The roaring sea of fire swept across the battlefield, its heat so fierce that the sand beneath turned crimson. Blistering air rose into the sky like a pillar of flame, and the Sand shinobi who had gathered moments ago were consumed by the blazing inferno.
But no true battle ends that simply. The shinobi of Sunagakure, hardened by their harsh homeland, were not so easily destroyed. Their land might be barren, their tools inferior, yet they had survived among the Five Great Villages for a reason.
Dozens of Uchiha surged out of the sand, their cheeks puffed as they maintained the Fire Release. The great fireball before them continued to grow, swelling with every breath of chakra they poured in.
Then, something changed.
At the edge of the massive flame, a shimmer of blue began to appear. Every ninja knew that color well it was chakra. The Sand shinobi had reacted swiftly, raising chakra shields through their puppets before the flames could reach them.
"Retreat!"
Fugaku's command was calm but firm. The strike had been a test, nothing more. The Uchiha responded instantly, cutting off their jutsu and leaping back to rejoin the main force.
They landed in unison, Sharingan glowing like a sea of scarlet moons. Hands gripped kunai tightly, eyes sharp, breath steady. Their formation shifted seamlessly, without panic or hesitation.
As expected of the clan known for battle. Fugaku nodded slightly, pride flickering in his gaze. It was no wonder men like Danzō feared the Uchiha.
Without chakra to sustain it, the massive fireball flickered out, leaving the battlefield scorched and hazy. At the front of the Sand formation, rows of puppets spread open like mechanical shields, blue chakra pulsing along their frames.
Both sides paused.
From the Sand ranks, a man in a jōnin vest stepped forward. His head was wrapped in a thick scarf, and his movements were calm but deliberate. He raised a hand, signaling his intent to talk.
Fugaku's fingers twitched behind his back, flashing a quick set of hand signals to his men, then he gave a small nod to the Sand jōnin.
"Greetings, shinobi of Konoha," the man said evenly. "I am Kurozawa Shūichi of Sunagakure. May I ask why your village has attacked an ally?"
Fugaku almost laughed. The guilty always speak first.
He coughed lightly. "Before that, perhaps you should explain why you've gathered an army at our border?"
"Training exercises," Kurozawa replied without blinking.
"Training?" Fugaku's tone turned mocking. "During a war? In a desert with almost no rain? Tell me, with your headcloth wrapped that thick, how exactly did you get it wet?"
A burst of laughter erupted from the Leaf shinobi behind him.
Kurozawa's cheeks flushed briefly, but his composure quickly returned. Fugaku respected that at least the man had a spine.
"For shinobi, training in unfamiliar environments is essential," Kurozawa said, smiling faintly. "That's all this is."
But behind that calm face, his mind was seething. He cursed Rasa silently for forcing him into this. He, Kurozawa Shūichi, was one of the Third Kazekage's loyalists, and most of the puppet corps here shared that allegiance. Rasa had deliberately sent them to the frontlines, hoping they'd be crushed.
The Third Kazekage's sudden disappearance had thrown everything into chaos. The Wind Daimyō had fallen under Rasa's persuasion and declared war, dragging loyalists like Kurozawa into a conflict they wanted no part of.
He didn't want to fight. He wanted to preserve strength both for the Third Kazekage's faction and, secretly, for himself. If the Third was truly dead, the chaos might open a path for Kurozawa to rise.
But fate rarely offers such kindness.
Fugaku's patience ran out. "Enough nonsense," he said coldly. "Attack!"
Seals along his wrist flared, releasing a spray of shuriken crackling with lightning. The weapons screamed through the air, slicing into the Sand formation. Sparks, blood, and screams erupted as the battle reignited.
"Clever bastards!" Kurozawa spat. He flung his arm forward. The puppet masters behind him responded instantly, wires flashing from their fingers. Massive puppets three meters tall and plated in steel charged into the no-man's land, shielding their forces from the rain of weapons.
"Deceitful!" Fugaku shouted, glaring. "You pretend to parley, then strike without honor!" He conveniently ignored that he had done the exact same thing.
The towering puppets' arms extended, revealing rows of dark barrels. With a hiss, clouds of black-violet smoke spewed out, riding the desert wind straight toward the Uchiha ranks.
"Poison gas," Fugaku muttered, his brow furrowing. Dangerous. Even a whiff could cripple a fighter. There was only one solution eliminate the puppeteers.
"Front team, with me!"
The first squad leapt forward, throwing kunai wrapped in explosive tags straight into the gas vents.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The detonations tore through the puppets, heat and wind scattering the poison clouds. The sand swirled into violent gusts, but the Uchiha formation held.
"Second team, now!" Fugaku shouted.
Hands blurred through hand signs.
White began to fall from the sky.
Feathers pure, ethereal, glowing softly descended like snow. They drifted lazily through the air, spinning and shimmering. The moment a Sand ninja looked up, their eyes began to dull, their movements slowing. The battlefield grew strangely silent, as though the world itself had fallen into a dream.
A large-scale genjutsu, one of the most powerful in existence The Temple of Nirvana.
Fugaku's Sharingan gleamed crimson in the haze of feathers.
"Now," he whispered, voice like a blade through still air. "Cut down the puppet masters."
And the Uchiha moved as one, silent and deadly, into the dream-born stillness of war.
______________________________
If you're enjoying this story and want to read more advanced chapters, you can support me on Patreon: patreon.com/PurgatorialPoet. Your support helps keep the translations coming faster.