People were really rushing back and forth — someone was carrying weapons, someone was sorting bandages, others had already started setting up tents. The atmosphere in the camp had changed sharply: no one spoke loudly or cheerfully anymore, even laughter off to the side sounded strained, like a protective mask.
— Genma, can you help me with something? — I asked as soon as we were dismissed.
— What is it? — he turned around, frowning. — I won't train right now, if that's what you mean, — he grumbled and walked toward the kitchen.
I quickened my pace and caught up with him.
— Can you tell me a little more about earth transformation?
Steps sounded behind us, and Guy caught up with us. I glanced at him, but Genma just waved him off:
— Too lazy.
I narrowed my eyes.
— What's gotten into you lately? You're not yourself.
Because really, before he used to train with us, help, but now… almost always stayed at home after missions. Logically it was clear something had happened, but he never said a word about it.
Genma suddenly stopped, turned, and something heavy, unusual flickered in his eyes.
— None of your business, — he said curtly and popped a senbon into his mouth, as if putting a full stop to the conversation.
I frowned but said nothing. It was obvious he didn't want to discuss it.
— So what's up with him? — I asked Guy in a low voice when we started moving again.
He shrugged, even he looked a little more serious than usual:
— Don't know. But let's eat. We've got an early start tomorrow.
We headed for the kitchen. A line was already forming there, the smell of hot porridge and meat in the air. Voices hummed all around, but underneath ran another shade — tension, as if everyone understood this was the last peaceful dinner before the unknown.
I need to prepare the weapons and seal the explosive tags into scrolls, I thought. Better to do everything in advance than be left empty-handed at the crucial moment.
So I spent the whole day on the fuinjutsu mechanism — disassembling, assembling, fine-tuning the sealing and unsealing system. The slightest mistake in the sequence of hand signs — and the weapon would open incorrectly, or too early, or the technique wouldn't release the item at all. I worked carefully: inscribing seals on the back of the scrolls, neatly marking chakra infusion points, setting the release power so the object appeared already in proper form, not "raw," requiring extra preparation. It was almost alchemy — mixing chakra, scroll symbols, and my personal control code.
Morning came faster than I expected. A broken night, rechecking scroll diagrams, corrections — all of it paid off: the first tests showed stable release of kunai and a small smoke modulator. I sealed into several scrolls three pairs of kunai with explosive tags, a couple of smoke bombs, and one experimental — with a small molded chunk of earth that I tried to summon using that very scroll on my hands.
Several squads had gathered at our garrison; from our unit about thirty people were setting out. We were to be led by a stern chuunin — the senior in rank; apparently the main forces would remain at the base. My gaze ran over the faces: not a single one of those I had trained with recently — no familiar faces at all.
Genma was silent. He was loading his senbon, carefully attaching paper tags, checking. Guy, though, looked a little nervous and stood stiffly.
— All ready? — I asked when I finished the last scroll and tucked it into the vest's hidden pocket.
— Looks like it, — Genma answered shortly.
Suddenly a command shout rang out nearby. We stood up, packed our tools into bags, and headed to the formation point.
The commander, a tough guy with a scar on his lip, looked us over with a cold gaze:
— Fourth squad — step forward. Gear check! — he walked the rows, inspecting belts, holsters, scrolls.
Genma showed him his senbon, the Commander nodded:
— Paper tags in place.
When it was my turn, my breath quickened a little as I opened the hidden pocket — the scrolls lay neatly, as they should. The Commander raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
— Store them carefully, — he added dryly as he moved on.
— Understood, — I replied, wondering why he nitpicked.
By my calculations, the road to the Kumo border would take about two days — if we didn't hit blockades and had no supply delays. We received brief instructions: column movement, night watches, conserving strength, preparing flank patrols. Nothing unexpected — ordinary logistics before a raid.
— Two days' march, — Guy muttered when we lined up in column.
As soon as we moved out, we entered a misty forest — after all, it was only seven in the morning, and the sun hadn't yet broken through the treetops. The fog hung like a white sheet, trailing along the ground, clinging to branches, and making everything around look unfamiliar.
— Damn fog, — someone grumbled from the back rows, catching on a branch and stumbling to the ground.