The afternoon sun poured its amber light across the thick, expansive forests that bordered the northern reaches of the Land of Fire. Shafts of sunlight slanted through the canopy, slashing golden beams across the moss-covered trunks and illuminating drifting motes of dust that floated in the warm air like tiny fireflies. The terrain here was rugged and slightly elevated, with a mixture of steep ridges and narrow deer trails winding between ancient trees whose gnarled roots wove like serpents beneath the leaf-littered ground.
For a brief moment, the forest was wrapped in quiet splendour—the rustle of leaves in the soft breeze, the distant call of a warbler, the faint patter of animal movement deeper in the undergrowth. Then, the silence broke like cracked glass.
With sharp bursts of wind and the soundless flicker of movement, figures began to emerge between the trees—dozens of shinobi, phasing into view as they traversed the terrain with chakra-infused footwork. Their bodies shimmered with residual chakra from flickering, some appearing as little more than afterimages before solidifying again. It was not a chaotic rush, but a fluid, choreographed movement—precise and efficient. These were shinobi of the First Division of Konoha's military, flanked by support squads specializing in medical, sensory, and logistics.
Moving in waves like disciplined tidewaters, they avoided animal trails and major roads, slipping through the forest's spine with purposeful discretion. Travelling in one large mass would have risked discovery, and the squad captain—commander of this forward strike—knew better than to hand their presence to the enemy on a silver platter.
He had devised a travelling pattern: units of ten to twelve shinobi would depart at staggered intervals, each using distinct routes that converged on a designated location several kilometres from Takigakure's outer perimeter. This prevented any visible chakra buildup in one location that enemy sensory ninjas might detect. The plan was daring and borderline paranoid, but in enemy territory, paranoia was survival.
The squad captain himself had been the first to depart.
He moved through the forest like a breeze barely noticed—his black flak jacket blending into the shaded greenery, his sandals not once disturbing even a twig. He travelled at high speed, yet never made a sound, and not once did he break rhythm. The tension of leadership sat lightly on his shoulders. Many would have been burdened with leading such a contingent into potential disaster, but for him, it was a challenge to be mastered. A test to pass. And he did not intend to fail.
When he reached the rendezvous point—a crescent-shaped clearing nestled between two rocky outcrops—he stopped only briefly. The space was partially sheltered by a natural overhang of granite and hidden from aerial view by a net of branches above.
A small stream trickled nearby, its rhythmic burble the only noise in the otherwise still surroundings. Birds scattered at his arrival, and for a moment, he stood alone in that wide silence, breathing slowly.
The Captain's eyes narrowed as he scanned the tree line. Every dip in the terrain, every ridge and thicket, he analyzed with practised ease. The tactical potential of the location was good. The outcrops would provide cover, and the stream could serve as a water source or even an emergency signalling line with chakra-conductive seals. He marked several vantage points for potential sentries or snipers.
But what concerned him more was what lay ahead—Takigakure.
Or, more precisely, what hid near it.
He knelt, resting a hand on the cool earth, and waited. One by one, the squads arrived, some flickering into the clearing like wisps of smoke, others emerging cautiously from the foliage. The shinobi of the First Division were easily identifiable—each bearing the Konoha insignia on their forehead protectors and moving with the calm authority of seasoned veterans.
The support squads, dressed more lightly and armed with scrolls and pouches, quickly broke into formation, maintaining the unspoken discipline that was drilled into every Konoha ninja heading into war.
Some of the support shinobi whispered greetings. Others merely nodded, steeling themselves for the storm ahead.
By the time the last group emerged from the forest's edge, the sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon, staining the sky with hues of crimson and burnt orange. A faint breeze kicked up, ruffling the tall grass at the edge of the clearing. There was no need for him to call for attention—his presence alone did that. As he stood and stepped toward the centre of the clearing, silence naturally fell around him, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the quiet hush of breath.
That was when the question broke the air.
"What strategy are we going to use?" came a voice, cutting through the gathering murmurs like a stone dropped into still water.
Renjiro didn't answer right away.
Instead, he lifted his gaze toward the horizon—the dense forest that lay between them and Takigakure, stretching endlessly beneath the now-orange sky. Somewhere beyond that was their target: a Suna outpost, rumoured to be a forward command for enemy shinobi. Intelligence on the exact numbers was limited, but scouts confirmed strong defensive chakra signatures.
Renjiro's smirk appeared slowly as if summoned by some private joke. He turned back to face his men.
"It's pretty simple," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "I deal with the most powerful person present while everyone else handles the rest."
A beat of silence.
Then came the reactions—exchanged glances, lifted brows, a quiet scoff from one of the flanking jōnin. Even a few snickers. One shinobi muttered, "He's joking, right?" under his breath.
But Renjiro remained perfectly still. He wasn't joking.
Arata, standing a few paces from him with arms folded, blinked in surprise. He was still assessing the young captain but so far he'd consider Renjiro a capable if impulsive leader. But this? This bordered on absurd.
'Is he trying to get himself killed? 'Arata thought, frowning. 'It seems I was wrong… he's not just reckless. He might actually be stupid.'
Renjiro, unfazed by the ripples of disbelief, walked forward a few steps and spoke again. "I'll head out first. Scope the area, and get a feel for enemy layout. Once I give the signal, you move in."
Still, the plan was too thin for Arata's liking. He took a step forward, addressing his superior with a touch of formality but also urgency. "Captain, with respect—what signal? And why not wait for our sensor reports? We have two of the best sensory-nin in the division with us."
Renjiro turned to face him fully, the fading sunlight catching the hard line of his jaw. "Because if we try probing the area with our sensors, the enemy will feel it. If they have anyone halfway competent, they'll sense the scan and know we're coming. We lose the element of surprise."
His gaze swept across the group, settling back on Arata.
"And between you and me," he added with a small shrug, "I don't think there's anyone here who can match me when it comes to sensory work."
There was no arrogance in his tone—only fact. It was unsettling how confident he sounded.
"As for the signal…" Renjiro tilted his head, a ghost of a grin on his lips. "You'll know it when you see it. Just be ready."
Before anyone could press further, his figure blurred and vanished with a sharp whoosh, the leaves he'd been standing near fluttering violently in his wake.
Arata stood frozen, mouth halfway open. He slowly turned his head, blinking at the space Renjiro had just occupied.
"I was wrong," he muttered, lips curling into a tight scowl. "He is stupid."
A soft laugh broke the tension behind him.
Uchiha Akira stepped forward, graceful and composed even in her battle gear. Her crimson Sharingan eyes were inactive for now, but her gaze was just as intense without them. "His methods are… unconventional," she said, placing a reassuring hand on Arata's shoulder. "But there's a method to his madness."
Arata didn't look convinced. "He doesn't seem to take this seriously."
"Oh, he takes it seriously," Akira replied, folding her arms. "Just not the same way you or I would. He thinks differently. You'll see."
Arata grunted but said nothing more. His gaze returned to the forest ahead. The sun was almost gone now, its last rays stretching in orange veins through the canopy. The night was coming fast, and with it—the mission.
Then, without warning, the air around them changed.
A ripple of chakra pulsed through the forest, so subtle that only a few picked it up at first. Arata's breath caught, and Akira's head snapped upward. The sky to the north lit up suddenly, not with fire—but with light.
Brilliant violet.
A massive barrier shimmered into existence in the distance, encasing a portion of the forest in a dome of pure chakra. Its edges sparked with lightning, purple energy crackling and warping the air like heat rising from desert sand. The effect was eerie and beautiful—majestic, even—as the light pulsed rhythmically like a heartbeat.
The entire clearing was bathed in its glow, the flickering barrier casting long purple shadows and illuminating the stunned expressions of every shinobi present.
Arata's eyes widened, mouth opening slightly. "Is that—"
"Yes," Akira said before he could finish, her voice low and resolute. "That's the signal."
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