The sky was still draped in a curtain of rain, its cold dampness gnawing into the bones, but something had changed in the hearts of the assembled ninja.
The battlefield ahead, once a symbol of dread and death, no longer filled them with the same revulsion or fear.
From that small figure radiated an overwhelming presence, a force that shook the soul.
To them, he was their anchor in the storm, their pillar of hope. He was their confidence in the face of war.
Kazuyuki glanced toward Kaito and noticed the lingering disbelief clouding the young man's eyes.
The expression on his face hadn't changed, still locked in stunned denial. Kazuyuki's heart sank at the sight.
Although the Senju and Uchiha now lived under the same roof, the deep-seated hatred from the Warring States era wasn't so easily erased in a mere decade or two.
The elders who had survived those brutal days passed down their bitterness and resentment alongside their traditions.
In the past, these emotions were suppressed by none other than Madara Uchiha himself.
Before he left Konoha, he had considered taking these elders with him, but they refused.
They didn't want their people cast into chaos once more. So they stayed behind and, in doing so, severed all ties with him.
That, however, didn't mean the Uchiha leadership had yielded to Konoha completely. Through tireless political maneuvering, the Konoha Military Police Force was eventually established.
Though it came at a cost, Uchiha were henceforth barred from joining elite units like the Anbu, it gave the clan significant authority. A trade-off, yes, but at least a partial victory.
As the clan's status in the village grew, the younger generation began to grow more arrogant and impulsive.
Their pride swelled, and a sense of invincibility took root, an attitude of "Who else but us?"
Kaito, once one of the most promising talents of his generation, had just been utterly overwhelmed by a single display of power.
And it came from none other than a twelve year old Senju.
This moment had nailed Kaito to the clan's pillar of disgrace. His future path as a shinobi would be riddled with difficulty and shame.
Kazuyuki sighed internally, feeling the sting of disappointment.
He would've preferred Kaito to lose honorably in a fair duel, it would've preserved some semblance of dignity.
But this... this humiliating collapse into the mud from fear alone was a disgrace.
He walked forward, quietly lifting Kaito up without a word. The longer they stayed, the longer the ridicule would last. It was time to leave.
Just as they turned to go, Arima's voice rang out.
"Kazuyuki-san, right and wrong will always come to light. I only gave him a minor punishment.
Attacking one's comrade is a grave offense. I hope you won't use this incident to stir up more trouble. Let's end it here."
Kazuyuki understood the situation, it left him no room to argue. He nodded silently and quickly led Kaito away.
With the disturbance settled, the group refocused and resumed their journey.
Hiroto saw the renewed determination in everyone's eyes and felt more at ease about the road ahead.
He, too, had sensed the immense chakra Arima had unleashed, stronger even than his own. He now truly acknowledged Arima's strength and began treating him as an equal.
Arima noticed the change in his commander's attitude but wasn't surprised. He had always kept a low profile, rarely displaying his true power in front of others.
The unit marched onward. As they drew closer to the battlefield, their pace naturally slowed.
They had entered enemy territory now, and every step could bring an ambush or attack.
The burden on Arima's shoulders grew heavier. He forced himself to stay alert, eyes constantly scanning the surroundings to ensure everyone's safety.
That evening, the group stopped to rest at the entrance to a mountain valley. The front lines were less than a day's journey away, so there was no rush.
Although the steady autumn rain had ceased days ago, the roads were still slick with mud. The cold winds bit into their skin.
Everyone was dreaming of a hot bath at the base camp, followed by a proper meal.
That night, many of the first-timers in the group even stripped off their gear and fell asleep, completely forgetting the elders' warnings that a ninja should always be ready to leap into combat at a moment's notice.
Their guard was down, a fatal mistake for any shinobi.
But not Arima.
He never dropped his vigilance. He had his own code, his own discipline. Until his goal was reached, he would not rest easy.
Around 3 a.m., the hour when humans are at their weakest and least alert, Arima rested against the trunk of a massive tree.
He never slept for more than twenty minutes at a time, maintaining enough clarity to respond to any change in the environment.
Though exhausted, he held on, telling himself to last until dawn. Then he could rest longer.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. He crouched low and pressed his fingers to the ground, calming his mind.
This was an advanced chakra sensory technique, one his granduncle had taught him.
He closed his eyes and reconstructed the nearby terrain in his mind.
Moments later, he murmured to himself, "A hundred-man strike team. Twenty Jonin, eighty Chunin. No genin... a full elite assault unit."
He immediately stood and headed for Senju Hiroto's tent, formulating a counter-ambush plan as he walked.
By the time he arrived, several Jonin had already gathered, they'd sensed the incoming attack too.
Their forces mostly consisted of logistics and medical personnel, with only eight Jonin and over a hundred Chunin.
Excluding Arima, they were severely outmatched and could suffer devastating losses.
But Arima was the wild card.
Everyone had witnessed his strength in the days prior. Their respect for him had only grown, and now, all eyes turned to him.
Arima said calmly, "Two Jonin squads will protect our support personnel. The rest, come with me. We just need to lure the enemy into the narrow valley pass. I'll take care of the rest."
His calm, confident demeanor, combined with his reputation for careful planning, earned him near-complete trust. The troops moved into position and waited.
The moment the enemy strike force stepped past the perimeter, Arima raised his hand, and launched the counterattack.
The ambushing ninja from Kumogakure had grown used to such raids. They had already decimated several Konoha support teams, causing critical supply shortages on the front lines.
They coordinated as usual, some cast defensive jutsu while others launched the assault.
Both sides clashed fiercely, protecting and attacking in tandem.
Konoha held back, focusing on defense. They were buying time, waiting until their non-combatants were safely within the valley.
As the battle dragged on, casualties rose on both sides, and the fight entered a tense stalemate.
Kumogakure should've had the advantage. In theory, they could quickly wipe out Konoha's Jonin and then hunt down the rest at leisure.
But something was off.
Their own Jonin had started to fall, silently, with no sign of who had taken them out. Konoha's forces seemed intact. Even their Chunin losses were minimal.
It felt... unnatural.
A growing unease crept over the enemy. They realized they were facing something much tougher than expected.
Every time a Konoha ninja was in mortal danger, Arima would instantly teleport them away using his Flying Thunder God seals, inscribed in advance onto his comrades.
As a result, Konoha suffered virtually no fatalities.
Soon after, a signal was sent, Phase One of the evacuation was complete.
Relieved, the Konoha ninja began a slow retreat, gradually disengaging from combat.
The Kumogakure leader, initially cautious, saw this and misunderstood. He assumed Konoha had only bluffed their strength and were now finally giving in.
Believing they still held the advantage, he ordered the pursuit.
Earlier, they had scouted the valley thoroughly. Thanks to the heavy rain, the ground bore no sign of human movement or hidden traps. No footprints, no clues, nothing.
The Kumogakure shinobi gave chase, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't seem to close the distance.
The enemy commander's instincts began screaming at him. Years of battlefield experience had honed his intuition, enough to save his life more than once.
He thought, 'If we're pushing ourselves this hard, Konoha must be at their limit too. Why aren't they afraid of collapsing from exhaustion? Unless... they've got a trump card.'
With that, he made a split-second decision: stop and reassess.
'No need to rush. If there's no trap, we can hunt them down under the cover of night.'
But then the ground began to tremble.
Beneath their feet, fresh saplings burst from the earth, growing at an unnatural speed into thick, twisting branches.
The roots surged like serpents, whipping toward them from all sides.
In the narrow valley pass, there was no room to evade. And casting jutsu here would likely harm their own.
The leader tried to act, but before he could weave his hand seals, he realized he couldn't move.
He was suspended midair, entangled in vines. His chakra was draining rapidly.
Powerless... helpless.
In that instant, one thought flashed through his mind.
Deep Forest Emergence... the signature jutsu of Konoha's First Hokage.
But it was already too late. His vision went black, and he lost consciousness.
On a cliffside overlooking the valley, Arima stood with his arms crossed.
"Capture complete," he said calmly. "Deep Forest Emergence... definitely useful."
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