The retreating shinobi—those fortunate enough to survive the chaos—were intercepted by messengers from the few remaining outposts still under our control. Word was passed quickly, like flickers of fading chakra in the dark: "Fall back to the designated outpost. The Tsuchikage waits. We regroup there—then retreat."
It was a small victory, a fleeting one—but in war, even a sliver of success must be clutched like a blade. The first phase of my plan had taken root. The broken remnants of our forces began converging on my location. We waited at the outpost for hours, hoping to gather every last Iwa shinobi who could still move, still breathe, still fight.
But Konoha was advancing, fast. Facing them now, in our current state, would mean annihilation. Another battle would only thin our numbers further—perhaps to the point of extinction.
A bit of good fortune, though: more ANBU arrived—bloody, breathless, but alive. Reinforcements, however small, were still reinforcements.
I gave the order.
"Begin the retreat. Now."
I also commanded a headcount. How many had we saved?
351.
Three hundred fifty-one. From the thousands we had sent… that was all. A fraction. Perhaps many never received the order. Perhaps some were already dead. Or perhaps… they simply couldn't reach us.
It wasn't enough.
So I gave another order to the ANBU: "Go. Find those who didn't make it here. Inform them. Guide them. Tell them where to fall back."
They didn't hesitate. Even knowing what I knew—that it was likely a death sentence—they nodded. Silent, disciplined. They understood. If even a dozen shinobi could be saved from Konoha's blade… it was worth it.
I wasn't sure. Not really. But I had to believe that doing something was better than leaving them behind to die.
The problem with retreating in such numbers was obvious: we moved slowly. A large force meant more drag, more vulnerability, more exposure. But I told them all the same thing:
"No rest. No detours. No hesitation. Move at maximum speed."
The way back was agony. These men and women were already broken. Exhausted. Hungry. Bleeding. Many were barely standing. The wounded who could not walk… we had to leave them behind.
Cruel? Absolutely. Unforgivable, even. But necessary.
What can I say? War is not fair. And mercy doesn't always win wars.
Two days into the retreat, we passed the ruins of the first city we had taken. Now, it was nothing more than ash and collapsed stone. Konoha had made sure nothing was left behind.
Soon, we approached the Land of Grass.
Only two or three days more and we would finally return to Earth Country. To home.
Before we crossed the border, I had already dispatched several ANBU to Iwagakure. They carried urgent reports to Onoki—the situation, our losses, our retreat. We needed supplies. We needed backup. And I had no idea how many ninja remained alive elsewhere. If Konoha pursued us into our own land, we had almost no forces left to stop them.
I also sent word to Han and Azura. I gave them direct orders: "Take your best men. Come to the border between the Land of Earth and the Land of Grass. Come quickly."
Of course, I knew they would not arrive in time to assist in our retreat. The Earth Country is vast. Travel takes time. But the faster they moved, the sooner we could erect a defensive wall strong enough to keep Konoha at bay.
Crossing into the Land of Grass brought no relief. Our infrastructure was in shambles. Our outposts? Razed. Supply lines? Burned to nothing. Konoha had made sure our rear was utterly gutted. They knew—as all great tacticians know—an army without supply is already dead.
At least… they didn't attack us during our retreat. Perhaps they calculated that striking a force led by me wasn't worth the risk. Or maybe… they were too busy finishing off the others we had left behind.
Still, I kept expecting their shadows to appear in the treetops. Waiting. Watching. Striking.
But they didn't come.
Another two days passed—days without sleep, without proper food, without peace.
And finally… the land began to change.
The dense, chaotic forests thinned. Trees gave way to harsh, familiar rock formations. The ground grew jagged, unfriendly—just like home.
We had made it. Earth Country. Iwagakure's territory.
But there was no time to rest.
We immediately began organizing defensive lines. Ninja from nearby, undestroyed outposts joined us. Stragglers who had survived the retreat trickled in over the hours.
Our total strength?
500.
Five hundred shinobi. From the 5,000 I led at the beginning of the invasion.
The swift, relentless tempo I had imposed no doubt increased our losses. But it was the trap at the third city—the slaughter of our command structure—that sealed our defeat.
Now… there was only one thing left to do:
Wait.
Wait for the reinforcements. Wait for the supplies. Wait for word from Han and Azura. And above all… hope that Konoha did not follow us into our territory in this weakened state.
They had managed to balance the numerical disadvantage they faced by using precision strikes, intelligence, and Minato's cursed jutsu. But to do that, they had to pull shinobi from their other fronts.
Surely… that left them exposed elsewhere.
So where were the other Great Villages? What were Suna, Kiri, and Kumo doing?
Why had none of them seized the opportunity to attack Konoha from behind?
Were they so weak that they feared even a half-defended Leaf?
Or… perhaps they simply didn't want us to win.
Perhaps they feared an Iwagakure made strong by victory.
Well, it doesn't matter now. It's all the same. The moment has passed. The past can't be changed.
All that remains is this moment—and what we do next.