The wind cut sharp and cold, driving snow in whirling sheets across the forested hills.
Time only thickened the storm, what had begun as a drizzle of flakes had swelled into a blizzard, painting the world in endless white.
Through the storm slithered a colossal purple serpent, its scales grinding against rock and ice as it wound between the hills. Atop its head stood Orochimaru, flanked by several Konoha jōnin.
Overhead, a crimson fire dragon glided through the air, wings stirring clouds of flame as it flew with unhurried grace.
Manda tilted his great head back, slit pupils following the dragon. His tongue flicked in irritation.
"Hey, brat… where did you get that dragon?"
The snakes of Ryūchi Cave were proud of their lineage, but they were snakes no matter how much they boasted of 'dragons.'
Even the White Snake Sage, with horns sprouting from her head, remained unmistakably a serpent. True dragons were another thing entirely, far beyond their reach.
Gen folded his arms across his chest, eyes on the distance. "Are all Ryūchi Cave snakes this impolite?" His tone was cool, dismissive. "I won't tell you."
He didn't bother to look at Manda. He had no affection for the creature; the very idea of a being that demanded human sacrifice stirred only disgust.
Manda's coils tightened, his massive body rearing high. "If you won't tell me," he hissed, "then I'll just eat you!" His tongue lashed, voice dripping menace.
The jōnin riding alongside instinctively shifted further away. Few could stand beneath the crushing weight of Manda's killing intent.
Gen didn't flinch. "You can't eat me." His voice carried calm certainty, like stating a fact.
Manda's pupils narrowed to slits. "You think Orochimaru's apprentice is safe? That because you've touched Ryūchi Cave's summoning scroll, I wouldn't dare? Hah! I've even defied the White Snake Sage herself...I'd have no problem devouring you!"
The serpent coiled tighter, body arching to block Gen's path. Its head loomed, eyes unblinking, cold as obsidian.
Gen raised his gaze. Three tomoe spun into existence, Sharingan igniting like a storm.
Manda froze. His slit pupils rippled then twisted, reshaped into Sharingan tomoe under Gen's genjutsu.
Snakes had corneal membranes that gave them some resistance to illusion, but against a Sharingan master, resistance was meaningless. Sasuke had once forced Manda under control with a mere three-tomoe.
For Gen, it was even less effort.
"Ho ho…" Orochimaru's laugh drifted across the storm. His tongue slid across his lips. "Sharingan truly is enviable. Your genjutsu has already surpassed my own. To think even Manda could be brought to heel…"
It was true; Manda was Ryūchi Cave's top summon, but infamous for his foul temper. Orochimaru never controlled him, merely bargained with sacrifices and promises. Without sufficient strength, the summoner risked Manda turning on them instead.
Gen tilted his head slightly toward Orochimaru. "Shall I discipline him for you?"
Orochimaru's grin widened. "No… that one is stubborn beyond correction. Best to leave him as he is."
Gen let the matter drop, falling silent.
At Manda's pace, a distance of dozens of miles was little. Soon, the great serpent carried them to the outskirts of Konoha's forward camp. As they neared, Gen released his genjutsu hold.
Manda's pupils cleared. Rage flared instantly. "You damn brat I'll eat you alive!" He lunged, fangs splitting the air.
Halfway through the strike, his body froze again, bound in illusion once more.
Within the space of Manda's mind, Gen stood waiting. His words carried a razor edge. "One more outburst, and I'll make you swim in a cesspool."
Manda's voice thundered back. "This lord isn't afraid! What cesspool could possibly contain me?"
Gen's smile sharpened. "Then not swim… lick. Drink. With that forked tongue of yours, surely a cesspool has room enough."
The great serpent recoiled. Even within his own mind, the image sickened him. For Lord Manda to lick filth… to drink it…!
His bluster collapsed. "Th-then… fine. I admit my voice was a bit loud just now. Please… don't mind it."
Gen let the illusion dissolve. "Good. I'm finished with you." He turned away.
"Wait!" Manda's massive body coiled uneasily. His voice, for once, came soft. "Tell me… how did that dragon come to be?"
Gen's eyes glimmered. "You really want to know?"
"I do."
"Waive this summoning's sacrifice, and I'll tell you."
Manda hesitated. Then, "Fine. This time's sacrifice is waived."
Gen smirked. "Orochimaru-sensei knows. You can ask him later."
With that, he vanished in a flicker of chakra.
Manda stared, stunned. "???"
Why didn't you just say that from the start?
With a puff of smoke, the serpent vanished, sent back to Ryūchi Cave as the link was severed willingly by the summoner.
Orochimaru had already leapt free and returned to camp. Better to avoid awkward questions from the snake in front of the troops.
For now, the truth would remain hidden.
The world believed Shuryu was a rare summoning beast, nothing more. Even Shizukamaru's existence was secret as every Mist shinobi who'd seen him act had died. Only Fuguki had glimpsed his blade extending, not his independent will.
Obito still lingered in the shadows, his own plans unfolding. Best to keep some abilities in reserve.
Gen's stomach growled. It was well past midday, and hunger gnawed at him. After Manda was dismissed, he strode into camp and found food waiting.
The mess was crowded. Those not on duty ate quickly; the wounded were tended by medics who had already eaten. Supplies had been rushed, so the fare was plain and rough, nothing like the Mist's prepared rations. But the taste of victory seasoned every bite.
After finishing, Gen made his way to Orochimaru's command tent on the mountain slope.
Konoha's camp spread from the mountain's base to midway up, bordered by a river and fed by streams. Water was plentiful year-round. Still, medical-nin tested it daily—Hidden Mist was infamous for poison.
Snow crunched underfoot as Gen walked. Every shinobi he passed greeted him with respect. Not just for his name or his clan, but because of his record. Word had already spread; five Mist-nin dead by his hand in one battle; one of the Seven Swordsmen, several chūnin, more than ten genin.
Even if not surrounded, such a tally was staggering. The jōnin of Konoha's frontline knew in their hearts they couldn't match it.
To them, only Orochimaru might rival the feat. None else could.
And so, the camp's shinobi whispered of him as Konoha's 'second strongest' at the front. His prestige swelled with every retelling.
On the battlefield, where boredom reigned and diversions were few, counting enemy corpses had become its own pastime.
Two chūnin stood guard outside the command tent. Seeing Gen approach, they straightened instantly, saluting before hurrying to announce him.
Gen gave them a small smile and a nod—not aloof, not arrogant, unlike most Uchiha.
Then, with steady steps, he pushed through the flap and entered.