of the one preparing to throw. She twisted her body like a willow in the wind. Three glowing senbon thudded into the spot she had just vacated.
Mikoto forced her balance steady. Her hands blurred with seals, and several shuriken wreathed in flame screamed out, striking toward joints and vitals, forcing the Rain shinobi on the left to retreat.
But in that casting moment, the one attacking head-on was already closing in with a smile. His heavy blade came crashing down, cloaked in wind pressure. The shadow of death fell.
Beneath his hood, Ryo's gaze was sharp as a hawk, locked on the blade aimed at Mikoto. The moment the enemy lunged, his body had already adjusted to peak striking condition. His focus was absolute.
Just as the blade was about to touch Mikoto's fringe, a blurred figure appeared at her side without warning. There was no sound of a blade being drawn. Only the instant slicing of air.
Splurt.
A red line suddenly split across the enemy's neck. His momentum froze. The smile in his eyes turned instantly into shock. The heavy blade slipped from his hand and crashed into the mud.
Then, a severed head arced through the rain before thudding into a muddy pit near Nawaki's feet. Its lifeless eyes stared straight at Nawaki's pale face.
Ryo's figure became clear, standing one step beside Mikoto. He hadn't even released the grip on his sword. The Kusanagi blade remained fully sheathed, as if he'd never moved.
"Huff... huff..." Mikoto panted heavily, chest rising and falling. Rain-soaked bangs clung to her pale cheeks. She bit her lip, forcing her trembling fingers steady. She looked at Ryo, her eyes full of gratitude, lingering fear, and a hint of suppressed resentment. Why wait until the last moment?
Ryo's eyes, hidden beneath the hood's shadow, lingered briefly on her Sharingan and exhausted expression. His voice was flat. "Your ocular power and evasiveness still need improvement. Only by facing the pressure of life and death can you break through."
He turned and looked toward the other genin and chūnin cleaning the battlefield, tending wounds and repacking supplies.
"Move faster."
"Yes, Ryo-sama!" The supply escort squad responded in unison, their voices carrying both exhaustion and awe. None dared question why Ryo hadn't acted sooner. After all, no one had died.
They worked quickly, burying enemy corpses and reloading scattered supplies. Nawaki staggered through the mud, trying to help, grimacing in pain with every step.
"Damn it!" Nawaki cursed as he tore off a relatively clean strip of cloth, wrapping it around his bleeding arm and growling with frustration. "This is all that old man's fault!"
He jabbed a finger at a nearby corpse. "If the old man had just approved Sis's proposal to ally with Hanzō, would we be stuck in this mess? At least when we and Suna were at each other's throats, they held each other back. Now what? Suna and that damn salamander teamed up. We're the ones caught in the middle!"
He kicked a broken puppet nearby, splinters flying. "This war is messed up. Supply lines get cut every three days. Bringing anything over feels like storming hell. Look at us!"
He waved the near-unraveled bandages in his hand, pointing at Mikoto, then himself. "Look at Mikoto. Look at me. My kunai's chipped like it bit stone. Explosive tags are long gone. Except for you, Ryo, that freak, who isn't throwing their life on the line? Keep going like this and we'll all be ground into the mud!"
Mikoto wiped the mixture of rain and grime from her face with her sleeve. She looked at the furious Nawaki, then turned to Ryo.
Ryo remained silent and still, face hidden under the hood. Yet Mikoto could feel his gaze on her.
She took a deep breath, calmed her breathing, and spoke softly. "Nawaki-senpai, Ryo-kun only wants us to gain real combat experience." She glanced sideways at Ryo, expression tinged with complaint. This guy spoiled her, sure, but when it came to being ruthless, he really didn't hold back.
She glanced again at Nawaki's bleeding wound, then at her own chipped kunai and empty pouch. Her voice carried a trace of hidden bitterness. "Having a free sparring partner who pushes you to the brink of death… is rare."
Nawaki ruffled his soaked hair, grumbling. "I get what you're saying... but this 'sparring' is a bit too deadly, don't you think? Mikoto, you're his..." He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear. You're his lover, and this bastard still lets you roll around in corpse piles?
Nawaki wasn't dumb. Anyone could see the obvious bond between Ryo and Mikoto. So long, first love. Rest in peace.
He shook his head, glaring at Ryo's expressionless face. He couldn't understand what Kushina and Mikoto saw in this guy. He wasn't bad himself. Why was he still single?
"I could intervene, easily," Ryo finally said.
"But that would be meaningless. The experience you earn for yourself is the only kind that sticks."
He paused. His gaze returned to Mikoto, voice turning strict. "Especially you, Mikoto. A free training partner who can push you to the edge of death. Do you think the battlefield offers many of those?"
He didn't bother explaining to Nawaki. Mikoto carried his Flying Thunder God seal.
But even so, he still threw her into this field of death, just to speed up her growth. On a battlefield like this, where death came at any second, every shred of strength counted.
Nawaki flushed red, neck stiffening as if to argue. But he looked into Ryo's calm, unshakable eyes, then glanced at Mikoto, who despite exhaustion now looked even more determined.
He gave a frustrated snort and tightened the bandage on his arm, wincing from the pain.
The battlefield was quickly cleared. Enemy corpses were hastily buried, marked only by fresh mounds of overturned soil. The surviving escort team pushed the heavy carts forward, wheels sinking deep into the mud, creaking with every turn. Nawaki limped along the flank, his wounded leg dragging, eyes scanning the rain for hidden threats.
Mikoto, having recovered slightly, silently walked to Ryo's side.
"Ryo," Nawaki spoke again, voice low and heavy, tinged with confusion. "How much longer do you think this war will drag on? If this keeps up, can we really make it?"
He instinctively touched his empty tool pouch, then looked at the road ahead, stretching like an endless mire toward the horizon.
The blood-soaked mud squelched under their feet. Cold rain kept washing away the battlefield's remains.
Nawaki's question drifted through the wet air. Even the cart pushers slowed down.
Ryo did not stop walking. His eyes pierced through the rain in the direction of Konoha's main base.
"Not much longer."
(To be continued.)
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◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.
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