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He had already received the same intelligence.
Sunagakure's newly formed air combat unit undeniably possessed a natural advantage over the sea. From the sky, visibility was absolute; below, massive merchant vessels lumbered across the waves, slow to turn, slower still to evade. Against aerial bombardment, they were little more than floating targets.
But this was the Ninja World.
Among the pirates prowling the trade routes were countless ninjas—men and women who wielded chakra, who could walk upon water as easily as dry land.
At first, they might cling to conventional tactics—boarding ships, seizing cargo, retreating by vessel. It was efficient. It preserved the spoils. And in such scenarios, Sunagakure's air unit would serve as a formidable deterrent. Large ships lacked the agility to escape a rain of bombs from above.
However… time breeds adaptation.
Countermeasures would inevitably surface. He could think of several without effort.
The stronger pirates could abandon heavy ships entirely, advance in fast, narrow craft, or worse, dive beneath the surface using water release to strike from below. An underwater assault would bypass aerial superiority entirely.
Once a hull was breached, preservation of cargo became nearly impossible. Even if merchant fleets succeeded in defending themselves once or twice, repeated engagements would guarantee mistakes. Oversight was inevitable. Losses unavoidable.
In the long run, maritime trade caravans would still bend the knee to established maritime powers. Protection, after all, was about consistency—not spectacle.
Sunagakure, masters of Wind Release and Puppet Jutsu, would not find it so easy to carve out a lasting dominion over the vast oceans. In truth, they were less suited than Kumogakure; lightning release alone posed a terrifying deterrent to any pirate foolish enough to favor underwater operations.
Still, that did not mean the rise of an air combat unit could be ignored.
Far from it.
Konoha's Technical Department had not ceased its analysis of the recovered equipment for even a single day. Individually powerful shinobi might scoff at such weapons—but for great villages, for institutions, for nations—war was never decided by individuals alone.
If bombing techniques improved—
If descent velocity increased, explosive radius expanded, detonation formulas refined—
Then even Konoha, given sufficient warning, would find such assaults… troublesome.
Samui mentioned Sunagakure's air unit only briefly, offering no further commentary before taking her leave.
Silence lingered in the conference room after she departed.
Roshi remained seated for a moment longer, deep in thought, before finally rising and making his way toward the Hokage's Office.
He pushed the door open.
Shikaku was already inside.
Not only the Jonin Commander but also the two Advisors, Koharu and Homura. Tsunade stood at the center of it all, listening intently as Shikaku delivered his report.
"The technical team has completed its preliminary analysis of the captured equipment."
"Reverse engineering is feasible," Shikaku continued evenly, "but it will require considerable time. The core issue lies in the material processing techniques of several critical components. They differ significantly from our current technological base."
He paused briefly.
"It is estimated that a full understanding—and eventual mass production—will require no less than six quarters."
Shikaku inclined his head slightly toward Roshi as he entered, then resumed.
"The more pressing matter is the reconstruction of our defensive framework."
"Once Sunagakure refines its tactics, aerial units will pose a severe threat—not only to fixed installations, but also to logistics corridors and even troop assembly zones."
"At present, we rely on continuous shinobi deployments along the Land of Rivers border to maintain forward deterrence. Patrol coverage stretches from the River Country coastline all the way to the shores of the Land of Tea."
His tone hardened.
"This level of sustained mobilization is an enormous financial burden. It cannot be maintained indefinitely."
"Therefore, our highest priority must be the upgrading of the sensing and early warning network."
He folded his hands.
"We must establish specialized detection nodes across key strategic locations throughout the Land of Fire—focused specifically on identifying abnormal high-altitude Chakra signatures."
"The construction and maintenance of such a system will require vast financial and material resources. It exceeds our current annual budget allocation. We will require supplementary funding from the Daimyo."
Homura Mitokado adjusted his glasses, lenses flashing faintly.
"Are negotiations with the Daimyo's palace necessary?"
Shikaku nodded without hesitation.
"Indeed. Even if Sunagakure were to become an ally once more, the strategic necessity of this system remains unchanged."
He let the implication settle.
"Once the value of aerial combat units is proven, other villages will not remain passive. They will replicate it. Improve upon it. Perhaps surpass it."
"Konoha's geographical position—and the sheer length of the borders we must defend—makes permanent high-intensity garrisons across every frontier impossible."
His voice grew solemn.
"This early warning system must be established."
"Even if we retain the capacity to retaliate after an attack, entrusting our security to the absolute rationality of our adversaries is… an illusion."
"And when oversight occurs—"
He did not need to finish the sentence.
"The losses would be irreversible."
The resolution to construct an entirely new defense system passed within the Hokage's Office without the slightest ripple of dissent.
There was no debate. No hesitation.
Koharu and Homura raised no objections to traveling to the Fire Capital to secure additional funding.
During the Third Hokage's era, the advisor elders each held clearly defined domains of authority.
Danzo had overseen the shadows—the tasks that could never withstand the light of day. Whether the target was internal dissent within Konoha, rival hidden villages, or even forces within the Land of Fire itself, Danzo had borne that burden without hesitation.
The remaining two Advisors managed the machinery of governance—internal administration, interdepartmental oversight, and, perhaps most delicately, maintaining stable relations with the Fire Daimyo.
Securing funds from the Capital had always been part of their responsibility.
And to their credit, they had done it well.
At the very least, under their watch, relations between the Hokage and the Daimyo had never fractured over financial disputes.
Once the Advisors and Nara Shikaku departed, silence returned to the office.
Tsunade rolled her shoulders, tension easing slightly as she glanced toward the figure standing by the window.
"When do you plan to leave?" she asked.
"In a couple of days," Roshi replied calmly. "I'll head down early to assess the situation."
The Chūnin Exams would conclude within that timeframe as well.
Tsunade's expression sharpened.
"Even if Iwagakure requested the talks, don't let your guard down. No one can say whether Ōnoki intends to make a move during negotiations."
"Understood."
She held his gaze a moment longer.
"Ōnoki is not Rasa."
"I know."
And that was precisely why he intended to move in advance.
Ōnoki—even a decade from now—would still stand at the summit of the Five Kage. Experience, ruthlessness, and overwhelming power, tempered by age but not diminished.
This was no man to underestimate.
—
The wind howled across the barren stone plains, dragging sheets of dust through the air.
An abandoned outpost stood at the center of the desolation—weathered and cracked.
Around it, Konoha and Iwagakure forces were stationed in clear opposition, separated by an invisible yet unmistakable boundary. Neither side crossed it. Neither side relaxed.
The air itself felt taut.
Among the Iwagakure ranks, the Third Tsuchikage arrived—small in stature, yet commanding in presence. Floating slightly above the ground, Ōnoki surveyed the battlefield-to-be.
At his side walked a blond teenager with sharp eyes and restless energy.
Deidara scanned the opposing forces, lips curling.
"This doesn't look like a negotiation setup, hmm…" he muttered. "Are we going to war, Old Man?"
Ōnoki's voice was low, steady.
"Negotiation does not mean abandoning preparation for war."
Especially now.
"If someone important falls—on our side or theirs—it will not end as a mere diplomatic incident."
Deidara tilted his head, genuinely puzzled.
"Then why did you come personally, Old Man? Aren't you afraid of scaring them off?"
The question was blunt—but not wrong.
There was no need to clarify who the most irreplaceable figure in Iwagakure was.
Ōnoki.
The Tsuchikage himself. The village's ultimate deterrent. Its greatest military asset.
His personal presence could hardly be interpreted as a gentle gesture.
The old man snorted.
"If it scares them… that wouldn't be so bad."
Yet beneath the dismissive tone lay calculation.
He had come because the stakes demanded it.
This was no minor border dispute. The outcome would shape Iwagakure's strategic future.
On Konoha's side, Jiraiya had not withdrawn.
Kitsuchi alone was hardly enough to anchor the situation.
Ōnoki had considered the risks repeatedly—and concluded that absence would be more dangerous than presence.
What if Konoha harbored ulterior motives?
Even with both Jinchūriki accounted for, the Leaf still possessed a Wood Release shinobi capable of killing the Kazekage.
That fact alone shifted the balance of fear.
Konoha's swift agreement to negotiations…
Was it genuine diplomacy?
Or preparation for something else?
Ōnoki narrowed his eyes toward the distant Leaf forces.
In this era, trust was merely another battlefield.
Kitsuchi stepped forward.
"Tsuchikage-sama, the meeting point is the outpost ahead. The surrounding area has been jointly cleared and sealed by both our forces and Konoha's. It has been confirmed secure."
He gestured toward the open ground before the abandoned structure—a space deliberately flattened and stripped bare.
"As agreed, negotiations will take place there. Both sides will use Earth Release to raise stone platforms, positioned one meter apart, to serve as seats."
Ōnoki grunted in approval.
A sensible arrangement. With the earth already disturbed and sealed, neither side could tamper beneath the surface. It was, at the very least, a visible sign of mutual restraint.
"Platforms, hmm…" Deidara muttered beside him, eyes gleaming as his fingers brushed absently against the pouch at his waist. "If talks fall apart, blowing them up would be pretty artistic… hmm… Old Man, can I?"
Because Ōnoki was present, he even had the courtesy to ask.
"You will absolutely not act without my command!" Ōnoki snapped, voice sharp as stone grinding on stone. "Did you think I brought you here to play with your clay?"
"Close your mouth. Watch carefully. Listen carefully."
Deidara puffed out his cheeks but held his tongue. Even so, his gaze kept drifting between the empty clearing and the outpost, calculation flickering behind restless eyes.
"Konoha's envoy has arrived, I presume?" Ōnoki asked without looking away.
"Yes," Kitsuchi replied. "Their representative is already within their camp."
Ōnoki's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Send word that negotiations will begin tomorrow."
He paused.
"And do not inform them that I have come in person."
Information asymmetry was leverage. If Konoha expected a subordinate and instead faced the Tsuchikage himself, the opening move would already belong to him.
The following day.
At the appointed hour, two stone platforms rose from the earth simultaneously, shaped by precise Earth Release. They faced one another across a narrow gap, rigid and symmetrical.
Roshi stood atop Konoha's platform, hands loosely at his sides.
His eyes drifted to the still-empty platform opposite him, and he sighed inwardly.
Such a transparent trick.
Who else could warrant this level of secrecy?
A moment later, two figures descended slowly from the sky.
The taller of the two was a blond teenager—sharp-eyed, restless.
The shorter figure, hovering with deliberate composure—
The Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki.
They landed lightly.
"To send someone so young to negotiate with me," Ōnoki said, hands clasped behind his back, voice heavy with authority, "Konoha must think very little of Iwagakure."
Roshi's gaze lowered naturally—just slightly.
"In that case," he replied evenly, "would you consider flying a little higher, Tsuchikage-sama? Tilting your head upward for extended periods can strain the cervical spine."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then Deidara's eyes sparkled.
It was the first time he had ever witnessed someone openly mock Ōnoki's height.
The Old Man's Dust Release was terrifying.
And his fists? Equally so.
With words like that, this should already be a battlefield.
Deidara's hand slipped eagerly toward his pouch—
Only to be seized mid-motion.
Ōnoki's grip tightened around his wrist, and the glare he cast was lethal.
Deidara suppressed a pout.
The one insulting you is over there, Old Man. Why are you crushing my hand?
Still…
To see someone speak like that—and for Ōnoki to endure it—
That alone was worth the trip.
A strange flicker of goodwill crept into Deidara's gaze as he looked toward Roshi.
"If maintaining altitude is troublesome," Roshi continued calmly, "we can dispense with such formalities."
He stepped forward, sat cross-legged at the edge of his platform, and settled into place.
In an instant, their heights were perfectly level.
Ōnoki released Deidara's wrist.
His sharp eyes locked onto the young man seated opposite him.
"You are Roshi," he said slowly. "Are you of the Senju?"
The question hung heavy in the air.
Roshi met his gaze without hesitation.
"No."
A slight pause.
"Just Roshi."
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