The afternoon sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds as we finished up lunch. I'd commandeered a couple of the villagers' cooking pots and turned their travel rations into something actually edible, some kind of stew that made use of dried meat, root vegetables, and whatever herbs I'd spotted during our morning walk.
"Shinobi-san," an older farmer clasped my hands, her weathered fingers warm against mine. "That was the best meal I've had on the road in forty years."
"Just doing my part," I said, gently extracting myself before she decided to adopt me.
Her friend nodded enthusiastically, still scraping the bottom of his bowl. "Haven't tasted meat that tender since last harvest festival. What'd you do to it?"
"Trade secret." I winked. "But mostly just patience and knowing which herbs counter the gaminess."
"We should hire you as the settlement's cook," one of the loggers called out, sparking laughter from the group.
"Sorry, already got a job." I gestured at my hitai-ate. "Professional paranoia specialist."
More laughter. The mood was light, bellies were full, and for a moment, everyone seemed to forget they were heading toward an uncertain future.
A younger farmer, probably in his thirties, leaned forward from his perch on a supply crate. "Speaking of the settlement, Shinobi-san." He scratched his stubbled jaw. "What exactly do you know about where we're headed?"
The laughter died down. All eyes turned to our team.
"Well," I started, then looked at Tsunade. This was definitely above my pay grade.
She took over smoothly. "The land has plenty of potential. Good water access, and the surveys show fertile soil that should support your crops."
"As good as what we're leaving behind?" Another voice piped up from the back. An older man this time, his arms crossed tight across his chest.
"Different," Tsunade said, choosing her words carefully. "But all the reports have been promising."
A burly logger shifted his heavy pack. "What about markets? Trade routes?" He wiped sweat from his brow. "Can't make a living selling timber if there's nobody buying."
"There are established trade routes within a day's travel," Tsunade said, keeping her voice steady and professional. "I'm sure they've already taken commerce into consideration."
I noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her voice wavered just slightly on that last word. Maybe none of us knew much beyond the mission parameters, not even this talented actress sitting across from me who deserved an award for keeping such a straight face. But admitting we were just hired muscle wouldn't exactly inspire confidence in these anxious villagers.
"The oxen are already struggling," someone muttered, derailing the settlement talk. The man who owned them was checking their hooves, frowning. "This pace might be too much."
"We can slow down if needed," Tsunade assured him. "Better to arrive safely than not at all."
"Those clouds don't look friendly either." An older farmer squinted at the horizon where dark shapes were building. "Might be we'll need to make early camp."
"Storms don't usually hit until evening this time of year," I offered, though I was mostly guessing.
"How would a young Shinobi know that?" The oldest of the group gave me a shrewd look.
"Lucky guess?"
She chuckled. "Right. And I suppose you learned those mushrooms were safe from 'lucky guesses' too?"
"Actually, yeah. I guessed, ate them, and didn't die. Success."
Mikoto rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him. He actually knows what he's doing." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Usually."
I sighed, "Such confidence in your teammate, I'm touched."
The older woman wasn't deterred. "My mother taught me about forest foods. These young ones," she waved at the other villagers, "they've forgotten the old ways. That patch of yellow bells you pointed out earlier? Most would walk right past."
"Yellow bells are tricky," I agreed. "Easy to confuse with false gold, which will give you the worst stomach ache of your life."
"How do you tell them apart?" One of the younger farmers leaned in, genuinely interested.
"The leaves. Yellow bells have that little notch at the tip, like someone took a tiny bite. False gold leaves are smooth all around."
"And those fern shoots from this morning?"
"Best in spring, but the young ones are still tender now. Just avoid anything with red spots on the stem, that means they're past prime."
The older woman nodded approvingly. "Good to see someone keeping the knowledge alive. Even if he is a brat."
"Aw, and here I thought we were bonding over mushrooms." I grinned at her.
She swatted at me with surprising speed, but she was smiling.
The sun kept climbing as conversations wandered. Someone produced a flask that definitely wasn't water, passing it around. The farmers and loggers took turns, some wincing at the burn, others nodding appreciatively.
"Your turn, Shinobi-san." The flask appeared in front of me.
I accepted it, took a small sip. Local moonshine, harsh enough to strip paint but with a surprisingly smooth finish. "Not bad. Someone knows their fermentation."
"My brother," the flask owner said proudly. "Won three harvests running before the officials shut him down."
"Their loss." I passed it to Mikoto, who shook her head, then to Tsume.
She surprised everyone by taking a swig. "What? It's not like we're on high alert."
Even Kuromaru seemed more relaxed, letting some of the braver villagers examine him.
"He's softer than he looks," one of the loggers said, carefully petting Kuromaru's head.
Tsume's expression softened as she watched. "Don't let him fool you. He's still learning manners."
"Could've fooled me this morning," I muttered.
She turned to face me with a raised eyebrow. "That was playing. You'd know if he was serious."
"Comforting."
The mood had shifted completely from this morning's departure. People were talking freely, sharing stories, actually laughing. One of the farmers was teaching Mikoto a card game. The older woman was explaining some obscure forest remedy to anyone who'd listen. Even the oxen seemed less miserable, munching on some grain someone had shared.
I found a comfortable spot against a thick tree trunk where I could see the whole camp. Watching everyone settle into this temporary community felt strangely peaceful.
The conversations, the shared meals, the small kindnesses between strangers becoming traveling companions. It was so easy to forget, when you spent your days training to kill, that most people just wanted to live quiet lives.
I noticed Tsunade's posture shift slightly, so subtle most would miss it. Her eyes flicked toward the treeline, then back to the group. But she said nothing, just continuing her casual observation of the villagesr. I wondered if she was planning some devious training again.
The forest sounds seemed normal to me. Birds still chirping, wind rustling through leaves. But then—
Kuromaru's sharp bark shattered the peaceful atmosphere.
The puppy went from relaxed to rigid in an instant, hackles raised, nose pointed toward the tree line. Tsume was on her feet before the bark finished echoing.
"Someone's coming," she said, voice tight. "Fast."
The villagers froze. Hands reached for whatever might serve as weapons, mostly farming tools and walking sticks. The card game scattered as Mikoto rose smoothly to her feet.
I pushed off the tree, hand moving to my kunai pouch. "Good catch, furball."
"Multiple people?" I asked Tsume.
She shook her head, eyes narrowed. "I don't know, but—"
Her words died as a figure crashed through the underbrush. He moved like a broken marionette, limbs jerking at odd angles. Blood soaked through his uniform, creating dark patterns across the green fabric. His face told a story of violence. One eye had swollen completely shut while the other darted wildly around our camp.
Several villagers shouted in alarm. The flask hit the ground with a splash.
The newcomer wore a Konoha chunin vest, though it was hard to tell through all the damage. He staggered toward us, his lips moving without sound. Finally, words spilled out in broken fragments.
"Attack," he gasped, struggling for air. "River shinobi… attacked us. The patrol was wiped out." His knees buckled. "They're…"
"Stop." Tsunade was beside him instantly, hands already glowing green. "Medical attention first, report second."
But he kept trying to talk even as she lowered him to the ground. "No time..." His good eye found her face. "Konoha... danger..."
Then he passed out.
The camp fell into stunned silence. The villagers pressed back against wagons and trees, their farm tools clutched in trembling hands.
"River shinobi?" Mikoto spoke first, her mind catching the crucial detail. "But we're at peace with the River Country. Have been for years."
I met her eyes, seeing the same conclusion forming. If River shinobi were attacking Konoha patrols, then either the peace had broken without warning, or...
"Could be rogue elements," I offered, though my gut said otherwise.
Or something worse.
Tsunade worked in silence, her hands roaming over the chunin's injuries. The green glow revealed broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, various cuts and bruises. Nothing immediately fatal, but he'd taken a serious beating.
I shifted closer, unable to shake the growing unease in my gut. "Will he live?"
"He'll live," she said without looking up. "But he needs rest. Real medical attention when we reach a proper facility."
She finished her initial treatment and stood with blood still on her hands. Her expression was carefully neutral, but I noticed the tension in her shoulders.
"We continue as planned," she announced. "But stay alert. Shinji, take point. Tsume, watch our six. Mikoto, help me secure him to one of the carts."
The villagers moved to comply, but the easy atmosphere was gone. Conversations dropped to whispers. The flask remained forgotten in the dirt. Even the oxen seemed to sense the mood shift, lowing nervously.
'Well,' I thought, scanning the peaceful-looking forest ahead. 'So much for a C-rank escort mission.'
Thunder rumbled across the darkening sky like an annoyed god clearing his throat. Those storm clouds I'd spotted earlier had apparently decided to make things interesting, rolling in faster than any weather pattern had a right to.
I caught Tsunade staring at the horizon, her face doing that thing where she was trying to look confident while clearly running damage calculations in her head. The wounded chunin on the cart groaned softly, adding another variable to her mental math.
"Still moving forward?" I kept my voice casual while studying her face.
She glanced at me, and for just a second, I saw it, that flicker of uncertainty that said she was weighing a dozen bad options against each other.
"We have our orders," she said, but it came out more like a question than a statement.
"Yeah, we do." I shifted closer, lowering my voice. "But you know what? Orders are just paper. We're the ones out here." I gestured toward the others. "Look, you've got three moderately competent genin who would follow you into a den of crazy nin if you asked. Hell, Tsume would probably enjoy it. Point is—we've got your back, whatever crazy call you make. Even the stupid ones." I paused, adding a half-grin. "Especially the stupid ones."
Her amber eyes widened slightly. Getting a pep talk from her youngest team member probably wasn't in the jonin handbook.
"Since when did you become the voice of wisdom?" she asked, but I caught the tiny smile tugging at her lips.
"Must be all that cooking. Steam from the pot opens the mind." I shrugged. "Plus, someone's gotta balance out Tsume's 'punch first, think later' philosophy."
"I heard that," Tsume called from her position.
"You were meant to."
Before Tsunade could respond, the civilians behind were getting restless. Real restless.
"We should go back!" One of the loggers, a broad-shouldered man who'd been quiet until now, stepped forward. "River shinobi attacking patrols? This isn't what we signed up for!"
"Go back to what?" A farmer rounded on him. "Some of us sold our land. Burned those bridges. There's nothing to go back to!"
"Better than walking into a war zone!"
The panic rippled through the group, spreading from person to person like wildfire catching dry grass. Thunder boomed above us, each crash making people flinch and huddle closer together. Fear had them by the throat now, and it wasn't letting go.
Tsunade drew herself up, and suddenly she wasn't just our sensei anymore. She was a jonin of Konoha, radiating that particular kind of authority that made people shut up and listen.
"We continue the mission," she announced, voice cutting through the arguments. "I understand you're scared. That's normal. But this is what Konoha shinobi do—we adapt. My team and I have fought things that would make your nightmares have nightmares." Her voice softened just enough to show compassion without losing its edge. "You didn't ask to be caught in the middle of border tensions, but here we are. So here's what happens now: we double our vigilance, adjust our route, and I personally guarantee your safety to the settlement."
"We need to reach defensible terrain before nightfall," she continued, glancing at the darkening sky. "There's a spot about three hours ahead, elevation, water access, good sight lines."
"Three hours in this weather?" Mikoto looked skeptical.
"We'll make it," Tsunade said firmly. Then, louder for the civilians: "We're adjusting our route slightly. Better shelter ahead for the storm."
The villagers grumbled but started moving. Fear was a great motivator.
I noticed everyone had their tells. Mikoto kept touching her weapon pouch, probably checking her shuriken. Tsume was sharing dried meat with Kuromaru, her way of keeping them both calm. Even Tsunade had a habit of cracking her fingers when stressed.
"Lovely weather for a picnic," I announced to no one in particular.
A few civilians actually chuckled.
"Could be worse," one of the farmers offered. "Could be raining."
As if on cue, the first drops hit.
"You had to say it," someone groaned.
"My bad," the farmer said sheepishly.
But the banter helped. People were moving instead of arguing, focusing on immediate problems like staying dry instead of theoretical enemy shinobi.
Tsunade pulled out a small scroll and bit her thumb. A puff of smoke later, a messenger hawk appeared on her arm.
"Standard patrol encounter, wounded chunin, continuing mission with caution," she muttered as she attached the message. The hawk took off, disappearing into the storm clouds.
"That'll reach Konoha by morning," she said to us. "If something happens—"
"Nothing's going to happen," I interrupted. "We're going to walk through this rain, reach that camp, and everyone's going to complain about being wet. Boring as hell."
"From your mouth to the Sage's ears," she murmured.
We kept moving. The rain picked up, not a downpour yet, but enough to make everyone miserable. The oxen plodded on, heads low. The civilians huddled under whatever cover they could manage.
I took point again, eyes scanning the tree line through the rain. Behind me, I could hear Tsume grumbling about wet dog smell. Mikoto was quietly directing civilians to watch their footing on the increasingly muddy road.
Two and a half hours later, just as the light was truly fading, the terrain started rising. The trees thinned out, revealing a natural bowl in the hillside, elevated position, backed against a rocky slope, with a clear view of the approaches.
"There," Tsunade pointed. "We'll make camp."
The relief from the civilians was obvious. They surged ahead, eager for any kind of shelter.
Within an hour, tarps stretched between sturdy trees, creating a network of makeshift shelters. A fire pit glowed at the center, carefully positioned to stay hidden from below. The civilians huddled in small groups, unpacking supplies and settling in for the night.
The wounded chunin was stable but still unconscious. The storm had settled into a steady rain. And for now, we were secure. Relatively speaking.
"First watch?" I offered.
Tsunade nodded. "You and Mikoto. Wake Tsume for middle shift."
As the camp settled down for the night, I found a good vantage point and tried not to think about River shinobi and what that might mean for the morning.
The rain masked most sounds, but my mind was anything but quiet. I stared into the darkness beyond our perimeter, processing what that wounded chunin had said.
'River shinobi attacked a Konoha patrol and wiped them out?' I thought grimly. 'That's not just unusual, it's insane.'
River Country was weak. Their military was barely worth mentioning, a handful of shinobi who spent more time mediating trade disputes than actual combat. They survived by being useful to everyone and threatening to no one. A neutral buffer zone between Fire and Wind.
'No rational leader would authorize attacks on Konoha patrols,' I reasoned. 'It would be national suicide. So either River Country's leadership has lost their minds, or...'
The alternative was worse. Someone could be impersonating River shinobi, creating incidents to spark conflict. It wouldn't be the first time a false flag operation started a war.
My gut twisted as darker implications surfaced. The Great Villages had been at peace for years, but tensions never truly disappeared. They just simmered beneath diplomatic pleasantries.
'This could be it,' I realized, the rain suddenly feeling colder. 'The incident that starts everything. The spark that ignites the Second Shinobi World War.'
History was littered with wars that began over smaller provocations. A border skirmish here, a dead patrol there, and suddenly armies were mobilizing.
If one of the Five Great Villages was orchestrating this, they wanted Konoha to retaliate against River Country. Once that happened, alliances would activate. Other villages would choose sides. A localized conflict would spiral into something much larger.
'And we're right in the middle of it,' I thought, glancing back at our sleeping civilians. 'Potential witnesses to the opening act.'
The question was: which of the Great Villages would benefit from destabilizing this region? And were we meant to survive to tell the tale, or were we loose ends that needed tying up?
….
The night mist clung to the forest floor like a funeral shroud. Captain Yamada's boots squelched through the undergrowth as he led his patrol deeper into the border region. They had been searching for two hours now, ever since Sosuke's squads failed to check in at the designated time.
"Captain!" One of his men pointed ahead where dark shapes lay scattered between the trees.
Yamada's stomach dropped. Even from thirty meters away, he recognized the stillness of death. His team spread out, hands on kunai hilts, scanning for threats as they approached.
The first body lay face down in the dirt, pale skin exposed to the chill. Stripped naked, no gear, no identification. Just another dead man in a forest that had seen too much killing lately.
"It's them," his lieutenant confirmed, kneeling beside another corpse. "That's... that's Sosuke."
Five bodies. Five of their own, left like garbage in the woods. Yamada forced himself to check each one, cataloging wounds, searching for clues. Professional detachment was the only thing keeping his breakfast down.
"Captain, over here!" A young chunin held up a torn piece of fabric. Green. The distinctive shade every shinobi recognized.
Yamada took the bloodstained fragment of a Konoha flak jacket. His jaw clenched as another searcher brought him a scratched headband, the leaf symbol still visible beneath the damage.
"Those bastards," someone muttered. "They're not even trying to hide it anymore."
The captain pocketed both pieces of evidence, mind already racing ahead to the report he'd have to give. Five more dead. Clear signs pointing to Konoha. The council would lose their minds.
"Wrap the bodies," he ordered. "We're taking them home."
As his team worked, Yamada stared south toward Fire Country. How long before this cold war turned hot? How long before their small nation got crushed between the giants?
He already knew the answer: not long enough.
…
Three hours later, the River Country council chamber buzzed with barely controlled panic. Maps covered every wall, each one a reminder of their geographic curse, a tiny nation wedged between three military superpowers, with Konoha's massive territory looming largest of all.
"Murdered!" Councilor Watanabe slammed his fist on the table. "Five of our people butchered like animals!"
Yamada stood at attention near the door, the recovered evidence laid out on the central table. He watched the council members' faces shift from shock to rage as they examined the Konoha gear.
"This is the third incident this month," Minister Yuko said, her voice tight with stress. "First the merchant caravan, then the checkpoint raid, now this. Konoha's testing our resolve."
"Testing?" Watanabe laughed bitterly. "They're provoking us! They want an excuse to invade!"
The room erupted in overlapping arguments. Yamada noticed Councilor Nakamura hadn't spoken yet. The older man sat hunched in his chair, staring at something in his hands.
"My nephew," Nakamura whispered, and the room fell silent. He held up a small charm – the kind young shinobi carried for luck. "Sosuke always wore this. His mother gave it to him when he graduated from the academy."
The grief in his voice broke through the political posturing. These weren't just strategic assets or border statistics. They were sons, brothers, friends.
"Twenty-two years old," Nakamura continued, tears running unchecked down his weathered face. "He was getting married next spring. I was... I was going to speak at the ceremony."
Watanabe placed a hand on his colleague's shoulder. "Then we make them pay. Konoha's gone too far this time."
"Wait." The quiet voice belonged to Advisor Ishida. "Doesn't this evidence seem a bit... convenient?"
Several heads turned to glare at him.
"I'm just saying," Ishida continued, "a professional Konoha team wouldn't leave their gear behind. These items were likely planted by someone."
"Of course they were planted!" Yuko snapped. "As a message! They're telling us they can kill our people whenever they want and we can't do anything about it!"
"Or someone else wants us to think—"
"Enough!" Watanabe cut him off. "I've had enough of your theories, Ishida. While you sit here playing devil's advocate, our people are dying!"
The advisor fell silent, outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Yamada saw the doubt in his eyes but also the resignation. Sometimes being right didn't matter when everyone else was scared and angry.
"Captain Yamada," the minister addressed him directly. "Have our border patrols reported any unusual Konoha activity?"
He stepped forward. "Yes, Minister. Multiple sightings of increased patrols on their side. Always just out of engagement range, but clearly visible."
More angry muttering swept through the chamber. The evidence was damning, even if it was fabricated. Yamada had his own doubts, the whole thing felt too neat, too obvious. But he was just a captain. These decisions were above his pay grade.
"We need options. Real options, not fantasies. Our military can't match Konoha's."
"Which leaves diplomacy," Yuko replied. "Or rather, finding someone else's military to hide behind."
The room went quiet again. Everyone knew what she meant, but nobody wanted to say it first.
Finally, Watanabe voiced what they were all thinking. "Iwa and Suna."
Just saying their names felt like dooming their people. Allying with Konoha's greatest rivals meant choosing a side in the cold war that had gripped the continent since the last great conflict. It meant painting a target on their backs.
"We'd be nothing but pawns," Ishida warned. "Iwa doesn't care about protecting us. They just want to hurt Konoha. In the end, they're both the same nation, with the same greed for our land."
"At least pawns survive longer than sacrificial pieces," Nakamura said, his nephew's charm still clutched in his fist. "Which is what we are now, alone and undefended."
Yamada watched the debate spiral into the inevitable conclusion. Fear drove every argument. Fear of Konoha's military might. Fear of becoming a battlefield. Fear of simply disappearing from the map like so many small nations before them.
"I'll draft the messages," Minister Yuko said eventually. "Diplomatic overtures to both Iwa and Suna. We'll see who responds first."
"The shame of it," someone muttered. "Begging for protection like children."
"Better shame than slaughter," Watanabe countered. "Better to serve than cease to exist."
The minister stood, effectively ending the session. "Captain Yamada, double our border patrols. If Konoha wants to escalate, we need warning."
"Yes, Minister."
As the council filed out, Yamada lingered. The evidence still lay on the table, one piece of bloody fabric and a scratched headband. Such small things to start a war over.
But wars had started over less. And in his gut, he knew this one was coming whether the evidence was real or not. River Country was just a speed bump on the road to a larger conflict.
He thought about Sosuke, the nephew who'd never see his wedding day. About the other four bodies they'd carried home. About all the bodies yet to come.
Outside, storm clouds gathered on the horizon. The captain pulled his coat tighter and headed back to his post. Someone had to stand watch while the politicians schemed and the great nations circled like hungry wolves.
Someone had to pretend they could actually protect anything when the real fighting started.
…
Twenty minutes later, sealed letters left River Country's capital under heavy guard. One headed northwest toward the rocky peaks of Earth Country. The other swept southwest across the desert winds to Hidden Sand.
In the council chamber, Minister Yuko stared at the same maps that had witnessed their desperate decision. Red pins marked recent incidents. Blue showed Konoha patrol sightings. Black indicated their own defensive positions, pathetically few compared to the threats surrounding them.
"Any word from our scouts?" she asked her aide.
"More Konoha-anbu activity near the southern border. They're not hiding anymore."
She nodded, unsurprised. The escalation felt inevitable now, like watching a avalanche in slow motion. You could see it coming but couldn't get out of the way.
"When do you think we'll get responses?"
"From Iwa? Perhaps within the week. They've been waiting for an opportunity like this." The aide hesitated. "Suna's harder to predict. Depends on their logistic situation this season."
Always the logistic with Suna. They'd trade almost anything for reliable access to River Country's waterways. Maybe that desperation would work in their favor.
"And if neither responds favorably?"
The aide didn't answer. They both knew what that meant, standing alone against Konoha's military machine. Absorption or annihilation, depending on how vindictive the Leaf Village felt.
"Double the guard on those messengers," Yuko ordered. "If Konoha intercepts them..."
She didn't finish the thought. If Konoha learned about their diplomatic moves, it might provoke exactly the invasion they were trying to prevent. But doing nothing guaranteed the same result, just slower.
Outside her window, life in the capital continued as normal. Merchants hawked their goods, and children played in the streets. Most citizens had no idea they were dancing on the edge of a cliff.
Maybe that was for the best. Let them enjoy these last days of peace.
Because whether their desperate gambit succeeded or failed, change was coming. River Country would either find protection under someone else's banner or disappear entirely.
The minister turned back to her maps, already composing contingency plans. In the great game between villages, small nations had only one real choice – pick the right protector and pray they survived the aftermath.
She just hoped they'd chosen wisely.
...
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