Naruto: The Last Harbinger of Storm
NTLHOS BOOK 2: Chapter 35: Cross Roads.
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🖋️ Author's Note:
Hey guys! 😊
This is a 9k-word chapter is partly filler, partly plot setup. I've changed the plan: instead of Nagato breaking into Uzushio, he'll be facing Hiruzen Sarutobi in his prime in the future chapter. Spoiler ahead, get ready for that epic duel! Can't wait to see how it goes. 🙏🔥
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"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." — Lord Acton
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Previously on NTLHOS-2:
"That will be all for today. Return to your positions and fulfill your orders. I will summon you all again in two weeks to seal the Four and Five Tails. Do not fail us," said Pain. "Itachi, Kisame.
With that, everyone began to disperse.
Pain turned to Tobi, who straightened and puffed his chest with pride. "And you, Tobi, stay behind."
Tobi saluted with a grin plastered across his mask. "Yes, Leader-sama! Tobi is a good boy!"
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Now:
The night air in the Jiro Isles was a living thing, thick with the scent of damp earth, night in the forest. It was a symphony Naruto had come to appreciate and was part of his life ow a days. He lay on a simple woven mat within the tribe chieftain's own hut, a place of honour, yet his senses were not at rest. They were stretched taut, a web of chakra feeling out into the darkness, tasting the subtle dissonances in the natural flow.
The tribals' life force was a gentle, constant hum, like the deep thrumming of the earth itself. It was a resonance born from millennia of living not on the land, but with it. But tonight, there were other sounds in the symphony. Sharp, discordant notes. The furtive, suppressed chakra signatures of shinobi. They felt like jagged shards of glass in a river of smooth stones, an insult to the sanctity of this place.
Fools, Naruto thought, a flicker of his old predator stirring within him. He kept his breathing even, his body still, a perfect portrait of a sleeping monk. These days he had forgotten, in his exile, the simple, brutal calculus of his former life. He had forgotten the thrill of the hunt, the cold satisfaction of turning the tables on would-be assassins. The world, it seemed, was intent on reminding him who he was once.
They moved with practiced silence, four of them, their approach a whisper of displaced air. They thought him an easy target, a soft-bellied priest far from the brutal realities of their world. The first shinobi, a shadow within the hut's deeper shadows, raised a kunai. The polished steel caught a sliver of moonlight, a final, fleeting star before it descended to reap his life.
Poof.
The blade sliced through empty air and wisps of smoke. The shinobi's eyes widened in a fraction of a second of pure incomprehension. It was the last thing he processed. A hand, hard as stone yet swift as a striking viper, chopped down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. There was a sickening, wet crunch, and the man crumpled without a sound.
Simultaneously, outside the hut, three identical scenes played out in the span of a single heartbeat. Three clones, perfect duplicates of the original, moved with the same impossible speed. A chop here and then walla unconscious. It was not a fight. It was child play. The fox had indeed gone hunting for an buck and had found a leviathan instead.
Naruto gathered the four bodies, all unconscious with a chilling efficiency. He moved to the very edge of the vast forest, a place where the tribe's territory bled into the contested lands, a gray zone of felled trees and scarred earth. Here, the sacrilege of their presence would not further taint the tribe. He did not wish for the chieftain to know his guest had been targeted under his protection, it would be a matter of deep shame for the old man, and Naruto had no desire to cause him further pain.
A fire crackled to life, its flames licking at the damp night air. Naruto sat before it, cross-legged, the picture of serenity, a stark contrast to the unconscious shinobi laid out before him.
When the man's eyes fluttered open, they were met with the sight of the monk, his face painted in the flickering firelight, his azure eyes holding a depth that seemed to swallow the flames themselves.
"Who… who are you?" the shinobi rasped, his throat dry, his neck screaming in protest. "You're no ordinary monk."
Naruto's lips curved in a smile that held no warmth. "Obviously. I am just a wandering monk."
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Flashback (That day Morning)
After the events in the Crimson Isles, Naruto continued his sojourn through the Elemental Nations. He appeared in various parts of the Nations, continuing his penance, rather than, as before, sweeping through them from length to breadth over the past two years. Now he began popping up at random. This likely had to do with the project he'd started, the shrines he'd entrusted to others, to ensure their upkeep.
Just recently, as the third year of his exile neared its end, he arrived in a remote village known for its natural minerals, on the very southern tip of the Elemental Nations: the Jiro Islands, south of the Land of Tea. The Jiro Islands are very isolated, with a population of barely ten thousand. Though large compared to most villages, the island is small relative to the major nations and its peoples are largely reclusive. They don't live in villages at all but in tribal clusters, one of the oldest groups in the Elemental Nations. They have yet to learn city life or establish a village system, they dwell in huts amid vast, Amazonian-style forests, around ancient shrines. Their architecture, stone constructions now overgrown with vines and canopies, may even predate the Sage of Six Paths. No one knows for sure, but the precision of their stonework speaks of a forgotten civilization.
These tribespeople excel in agriculture, hunting, and gathering; they mine precious gems and maintain their own waterworks. When Naruto first appeared here, the locals recognizing the aura of an arch-sage treated him with the highest regard. Even the most reclusive tribe knew the dignity of that title.
This time, however, he sensed tension. A unique conundrum gripped the islands' political and geographical landscape. At the northern tip, bordering the Land of Tea, migrants had established a settlement. What was once a handful of two or three villages with a rudimentary harbor had, over time, expanded to occupy nearly one-third of the island. Meanwhile, three-quarters of the isles remained the deep forest, home to the tribes' shamanic way of life.
Naruto first sought food in the "civilized" settlements, begging as a humble monk. After two or three days, he moved on to the forest border. There, a jointly maintained guard post crackled with hostility. The land dwellers jeered, "Oh monk, why venture into savage lands?" He replied serenely, "I am a monk. I travel wherever wind leads me." And he passed through.
Among the so-called savages, he was welcomed like royalty fed, sheltered, and guided to the chieftain. This leader governed some ten thousand tribespeople, an army unto itself. They neither followed bushidō nor shinobi creed, yet they had their own chakra techniques, hunting methods, and guerrilla tactics that outmatched any outsider in the forest.
For eight thousand years since the Sage of Six Paths, they had held their ground. But now they spoke of shinobis wearing chakra-resistant armor, gear that repelled arrows and blocked chakra paired with a strategy of encroachment: cutting the forest's edges, clearing land to deprive the tribes of cover. Without their forests and knowledge of their terrain, the tribes faltered on open ground.
Naruto was baffled by this "chakra-resistant armor," but he resolved to broker peace. For he only knew of one place that made these, land of snow. Hence he concealed his true identity from both sides, he entered a pitched-cloth tent where the tribal chieftain and the settlers' mayor met. Tempers flared in two tongues, the common language of the elemental Nations and the tribes' ancient speech, escalating toward violence. Yet the tribes upheld guest rights: those who shared bread and salt were sacred. Though shinobi are notoriously treacherous, killing, plundering, looting, they had, at least, not broken this ancient trust. Violate it once, the tribes would never offer hospitality again and there would be no place left for peace.
So, the escalation never reached the point of physical violence. There was outright shouting, yes, but never any physical confrontation once guest rights were offered.
Naruto had said to Chieftain that day morning, "I will come with you, Chieftain. I will go to your meeting place and try to moderate the situation." But even for monks, these tribes were sacrosanct, because they were the key holders to many shrines in their tribes. Of course, they did not allow outsiders into their forest, but they still upheld their energies as is and maintained a strict sanctum around those shrines. They were the gods of the old ways. Much knowledge and techniques that had long been lost to the Elemental Nations were preserved and jealously guarded by these people.
When Naruto arrived, the tribal chieftain said, "This is a monk from the mainland whom we hold in the utmost regard. Let him be the arbitrator of our dispute. For if he is the arbitrator, we will follow any verdict he gives, for he is an arch-sage." Even among our people, while we have no regard for you land-dwellers, who have misshapen this land with your greed and your need for conquest, we have great respect for a being of his stature.
But the land-dweller was not so forthcoming, for he was afraid of what might happen, the implications brought when a monk entered the picture. Not just any monk whom these tribes had rebuffed. No, this was a monk from the mainland. God knows, God damn knows…how many connections and contacts this man has on the mainland. For the Land of Iron was a great ally of the tribes. Despite not being samurai, they held the tribes in very high regard as a very old civilization. And, they might even send armies to protect these savages. Though distant, they still didn't want samurai involved. And the tribes were too prideful to ask anyone for help. They could not claim this monk was one of the tribe, because by his mannerisms and the language he spoke, it was very obvious that he was cultured. And, of course, the people funding this expansion and the extraction of minerals wouldn't want it to become a global phenomenon, with other villages coming to stake their own claims.
So Naruto began the arbitration. It lasted four hours, with a lot of cursing, scowling, and hollering from both the tribespeople, offended and the land-dwellers, outraged by the tribe's mannerisms. Finally, Naruto said, "What you have taken is a breach of the contract you had with the tribes when they gave you sanctuary on these isles and allotted you 10%. Then you increased it to 20%, and now you intend to take 30%, a full third of their land. That's a bit greedy, in my eyes. Let us move into no man's land. You may take the 25% above what you were originally granted, the initial 10% but no more and no less."
Alongside the mayor was a shinobi. The shinobi leaned in and whispered something, and the mayor's eyes widened slightly. Naruto noticed but knew that no Jonin would ever discover his true identity while he was so convincingly blended into his attire. Nevertheless, Naruto's eyes narrowed.
Why would a Jonin accompany a mayor in such a small village? A Chunin would normally be the head such a village. A Jonin is a rare rank, found in very few numbers even in minor villages and only in abundance in major ones. Naruto did not recognize the shinobi, not from the bingo books he had seen, nor from any other data he had reviewed, but still, it raised his eyes.
The mayor said, "We can discuss this tomorrow. We'll see what to do and decide then." The tribesmen agreed, for the next day was auspicious among their people.
Flashback End
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A choked, humourless laugh escaped the shinobi. "No monk… I am a Jōnin. A certified Jōnin from Kirigakure, before the fall. It takes more than a trick to incapacitate me. To be chopped into unconsciousness like a raw genin, no like an academy student… not even an Anbu captain could boast of such a feat. You are no monk."
"And yet, I am," Naruto replied, his voice a low murmur, calm and unyielding. Naruto's disguise has successfully fooled everyone from his real identity. "I am what I say I am. My path is my own. Yours, however, seems to have led you to a very unfortunate place."
"Bluff," the man spat, trying to push himself up, only to find his limbs heavy and unresponsive. "I've trained under S-rank shinobi. I've run with the deadliest mercenary crews from the Land of Rice paddies to the deserts of Wind. I know power when I see it. I can't sense your chakra, I told the mayor, I warned him you were dangerous because I couldn't get a read on you. To hide it so completely… you'd have to be a master sensor."
"I am not interested in debating my credentials," Naruto said, his tone shifting, losing its placid edge and taking on the hardness off. "I am interested in who is financing this… venture. The mayor of that burgeoning slum is a puppet. He doesn't have the ryo to hire a single squad of competent chūnin, let alone the twelve mercenary groups I've counted operating in this region. Someone with deep pockets and a shallow morality is pulling the strings. Someone with the stench of a daimyo, perhaps."
The Jōnin's eyes darted away, a flicker of panic. He was a survivor, a man who had navigated the treacherous waters of the post-war world. He knew when to lie, when to bargain, when to fold. He decided to bet on the monk's robes. Monks preached non-violence. It was their brand.
"It's the local daimyo of the Land of Tea," he said, the lie tasting clumsy on his tongue. "He wants the minerals, the gems, this forest is full of them.."
Naruto scoffed, a sound of profound disappointment. "The Daimyo of Tea? Lord Ikaku? I know the man. I have shared tea with him. He is a man of honour. He holds these isles and their people, its shrines in high regard. He would sooner cut off his own hand than sanction the destruction of their ancestral lands. A poor lie, shinobi."
The Jōnin's bravado began to crumble. "Lord Ikaku… he passed away. Three months ago. His son took over. The boy is… ambitious."
The air grew cold. Naruto's eyes, once the colour of a summer sky, seemed to darken to the hue of a stormy sea. "Now you insult my intelligence. Lord Ikaku's son, Kenta, studies at a monastery in the northern mountains. I received a letter from his abbot just last week. You see, shinobi, you are trying to play a game of deception with a man who has not only mastered the game but has seen the board from a height you cannot even comprehend. I have walked away from that world you so proudly serve, but I have not forgotten its language. The lies, the half-truths, the feints… they are as familiar to me as the feel of a kunai in my hand."
With a movement too swift to track, Naruto leaned forward. His hand dipped into the Jōnin's own flak jacket, retrieving a kunai. The shinobi flinched, but the blade didn't go for his throat. It plunged downwards, straight into his right knee.
The man screamed, a raw, piercing sound that was abruptly swallowed by the oppressive silence that followed. For in that moment, as the blade found flesh and bone, Naruto released it. A sliver of it. The killing intent.
It wasn't the explosive rage of a cornered beast. It was something far more dangerous, far more terrifying. It was the silent, patient malice of a god who can make civilizations rise and fall like dust motes in a sunbeam. The Jōnin's mind fractured under the weight of it. His body convulsed, not from the pain in his knee, but from the sheer, mind-shattering terror. His very being was quaking, his spirit threatening to flee his body.
"I am a monk," Naruto whispered, his voice a sibilant hiss that coiled around the man's sanity. "But do not mistake my path for weakness. I have caused more violence than you could ever dream of. I will not hesitate to carve you into pieces and feed you to the sharks in the strait, piece by agonizing piece. Then, I will move on to the next mercenary leader. And the next. Until one of you tells me the truth." He twisted the kunai, and the man's scream became a choked gurgle.
"No! Please! Stop!" he sobbed, tears and snot streaking his face. "Uzushio! It's Uzushiogakure!"
The world stopped.
The killing intent vanished, drawn back into Naruto as if it had never existed. The sudden absence of pressure was as jarring as its presence had been. For a long, terrible moment, Naruto did not move. He simply stared, his face a mask of utter shock—a devastation so profound it defied expression. From years of experience, Naruto knew the man wasn't lying; his heartbeat, his chakra, his very aura and soul confirmed that he was telling the truth.
Uzushio.
His village. The sanctuary he had built from the ashes of a dream. The home for the scattered, the lost, the remnants of his clan. The symbol of a new way he dreamed of.
The kunai in the man's knee was joined by another, this one sinking deep into his shoulder. The killing intent returned, but this time it was different. It was not cold and controlled. It was a white-hot, apocalyptic inferno of betrayal. The very air around them seemed to ignite, the shadows writhing as if in pain. The Jōnin felt his consciousness fraying at the edges, the sheer force of Naruto's rage threatening to unmake him.
"YOU LIE!" The voice was not a shout, it was a roar, a shockwave that tore through the clearing. "Uzushiogakure would never… Tsunade would never sanction this!" His eyes, no longer just blue, began to glow with a menacingly. "Was this a direct, covert order signed by the acting Head, Tsunade Senju?!"
The kunai pressed against the man's throat, its edge promising oblivion. "No! No, not the village itself! Not officially!" the Jōnin shrieked, his mind clinging to a single thread of survival. "It's… it's clans! Clans within Uzushio! They have business ventures in the Land of Tea… they want to expand!"
"Which clans?" Naruto's voice was dangerously low, the rage compressed into a diamond-hard point.
"The Terumi… the Hozuki… the Yuki… the Kaguya… a coalition! They want to clear half the island for their mining and lumber operations! They said… they said the tribals were a dying breed, an obstacle to progress!"
Progress. The word was a poisoned dart in Naruto's heart.
"Are they here? The clan heads?"
"I-I don't know! Their representatives… Jōnin commanders… they are to arrive tonight. We are to rendezvous and begin the final sweep. We were tasked to… to eliminate you first. To remove the complication of a mainland monk."
Naruto stared into the fire, his mind a maelstrom. The principles I laid down… the council I established… How dare they? In my absence, they twist my dream, my legacy, into a tool for greed? They use thugs and mercenaries to besmirch the name of Uzushio, to wipe out a culture far older than most in the elemental nation, older than the sage of six paths… for what? For money? For resources? Did I not provide enough? Did I not build a foundation strong enough to resist the rot of avarice?
The Jōnin, lost in his own world of pain and terror, couldn't hear the silent, agonized screams ripping through Naruto's soul. Naruto looked at the now three dead shinobi, then back at the blubbering leader. With a final, contemptuous flick of his wrist, he lopped off the heads of the three corpses. He left the leader alive, bleeding and broken.
"Go," Naruto said, his voice flat and dead. "Go and tell your masters. Tell them to turn back. Tell them a storm is coming. Say Na.. Na.. Na." his throat refuse to give his name out.
The shinobi scrambled away, half-crawling, half-running, a trail of blood marking his desperate flight. He didn't need a name. He had seen the face of the devil himself that wore a monk's robes.
Later that night, as the moon climbed to its zenith, Naruto felt their arrival. Fourteen Jōnin and thirty Chūnin, their chakra signatures bearing the distinct, he had sensed some of them when he was in Uzushio. They wore no headbands, a pathetic attempt at deniability, a clan-sanctioned mission hiding behind the veneer of a private security operation. They gathered the remnants of the twelve mercenary groups, a small but formidable army, and began their advance on the forest's edge.
Naruto stood at the precipice of the treeline, watching them. The monk was gone. The Arch-Sage was gone. In their place stood the warrior, the relic of the man who single handedly shook the entire elemental nation. He took a single step forward, a universe of power coiling in his limbs. After so long, he would unleash the storm. He would remind them of the foundations upon which Uzushio was built, and the price of forgetting.
He raised his hand, and for the first time in three long years, the familiar, searing heat of red-gold plasma swirled around his fist. The air crackled with energy, and the scent of ozone filled his nostrils, his Storm Release. He hadn't used anything above a B-rank in battle for past three years. These days, his training no longer involved physical exertion. Instead, he meditated, visualizing every movement, refining every technique in his mind. And through that inner eye, he had reached heights far beyond what raw muscle alone could achieve.
And then, it happened.
A shimmering, transparent wall of energy materialized a mere inch from his outstretched hand. It was utterly invisible until the moment his power touched it, causing ripples of golden light to dance across its surface. A barrier. He thought it was a sealing jutsu from the uzushio, some advanced technique he hadn't foreseen. But no barrier could stop him. He snarled, and pouched by pouring more power into his fist, expecting the barrier to shatter like glass.
It didn't even scratch. The plasmic energy of his Storm Release, a force that could level mountains, dissipated against the barrier like steam against a cold windowpane.
Then came the voice. It did not come from a single direction but from everywhere at once. It was aged yet ageless. It was the voice of his master.
"You forget your path, child."
The voice was not physical. It was a resonance within his very soul, an illusion so potent it felt more real than the ground beneath his feet.
"You will not interfere in the affairs of your creation. You will neither guide them nor strike them down. You cannot enter the lands of Uzushio, nor can you, as their exiled emperor, directly or indirectly influence their actions. The moment you rain hell upon them, your purpose is broken. They would turn back, yes. They would flee from the wrath of their old emperor. They would abandon this island. But that is not your penance. Your path is to bear witness. You chose to build a world, and then you had to leave it. Now, you must watch it walk on its own feet, even if it stumbles, even if it falls into darkness. This is the consequence you must carry."
Naruto whipped around, searching for the source, but there was only the forest, the moonlight, and the silent, mocking barrier. He was trapped. A cage of his own making.
He slammed his fist against the unyielding wall of energy. Again. And again. Not with chakra, but with raw, physical strength. The impacts were soundless, his rage swallowed by the absolute power of the seal. He wanted to scream, to roar his defiance at the realms, to rage against the cosmic injustice of it all. To be forced to watch his own child become a tyrant, to stand by as the innocent were slaughtered in the name he had given them… it was a torture more exquisite than any physical pain.
He slumped against the barrier, his forehead pressed against the cool, unyielding energy. Helplessness. He wasn't a powerless genin anymore; he was arguably one of the most powerful person on the continent, and he was utterly, completely, cosmically impotent.
Each person walks a path shaped by their actions and the actions of others upon them. The weight they carry is unique to them. A farmer's consequence for a poor harvest is hunger. A king's consequence for a foolish nation to ruins. His consequence… his was this. To have the power to save everyone and be forbidden from using it. To be the father forced to watch his child walk into darkness.
His breath hitched. A dry, ragged sob escaped his throat. He didn't know if he was screaming, crying, or simply breaking. But then, through the storm of his agony, a thought emerged. Cold. Sharp. The shinobi brain, the part of him that had survived ambushes and out-thought geniuses, flickered back to life.
Directly or indirectly influence their action like a leader… you will not kill them…
The words echoed in his mind. The rules of his cage. But every cage has a key. Every rule has a loophole. He couldn't attack them. He couldn't lead them back. But the voice had said nothing about protecting the victims. He couldn't be Uzushio's judge, but perhaps… perhaps he could be the Jiro Isles' shield. It was a fine distinction, a lawyer's argument against a god, but it was all he had.
He pushed himself off the barrier, his eyes burning with a new, desperate fire. He turned and raced back into the forest, his feet barely touching the ground. He burst into the chieftain's hut. The old man was awake, his eyes filled with a deep, knowing sorrow. He had felt the shift in the world outside.
"There is an army at our borders, Arch-Sage," the chieftain said, his voice calm. "I feel their hunger. My people are preparing to die for their homes."
Naruto fell to his knees before the old man, an act of profound humility that stunned the tribal leader. The monk's robes seemed to melt away, and for the first time, the chieftain saw the man beneath.
"Forgive me, Chieftain," Naruto's voice was raw. "Those who come to destroy your home… they do so under a name I gave them. They are from a village I founded. They are my people. My responsibility. My failure."
He looked up, and his face was no longer that of a wandering monk. It was the face of Uzumaki Naruto, the exiled founder of Uzushiogakure. The six whisker marks on his cheeks stood out in stark relief.
"My name is Naruto Uzumaki. And on behalf of Uzushiogakure, I apologize for the nightmare it has brought to your doorstep."
The chieftain stared at him, his wizened face unreadable. Even here, deep in the jungle, they knew the name Uzumaki Naruto—the head of the Uzumaki clan, the man who had brought back the deities to this realm, and whose exile was whispered like myth. To the tribe, the Arch Sage had always held the highest reverence. And this man—he had always known—was more than a monk. The power that rolled off him in waves, even when suppressed, was not that of an ordinary man. It was the power of a legend.
"No, Your Kingship… King Naruto Uzumaki," the old man said softly, placing a wrinkled hand on his chest. The tribes did not know the courtly terms of the mainland. In their tongue, emperor or leader—he was simply King. "It is a great honor to host an Arch Sage, a blessing we receive perhaps once in two hundred years. But to host the man who returned the gods to our world, this is a privilege beyond all. If you, as the head of Uzushio, had sent us word, we would have vacated this forest, however painful it might have been."
"I would never give such an order," Naruto replied, his voice sad, his mind racing. "In fact, I want to help you. But I am forbidden from directly influencing Uzushio."
He paused, then continued.
"However… I am not forbidden from helping you defend yourselves. Their greatest strength is their numbers and their advanced jutsu. Your strength is this forest, your knowledge of it, your bond with the natural energy that flows through it. We will combine them. Together, we will defend your home. It has been a tradition that when a arch sage is truly satisfied with the host he bless and be on his way. So let me give you and this forest my bless."
"Your tribal god's shrines," he said, pointing towards the heart of the forest. "They are not just stone and granite. They are focal points of natural energy, built on energy pool you have maintained for generations. I will use them."
He drew complex seal arrays in the dirt, diagrams that blended the sophisticated formulas of Uzumaki Fūinjutsu with the flowing, organic patterns of the tribe's own shamanic symbols. He taught a handful of their strongest kanjis how to form specific hand seals, how to draw the natural energy not just into their bodies, but to channel it outwards, to link it with the seals he was carving onto the great trees at the forest's border.
It was an elaborate, monumental undertaking. He was not only crafting a barrier for them. He was also teaching them how to control their own land's protective will, using his knowledge as a catalyst and his vast chakra reserves as the initial spark to ignite the process. He was not influencing Uzushio's actions; he was blessing from this gift. It was a desperate gamble against his warden.
As the first light of dawn threatened the horizon, the Uzushio forces began their final push. They moved in a wave of steel and elemental jutsu, confident in their victory.
At the edge of the forest, the old chieftain stood with his shamans, their hands forming the seals Naruto had taught them. Naruto stood hidden in trees out of sight of uzushio's force, pouring his own chakra into the ground, feeding the network, stabilizing the matrix.
As the first volley of fireballs and wind scythes tore through the air, the chieftain slammed his palm onto the central seal carved into the earth.
"Awaken, Great Forest. Fūinjutsu: Ninety-Eighth Seal — Verdant Binding of the Forest Sage- (Dai-Kyūjūhachi In - Shinboku no Suishibari)!" he roared.
The ground itself seemed to groan. The seal arrays on the trees flared with a brilliant, emerald light. From the earth, a massive, interwoven wall of wood, stone, and pure, solidified natural energy erupted, forming a dome over the entire tribal territory. It was not a simple wall; it was alive, roots, vines coiling and reinforcing any spot that was struck, the very earth rising to patch its wounds.
The Uzushio jutsu crashed against it, exploding in brilliant, useless flashes of light. The barrier held.
From behind the translucent, emerald wall, Naruto watched the shocked and confused faces of the shinobi from his village. His heart was a cold, heavy stone in his chest. He had found his loophole. He had saved the tribes, for now. But he was still in his cage, a helpless spectator to the sins of his own creation, a pained guardian standing watch as his children hammered against the shield he had helped to raise against them. The battle was far from over, and the weight of his penance had just begun.
Even as the barrier stood strong around the forest, Naruto's heart weighed heavy. In the three years since his exile began, the reports Jiraiya sent him of Uzushio painted a grim picture, clans were splintering into factions, their loyalty eroding, new and old grudges. Worse still, Uzushio's influence, so long a force for trade and rebuilding had slipped into heavy-handed meddling. He'd overseen ventures into distant lands himself and understood the necessity of diplomacy and commerce, but something far darker was unfolding now.
Minor villages, small tribes all were being squeezed by Uzushio's ever-expanding reach. Under the banner of "progress," clans now used Uzushio's power to trample the powerless, carving away lands and treaty rights with callous indifference. Naruto shuddered at the thought: the very strength he had nurtured in his homeland was now a weapon against the innocent.
A cold clarity settled over him. Perhaps this was the deities' punishment, an echo of Bishonin's warning that power, once given, could corrupt the giver. He had sown the seeds of Uzushio's greatness; now he must face the harvest, however bitter. Was it his fate to see the empire he founded devour itself? Would he one day have to raze Uzushio to its core to save what remained of its soul? Or could he yet guide his people back from this precipice before that final reckoning came?
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The assault was a symphony of destruction, a testament to the raw power the clans of Uzushiogakure could command. From the Roku clan, molten rivers of the Lava Release arced through the sky, painting the night in hellish shades of orange and red as they crashed against the emerald dome. The superheated rock vaporized on contact, leaving behind nothing but sizzling clouds of steam. Isori Terumi and her own clan members unleashed their Boil Release, vast clouds of acidic mist that could corrode steel and flesh with equal ease. The mist enveloped the barrier, hissing and roiling, yet the verdant energy remained unmarred, as if shrouded in a gentle spring rain.
The Hozuki tried a subtler approach, their bodies turning to water to slip through the smallest conceivable crack, only to find the barrier was a seamless whole, its energy absolute. The Yuki hurled lances of hardened ice, each one carrying enough force to shatter a castle gate, yet they disintegrated into glittering dust upon impact. What began as a covert operation, masked by the anonymity of mercenary work, had devolved into a full-blown display of Uzushio's might. They had thrown their secrecy to the wind, desperate to crack this defence. And it had all been for nothing.
Isori Terumi, her silver hair plastered to her brow with sweat and steam, called a halt. She was an elite Jōnin, a veteran of a dozen high-stakes missions, and her voice cut through the cacophony of battle with absolute authority. "Cease fire! All squads, hold your positions!"
The chaos subsided, replaced by the heavy breathing of exhausted shinobi and the ominous, gentle hum of the great barrier. Isori walked forward, her green eyes narrowed in concentration. She was a master of seals, a craft that was the very much compulsory in Uzushio for being a jonin. By the standards of the world, she was an expert of the highest caliber. By the standards of Uzushio, where the Uzumaki clan's genius still lingered, she was a promising novice. But she was novice enough to recognize the work of a grandmaster.
She ignored the warnings of her subordinates and stepped right up to the shimmering wall of light. It felt… alive. Not just a construct of chakra, but a living, breathing extension of the land itself, interwoven with a power she could barely comprehend. She raised a hand, her slender fingers outstretched, and gently pressed her index and middle finger against its surface.
And then she felt it.
For a seal master, analyzing a construct was like reading a signature. Most were simple, some complex, others elegant. This was none of those things. This was like touching the fabric of reality itself. Beneath the immense, thrumming life of the natural energy, there was another signature. A chakra so vast, so potent, so unbelievably dense it made the Tailed Beasts themselves feel like flickering candles in a hurricane.
It was a power as warm and life-giving as the sun, as deep and fathomless as the ocean, as wild and untamable as the greatest of storms. It was a signature every single citizen of Uzushiogakure knew, a presence seared into their collective memory. It was the chakra of their founder. Their Emperor.
A shudder wracked Isori's entire body, a primal, bone-deep tremor of awe and terror. Her blood ran cold. He hadn't even bothered to mask it. He wanted them to know. He wanted her to know. And woven into the very fabric of his monumental chakra was an emotion so pure and potent it felt like a physical blow: Rage.
It was not the hot, screaming rage of a common man. It was the cold, silent, incandescent fury. It was an anger that promised not a swift end, but a meticulous, grinding consequence. It was the fury of a father whose children had grievously disappointed him. The message was unspoken, yet it screamed into her mind louder than any jutsu.
You have trespassed. You have failed me. You are corrupted.
Isori snatched her hand back as if burned, stumbling away from the barrier. She gulped, her throat suddenly as dry as desert sand. The confident, elite Jōnin was gone, replaced by a frightened girl standing before an arbiter of fate.
"Lady Isori?" one of her men asked, his voice laced with concern as he saw her pale face.
"Retreat," she whispered, her voice trembling. Then, finding her strength, she shouted it, her voice cracking with urgency. "ALL SQUADS! RETREAT! BACK TO THE RENDEZVOUS POINT! NOW! THAT IS AN ORDER!"
The shinobi, seeing the sheer terror on the face of their unflappable commander, didn't question it. A wave of confusion and fear rippled through the assembled army as they disengaged, casting fearful glances at the silent, glowing dome that had so utterly defeated them.
As Isori led the retreat, her mind was a whirlwind of dread. The day they all feared had come. When the Emperor had left, there was sorrow. Uzushio had wept for its departing father, a leader who had given them sanctuary, prosperity, and purpose. They had promised to uphold his vision. But in the years since, other, ambitions had festered. Greed. Expansion. Power. The very things he had warned them against. The sorrow of his absence had slowly been replaced by a quiet, comfortable complacency.
Now, that comfort was shattered. Now, they were left with nothing but dread.
He WILL BE back. Or at least, he was here. And he was watching. And he was angry.
What will become of the clans? she thought, her hands still shaking. Will he strip us of our power? Our lands? Will he dismantle the very structures we have built in his absence? She was just a soldier following the orders of her clan head. But she knew that excuse would mean nothing to him. To a man like Naruto Uzumaki, "I was just following orders" was the beginning of a crime, not its absolution.
Her thoughts turned to her own leader, Mei Terumi. The former keader of rebals, a woman who had stood by the Emperor's side as one of his most trusted advisors, his right-hand lady. Would that past friendship grant her clemency? Or would he view her actions as the deepest betrayal of all? To have known his heart, to have understood his dream, and to still allow this to happen under her clan's name… Isori feared it was the latter. No one would be excused. Everyone would have to answer for their crimes.
This was why, even in exile, even as a ghost of a memory, Naruto Uzumaki was still considered one of the greatest shinobi to have ever lived. It wasn't just the monstrous power that could erect a barrier like that with seemingly no effort. It was his genius. His principles weren't suggestions; they were laws of nature. And they had broken them.
As they finally cleared the blighted land and moved into the cover of the outer forests, Isori turned back for one last look. The emerald dome stood, serene and absolute under the moonlight, a silent monument to their failure and his judgment. The message had been delivered without a single word.
She had to get back. She had to run. She had to tell Lady Mei that the sun will return to their shores, someday and it will burn many.
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The cavern was a hollow monument to pain. Upon the ten colossal fingers of the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path, the Gedo Mazō, flickered the ethereal, static-laced figures of the Akatsuki. The final, agonizing roar of the Five-Tails, as its chakra was ripped from its host and sealed within the husk. The process, as always, was draining.
One by one, the astral figures vanished. Three remained: the stoic, Tobi, Konan, and Pain, whose true form as Nagato stood hidden deep within the Amegakure tower, orchestrating all.
It had taken Itachi Uchiha and Kisame Hoshigaki six long months rather than original two weeks to capture the Jinchūriki of the Four and Five-Tails. The Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki, had proven to be a wily old badger, constantly shifting the location of his village's most valuable assets. But persistence was a virtue the Akatsuki had in abundance. With the sealing of the One, Two, Three, Four, and now Five-Tails complete, the next prize was in sight: the Six and Seven-Tails of Uzushiogakure.
"The might of uzushio is not to be underestimated, nagato," tobi's, his single sharingan glowing in the gloom. "their barrier is a masterpiece. But the true obstacle is the man who commands their forces. Lord Suifu. They call him the 'The Grand Marshal' for a reason. His prowess in kenjutsu is said to rival the seven swordsmen combined any day, and his mastery all shinobi arts are absolute. He alone could halt our advance."
Nagato's primary avatar, the Deva Path, remained impassive, but within his sanctuary, Nagato himself considered the words. He knew of Lord Suifu. But the true threat, the one that could truly challenge him, was someone else entirely. Yet, it was not the village's military might that gave him pause. It was the name. Uzushio.
When he first heard that the Uzumaki clan had not truly been wiped from existence, that they had risen from the ashes to build a new home, a small, forgotten part of him stirred. The part that remembered his mother's red hair, the stories of a lost homeland, the yearning for a family he never knew. He had buried that part of himself decades ago, interred it with Yahiko's body and their shared dream. Peace, true peace, could not be built on the selfish indulgence of familial bonds. The world had to be broken before it could be remade. His personal feelings were irrelevant.
In the past year, he had personally scouted the shores of Uzushiogakure. Standing on a desolate cliff overlooking the churning sea, he had closed his eyes, and through the inner sight of his Rinnegan, a faculty few knew off, he had gazed upon their grand barrier. It was a marvel of Fūinjutsu, a living seal of unimaginable scale. It plunged from the sky deep into the ocean, anchoring itself to the very bedrock of the seafloor. He felt the raw, primal power coiled within it, a sleeping leviathan of protective energy. His Rinnegan whispered a warning to his subconscious: to absorb such a construct would be a gargantuan task, and its failure could unlatch something terrible from the depths, a cataclysm that would make his own plans seem tame.
Barging in was not an option. So, he had chosen the path of a shinobi: subterfuge.
For months, his agents had worked in the shadows, funnelling funds to corrupt, greedy officials within Uzushio's bureaucracy. It was a long, patient gambit. All he needed was a single mission that would draw both the Six-Tails and Seven-Tails Jinchūriki outside the protection of their fortress, simultaneously. If he captured one, the other would be locked away forever, and breaking that barrier would indeed plunge the Elemental Nations into a war that would derail his plans entirely.
Fortune had favored him. A minor daimyo, emboldened by a new alliance with Konohagakure, had begun to ignore his debts and treaty obligations to Uzushio. The Uzushio council, keen to make an example of him, had decided on a show of force. The initial motion was to dispatch Lord Suifu and few elite Jōnin, a swift reminder of Uzushio's power. But Nagato's well-placed pawns had intervened. They argued that sending such high-profile commanders was overkill; it would be more... poetic, they claimed, to send their two Jinchūriki. Let the daimyo witness the power of the Tailed Beasts that served Uzushio. The motion was passed.
The caged birds were about to be set free, right into the hawk's waiting talons.
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The forest air in the Land of Fire was warm and humid, alive with the chatter of cicadas. Fū, the Jinchūriki of the Seven-Tails, Chōmei, zipped through the canopy, her teal hair a vibrant splash of colour against the green leaves. She was perpetually cheerful, a stark contrast to her companion.
"Come on, Utakata! A little faster!" she chirped, landing gracefully on a thick branch. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back for Teriyaki!"
Below her, Utakata, the host of the Six-Tails, Saiken, moved with a fluid, almost lazy grace. He carried his bubble pipe, his expression one of detached melancholy. "There is no need to rush, Fū. The land of bear's daimyo isn't going anywhere. This mission is a waste of our time."
"No mission is a waste of time! It's an adventure!" she countered with a grin.
It was then that they felt it. A presence that descended upon the forest like a shroud, silencing the cicadas and chilling the warm air. Utakata and Fū immediately fell into defensive stances, their eyes scanning the clearing ahead.
A man stood there, clad in the black cloak with red clouds that had become the world's most feared symbol. He had spiky red hair, a feature that tugged at a strange, familiarity in both of them. But it was his eyes that held them captive. Purple, rippling with concentric circles. The legendary Rinnegan.
This was not the emaciated figure of Pain, nor did he rely on a cohort of puppets. This was Nagato himself, rejuvenated, standing on his own two feet, radiating an aura of calm, absolute power.
"Utakata of the Six-Tails. Fū of the Seven-Tails," his voice was a calm, dispassionate baritone. "You will be coming with me."
Fū reacted first. "No way! We're not going anywhere with you, Akatsuki scum! You look like a Uzumkai why join Akatsuki!"
'I am no Uzumaki" he said.
She inhaled deeply, her cheeks puffing out. Hidden Jutsu: Blinding Scale Powder (Hiden: Rinpungakure no Jutsu)!
A cloud of shimmering, glittering scales shot from her mouth, designed to blind an opponent and explode on contact with fire. Simultaneously, Utakata raised his pipe. Water Style: Soap Bubble Ninjutsu (Suiton: Hōmatsu no Jutsu)!
A stream of iridescent bubbles floated towards Nagato, each one a miniature, potent explosive.
Nagato remained perfectly still. He raised a single hand. "Earth Style: Mud Wall (Doton: Doryūheki)!"
A great wall of solid earth erupted from the ground, intercepting both attacks. The scales glittered harmlessly against its surface while the bubbles popped in a series of percussive blasts that barely chipped the stone.
Before they could react, Nagato's hands flew through another set of seals. "Fire Style: Great Fireball Technique (Katon: Gōkakyū no Jutsu)!"
A massive orb of flame erupted from his lips, not aimed at them, but at the canopy above, cutting off their aerial escape route. The sheer heat and scale of the technique was far beyond a standard fireball.
"He uses Earth and Fire?!" Utakata muttered, his calm demeanor finally cracking.
"Get ready!" Fū yelled, as Nagato appeared before them in a blur of motion.
"Lightning Style: Lightning Beast Tracking Fang (Raiton: Raiga)!" A hound of pure lightning crackled into existence, leaping towards Fū.
"Wind Style: Great Breakthrough (Fūton: Daitoppa)!" A powerful gust of wind shot from his mouth, slamming into Utakata and sending him tumbling back through the trees.
The two Jinchūriki were stunned. Earth, Fire, Lightning, Wind… and Utakata saw Nagato draw moisture from the air for a water-based counter. Five elemental natures. It was impossibleOnly the Third Hokage, hailed as the 'Professor,' could wield all five with such instantaneous mastery. It defied all logic.
"Who… What are you?" Fū stammered, dodging the lightning beast.
Nagato's face was a mask of divine indifference. "I am peace."
He raised his right hand, palm open. "Your ninjutsu is meaningless."
Utakata, recovering, sent a larger, more powerful stream of explosive bubbles. Fū unleashed a volley of kunai, each trailing a shimmering thread of chakra. Nagato simply stood there. As their attacks drew near, they were swallowed by an invisible vortex surrounding his body. The bubbles vanished without a sound. The kunai clattered harmlessly to the ground, their chakra drained.
He had used the Preta Path (Gakidō) to absorb all of it.
"What? He absorbs Ninjutsu?" Utakata's eyes widened in horror.
"Then we'll just have to get close!" Fū yelled, sprouting the translucent, gossamer wings of her Tailed Beast form and shooting towards him, fists glowing with chakra.
Nagato's expression did not change. His gaze met hers.
"Almighty Push (Shinra Tensei)."
An invisible, irresistible force erupted from his body. Fū was blasted backwards as if struck by a giant's hand, crashing through a dozen trees before slumping to the ground, winded and broken. The entire clearing around Nagato was carved into a perfect, shallow crater, the sheer force having pulverized the very earth.
He then turned his attention to Utakata, who was trying to retreat and regroup. Nagato extended his left hand.
"Universal Pull (Banshō Ten'in)."
Utakata felt an inescapable gravitational force seize him. He was yanked through the air, helpless, flying directly towards Nagato's waiting hand. He was caught by the throat, his feet dangling uselessly above the ground as Nagato's Rinnegan stared into his soul, promising an end to his pain, and his freedom.
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Far to the north, in the mountainous terrain of the Land of Lightning, two other Akatsuki members moved through the mist-shrouded peaks of the Valley of Clouds and Lightning. Kisame Hoshigaki hefted the bandaged bulk of his living sword, Samehada, a predatory grin splitting his blue face.
"So this is where the Eight-Tails nests, eh, Itachi-san?" he rumbled, his voice full of eager anticipation. "They say he's a 'perfect Jinchūriki,' one who has complete control over his Tailed Beast. He should provide some excellent sport before Samehada and I devour his chakra!"
Itachi Uchiha walked beside him, his expression as placid as ever. His Sharingan remained inactive, his gaze distant.
"Do not underestimate him, Kisame," he said quietly. "Kumogakure's Jinchūriki have always been formidable, but Killer Bee, the man who mastered the second most powerful tailed beast, is the deadliest of them all. Arrogance is a fatal flaw that has claimed more shinobi lives than any other."
"Hah! It's not arrogance if you can back it up," Kisame chuckled.
They emerged into a wide, open training ground, dominated by a massive, tranquil lake. And there, sitting on a rock in the center of it, was their target. He was a powerfully built, dark-skinned man with white hair and a distinctive goatee. He wore sunglasses, and had seven swords strapped to his back. He was bobbing his head, a small notebook and pencil in hand.
A rhythmic, booming voice echoed across the valley, carried by the wind.
"Yo! In the valley, cool and deep!/The Akatsuki creep, while the village sleeps!/Got my swords and my rhymes, yeah, it's my time!/Try to catch the Eight-Tails, it's a steep climb! Fool! Ya fool!"
Kisame's grin widened. "Well now… he's certainly a character."
Killer B, the Jinchūriki of the Eight-Tails, Gyūki, looked up. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose, a confident smirk on his face as he spotted the two cloaked figures. He leaped from the rock, landing on the shore with a heavy thud, striking a pose with two fingers extended.
"You've come for my power, I see it in your eyes!/But you're messing with B, to your surprise!/Gonna get stung by this lyrical bee!/Just try and take a Tailed Beast from me!"
Kisame let out a low, guttural laugh, unwrapping Samehada, which quivered with excitement.
Itachi remained silent. His black eyes morphed, the three tomoe of the Sharingan spinning into view, their crimson gaze promising a battle of illusions and prophecies. The confrontation was set. The hunters had found their prey.
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Stay tuned for the next exciting chapter of NTLHOS- Book 2!
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Chapter 36: The New Field. IS OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!! 9k LONG
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Chapter 41: Perspectives. 12K Long
Chapter 42: Confluence of Storms. 18K
Chapter 43: Deception. 12k
Chapter 44: Judgement. 10k
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