The wind howled violently across the desert, carrying endless sand into the air until sky and earth became one. Yet deep within that storm, in a rocky canyon shielded from the raging wind, stood a hidden base Sunagakure's forward command post near the border of the Fire Country.
Amid the jagged cliffs, dozens of Sand shinobi waited silently, their tan and gray uniforms blending perfectly with the terrain. To the untrained eye, they were invisible.
At the center of the encampment, Maki, commander of the Sand forces, stood respectfully before a red-haired man draped in a white cloak. The man's presence radiated authority, and though he had yet to speak, the weight of command filled the air around him.
"According to our scouts, Kurozawa Shūichi's entire unit has been wiped out," Maki reported grimly.
The red-haired man's expression hardened. "So Konoha has redeployed the Uchiha and the Ino–Shika–Chō clans from the Earth Country front? Does that mean Iwagakure's battle has weakened?"
"Yes," Maki answered. "There's tension between the Rock and Cloud forces after their failed joint offensive. They've turned on each other, which gave Konoha room to pull its elite clans toward our border."
The red-haired man gave a sharp, derisive snort. "Two old fools. Even together they can't defeat Konoha, and now they squabble like children."
Maki stayed silent. To criticize other Kage was dangerous, even if his superior had every right to.
The man leaned back slightly, his tone shifting to a cold smirk. "Only four clans, and they think that's enough to stop us? Konoha underestimates the Sand far too much."
He waved his hand dismissively. "Prepare the troops. We'll strike first and crush them before they can react."
Maki hesitated. "But, my lord, attacking now will come at a great cost. Those four clans are legendary even among the Five Great Villages. To face them head-on without preparation might be too reckless."
He paused, lowering his voice. "Besides, Kurozawa's unit already fulfilled part of our goal. It might be wiser to wait until Konoha exhausts itself against the other nations before engaging."
"I know that!" The red-haired man's voice snapped like a whip, silencing him instantly. "But the Daimyō doesn't care about logic. He believes this is our chance to strike while the Fire Country is distracted. His orders are clear attack, and win!"
He rose from his seat, eyes burning with barely contained anger. "The Daimyō wants results. He's invested heavily in this war and demands proof that his money wasn't wasted."
Maki frowned, shoulders tense. "So he's using our funding as leverage…"
"Exactly," the man hissed. "If we lose again, he'll cut our military budget even further. If that happens, Sunagakure won't even qualify as one of the Five Great Villages."
The air grew heavy.
Maki straightened, bowing deeply. "Understood, Lord Kazekage."
The man reached for his hat and placed it atop his head. In the dim light, the blue kanji for "Wind" gleamed across the front.
He was the Fourth Kazekage Rasa of the Sand.
The desert roared with chaos. Sand and fire clashed as green and gray figures tore through each other across the dunes. Explosions echoed through the battlefield, sending waves of heat, dust, and blood into the air.
Among the storm of death, one figure moved like lightning swift, lethal, and unstoppable. Every time he appeared, another enemy fell lifeless to the sand.
He wore Konoha's green flak jacket, the fan symbol of the Uchiha emblazoned on his right arm. Behind his goggles, crimson eyes gleamed, three tomoe spinning like black comets in a scarlet sky.
Uchiha Fugaku had become a demon of the battlefield.
He appeared behind a puppet master, his movements smooth and efficient. A single slash of his kunai tore through the man's throat. Before the body hit the ground, Fugaku had already turned, withdrawing without wasting a heartbeat.
The puppet master's comrade, enraged, unleashed a burst of poisonous gas. The purple mist swallowed the corpse, but Fugaku was already gone, his Sharingan predicting every motion before it began.
"Now!" another Sand ninja shouted, seeing Fugaku retreat toward their side. He and his partner charged with blades raised.
But Fugaku only turned slightly, his eyes locking onto one of them for a fraction of a second. The man froze, paralyzed by a genjutsu. Fugaku stepped in, twisted his wrist, and wrenched the sword from his grasp. Using that same motion, he hurled the man into his comrade like a living projectile.
The two collided with a thud. Before they could recover, Fugaku's blade flashed once. One stroke. Two corpses.
As the bodies fell, Fugaku flipped one of their kunai into the air. With perfect precision, he threw another from his other hand, striking the first mid-flight. The angle shifted sharply, sending the weapon rocketing downward like a shooting star.
It struck the last remaining puppet master the one who had unleashed the poison right through the skull.
The man's body slumped, the puppet strings falling limp.
For a moment, the battlefield seemed to hold its breath.
Even amid the storm of battle, the precision, rhythm, and grace of Fugaku's movements stood out like a deadly dance. Each motion flowed into the next, flawless and inevitable.
It wasn't just killing it was art.
The art of an Uchiha.
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