Once, the Kaguya Clan had been one of the giants of the Warring States era. At their peak, three thousand warriors carried their bone-white banners across the battlefield—unstoppable, terrifying, and proud.
But that was a lifetime ago.
Civil war, the disaster at Zephyr Canyon, and the crushing loss at the Great Plains had bled them dry. What remained now was a shadow of their former glory—barely two thousand shinobi clinging to the arrogance of their bloodline.
Their Shikotsumyaku made them gods among men once. Now it barely kept them from extinction.
If the Amamiya Clan joined the war against them and won, the Kaguya would lose another third of their strength. And when a clan loses two-thirds of its warriors, the title of "great clan" becomes nothing more than a ghost story.
That thought alone had the Kaguya camp on edge.
Inside the command tent, Kaguya Heihachi, the current field commander, glared at the map spread across the table. His eyes were sunken, sleepless. Around him stood a dozen captains—each more impatient than the last.
"The Amamiya have entered the war," one of them snapped. "If we retreat now, the entire front will collapse! Unless we abandon the Daitō and Hanabira borders, we'll have to fight!"
The room filled with murmurs. Most of the Kaguya were born to fight, not to think. They were raised on bloodshed and pride—obedience came second. When their old patriarch lived, even the wildest could be tamed. Now, they barely tolerated orders.
"Enough," Heihachi barked, his voice sharp enough to cut. "You want to charge in without a plan? Fine. Go die a glorious death alone."
The tent fell silent.
After a long pause, one of the lieutenants stepped forward. "If we strike the Amamiya supply convoy now, their entire offensive will stall. Even a failed ambush could bleed them dry of resources."
Heihachi exhaled through his nose. "...Not wrong."
He gave a curt nod. "Send scouts. If they confirm Amamiya movement near the front, I'll authorize the strike. And warn Kaguya Kazuya—he's to hold Daitō Temple at all costs."
"Yes, sir!"
The captains dispersed, leaving Heihachi alone in the dim light of the brazier. For a moment, he allowed the exhaustion to show on his face.
And then, the ground twisted.
A black ripple spread across the dirt floor, and a shadow rose—oozing from the earth like living ink.
Heihachi shot to his feet. "Who's there!?"
The remaining guards rushed in, bone spurs bursting from their arms in a forest of white lances. The figure in the darkness chuckled.
"Such hostility. I'm not your enemy... not yet."
"State your name!" Heihachi demanded.
"I have no name worth remembering," the stranger replied. "But I bring you something better than introductions—information. About the Amamiya Clan."
The word froze the air.
Heihachi narrowed his eyes. "You expect us to trust a rat crawling in from the dirt?"
"You don't need to trust me," the shadow said. "Just listen." His tone was silky, unnatural. "Tonight, the Amamiya's support column will arrive at Wangyang Hill. If you ambush them there... the rewards will be considerable."
The last words slithered through the air like a curse. Before anyone could respond, the shadow melted back into the earth—gone, as if it had never been there.
The silence afterward was heavier than armor.
"Master Heihachi," one of the captains said carefully. "Orders?"
Heihachi's expression didn't change. He stared at the place where the shadow had vanished, lost in thought.
"Could be a trap," another murmured. "Could also be our only chance."
Finally, Heihachi spoke. "Prepare a small detachment. Thirty men. We'll test this 'information.'"
He turned toward one of his younger officers—a brash warrior with a scar running down his jaw.
"Kaguya Eiko," he said coldly. "You'll lead the strike team. Depart immediately. If this ambush succeeds, our clan regains its honor. If it fails..." His voice hardened. "Don't bother coming back."
Eiko's face twisted. "Thirty men? Against a hundred from the Amamiya? Are you mad?"
"You heard me," Heihachi replied, his tone icy. "Unless you'd like to be remembered as the Jōnin who disobeyed a direct order?"
The words hit like a hammer. Everyone knew what defiance meant in the Kaguya clan—execution by their own kin.
Eiko clenched his jaw, rage trembling under his skin. He knew the mission smelled of death. But a shinobi who refused an order didn't get to keep his bones intact.
"...Understood," he said finally, bowing stiffly.
Heihachi didn't answer. He just stared into the fading embers of the brazier, his reflection flickering in the flame—haunted, uncertain.
Outside, the wind howled over the valley, carrying with it a faint, mocking laugh that no one else could hear.
Deep beneath the soil, Black Zetsu smiled.