The next morning, Konoha's army set out.
This expeditionary force numbered three thousand in total, with four hundred jōnin among them—and half of those belonged to the Uchiha clan.
Of the remaining two hundred, the Hyūga clan contributed one hundred, while the other ninja clans and civilian-born ninja made up the rest.
That alone spoke volumes about the difference in strength between clan-born and civilian ninja. Among the latter, it was already exceptional if one out of a hundred could reach the level of jōnin. But for those born into the great clans—so long as they weren't utterly talentless—it was entirely possible to grow into a jōnin. And even if they fell short, the clan's secret techniques and training often ensured they could at least reach the rank of tokubetsu jōnin (special jōnin).
This was why the ninja clans held such sway within Konoha.
In recent years, Hiruzen Sarutobi had been trying to weaken their power—because as his own strength declined, he found it increasingly difficult to keep the clans in check.
Since the Uchiha had sent the largest number of elite shinobi for this campaign, Uchiha Fugaku served as commander-in-chief of the entire force, with Hyūga Hiashi acting as his deputy.
Unlike the rigid marching formations of ordinary armies, the shinobi forces advanced in dispersed groups.
After all, ninja wielded immense destructive power—especially elite jōnin capable of large-scale ninjutsu. If they were to stand too closely together, one technique could wipe out hundreds in an instant.
Thus, ninja usually traveled in small squads of ten.
Rokuro's squad consisted of five Uchiha, one Hyūga, one Inuzuka, and three civilian ninja.
Among them were three familiar faces.
One was Inuzuka Hana, Rokuro's former teammate, accompanied by her three loyal ninken—the Haimaru Brothers. Gifted in tracking and trained in veterinary medicine, Hana was a valuable member of any unit.
Another familiar face was Uchiha Itachi. Whether it was by coincidence or someone's deliberate arrangement, Rokuro couldn't tell—but the fact remained: they were teammates now.
As the youngest members of the squad, both Itachi and Rokuro were well-known but not eligible to serve as captain. That role fell to the seasoned veteran Hyūga Taiki, an old-guard jōnin ranked just below Hiashi and Hizashi within the Hyūga clan.
"Rest here for two hours," Taiki instructed. "Replenish your food and water. If anyone needs to relieve themselves, report first. We're close to the border—enemy scouts could appear at any time. Don't let your guard down."
He then turned to Hana.
"Inuzuka Hana, send your ninken to scout the perimeter. If anything happens, they are to signal immediately."
"Understood."
The Haimaru Brothers dashed off in three directions, forming a loose security ring around the squad's resting point.
Rokuro sat cross-legged on the ground, pulling out some dry rations and water.
Unless he was already on the battlefield, he preferred not to eat soldier pills. Their taste was awful—after trying them once, he'd decided that the only way to swallow them again was whole, like bitter medicine, chased down with water.
Just as he unwrapped his rice ball, a bark echoed in the distance—the distinctive voice of the Haimaru Brothers. Everyone in the squad tensed.
"Relax," Hana said quickly. "That bark doesn't mean they've found enemies."
As someone fluent in the "language" of her ninken, she could distinguish warning calls from other signals.
Hyūga Taiki activated his Byakugan, scanning the area ahead.
"Chakra signatures are weak—civilians, not shinobi. We can ignore them."
The Byakugan couldn't always tell the difference between a clone and a real body, but distinguishing ordinary civilians from trained ninja was simple enough.
Hearing this, the group relaxed and resumed eating.
Before long, a small caravan came into view—a few horse-drawn carts and hand-pulled wagons creaking slowly past.
Rokuro glanced up. The people were filthy and ragged, faces streaked with dirt and exhaustion. Some bore visible wounds. They carried their families and worldly belongings in carts, the picture of a desperate flight from war.
A civilian shinobi went forward to ask questions, and soon returned with an explanation: they were refugees from the borderlands of the Land of Fire.
Their homes had become uninhabitable because of the war, forcing them to flee with whatever they could carry.
"They're all citizens of the Fire Country?" Rokuro asked.
The civilian shook his head.
"Mostly, yes—but a few are from the Land of Hot Water. Cloud-ninja have overrun the area, so they were likely driven out."
The Land of Hot Water lay between the Lands of Lightning and Fire—its position similar to the war-torn Land of Rain, though the latter's fate was even worse.
Itachi stepped forward, approaching the refugees. His age and calm demeanor seemed to reassure them.
"Were you driven out by Cloud shinobi?" he asked.
A weary old man, perhaps in his fifties, spoke up.
"No, young man… we left because we couldn't survive any longer. If it weren't for these kind souls who helped us, my family would have starved to death by now."
"You weren't driven out? Then why leave your homeland?"
The old man sighed heavily.
"We ran a small restaurant in the Land of Hot Water. Thanks to the hot springs, business was decent—not rich, but enough to live comfortably. Then, not long ago, a large number of Cloud shinobi stormed in. They looted everything—our savings from over ten years gone in a day—and seized our shop. But the worst part? They forced us into labor!"
"Labor?"
"Yes," the old man spat bitterly. "The Cloud nin built weapon and food factories—and conscripted us as workers. No pay, twenty hours a day! Within days, hundreds had died from exhaustion and illness."
Fear flashed in the man's eyes as he spoke; it was clear he wasn't lying.
"We knew we'd all die if we stayed. So we gathered over a hundred people and fled one stormy night. But we were discovered… I don't know how many died that night. By the time we crossed the border into the Fire Country, fewer than twenty of us remained. My son… he's missing."
Tears streamed down the man's face. Itachi understood immediately—"missing" meant dead. Even if not killed on the spot, being caught would have led to the same end.
Seeing the man's grief, Itachi quietly pulled out all the money he had and pressed it into his hands. The man refused at first, but Itachi insisted until he accepted it with trembling gratitude.
He went on to question several others. Their stories were much the same—refugees from the Land of Hot Water had suffered the worst, but even those from the Fire Country's borderlands had lost everything.
All of them were victims of war—driven from their homes, forced to start over from nothing. Even if they survived, many would never rebuild what they'd once had.
As the refugee caravan disappeared down the road, Itachi stood in silence. His heart churned.
He remembered what Rokuro had told him the previous night:
"Dignity lies only upon the edge of the sword. Truth exists only within the range of the cannon."
He had once believed the Uchiha's power was a curse—that to be born with it was misfortune, an unfair destiny.
But compared to those refugees…
Being born into the Uchiha clan was nothing short of a blessing from the heavens.
END OF CHAPTER
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