The Mist shinobi in the middle of acting turned to Tutokusa no Eiro when he heard the plea.
They despised someone like Ishikawa Itsuki, but when it came to a ninja willing to betray his own village, the final word had to come from Eribito himself.
Eribito sneered with disdain.
"A worthless Konoha Genin like this—why would we keep him?"
"Mist has no need for trash."
"Kill him."
Those ruthless words left Ishikawa Itsuki stunned.
No… this wasn't right!
He had already chosen to betray Konoha—why would they still want him dead?
In that moment, regret crushed him.
Looking back at his short life, he thought of his squadmates—the ones he had always looked down upon.
Before, he had been bitter, arrogant, believing himself above them.
But when the rain came, he realized too late who was standing without an umbrella.
Those teammates he had scorned were still alive.
He, on the other hand, was about to die.
His mind raced—if only he hadn't been so proud.
If he had befriended them, treated them better… if he had stayed with Kudo Shin instead of separating… would his ending have been different?
But it was too late.
Before he could work it out, a Mist ninja's kunai slashed across his throat.
Scarlet blood sprayed. His breathing grew labored, his vision dimmed.
He died.
A death without value.
Yes—his death had come too late, in truth.
The moment he broke away from his squad, alienated his teammates, and angered everyone, his fate had already been sealed.
The only question was whether he died sooner or later.
Unless, of course, he had overwhelming strength.
But even the Uchiha—hailed as the strongest of Konoha—had been annihilated after offending every clan in the village.
What chance did a powerless, clanless commoner like Ishikawa Itsuki have?
None.
He was doomed to die.
The Mist shinobi ignored his corpse. Their eyes turned to their leader, Tutokusa no Eiro.
"Nara? Uchiha?"
"So our squad's earlier deaths weren't undeserved after all."
"Leave three squads to hunt down Konoha's Seventh Unit. Assign one sensor ninja to aid them."
"Everyone else—attack the Konoha frontline camp."
"Send the all-out assault signal to our base. We've been exposed; we cannot give Konoha time to prepare."
With his command, a Mist signal flare shot skyward, exploding in dazzling light.
The Mist army no longer concealed themselves, surging toward the Konoha camp.
Meanwhile, the three pursuit squads, guided by the sensor ninja, set off after Uchiha Kai and the others.
At the frontline camp.
Miyamoto Yukie sat inside the command tent, staring at the map pinned to the wall.
His brows knitted.
His face was grave, eyes filled with thought.
This was his first time serving as overall commander at the front. The burden pressed heavily on his shoulders. He dared not relax—not even in the dead of night. Sleep eluded him, gnawed away by the fear of making the wrong call.
As a commoner shinobi, this chance was rare.
He didn't seek great achievements—just to avoid mistakes.
He didn't need to crush the Mist.
He only had to hold out, endure until Konoha's main forces arrived. That alone would count as success.
With that merit, he might earn a place among Konoha's higher echelons.
It was his life's greatest wish.
But… he didn't know.
That wish was already impossible.
If there had truly been a chance for great merit, it would never have fallen to a commoner like him.
The truth?
He was nothing more than a scapegoat.
Konoha had long known of the Mist's war preparations through spies.
But with other battlefronts stretched thin, they had no forces to spare.
So they sent Miyamoto Yukie—a commoner—and a camp full of cannon fodder to stall for time.
Bluntly put, Konoha never expected him to hold out.
If he died, so be it.
If he lived, he would be blamed for the inevitable defeat.
As a true commoner, without ties to the Hokage's faction, he was never destined to rise to the top.
While these thoughts weighed on him, a ninja burst into the tent.
Yukie frowned, ready to scold him—but the man spoke first.
"Jounin-dono!
We've spotted an emergency signal flare—the highest-level red!"
"The location—outpost number twenty-seven!"
Hiss—!
Yukie drew a sharp breath.
At last.
He knew: his greatest trial had begun.
Ignoring the messenger, he rushed out of the command tent. Above, a red signal flare blazed in the night sky.
His face turned dark.
That flare marked the direst of emergencies.
But… What could have triggered such a call?
As he wondered, another flare burst in the sky.
But this one was purple.
Not Konoha's.
That left only one possibility—the Mist.
No more hesitation. He bellowed to the camp:
"everyone, to arms!
Evacuate the medical unit—Third Battalion, protect them!
The rest, with me—prepare to engage!"
At his command, the Konoha camp roared to life.
Alarms blared.
Patrols and resting squads alike scrambled to positions.
But before they could even form proper defenses, barely half an hour later, more than twenty Mist shinobi stormed in.
Their hands flashed through seals.
"Water Style: Hidden Mist Jutsu!"
Dense fog poured from their mouths, swallowing the entire camp.
Konoha's side reeled.
Most of their forces were academy graduates—barely more than cannon fodder.
They had never even completed missions, never killed bandits, yet here they were thrown straight into war.
Their bravado before departure crumbled now. Just the fact they hadn't all broken instantly was remarkable.
"Hold the line!" Yukie roared, rushing forward to meet the attackers head-on.
But before he could act, more Mist squads poured from the trees, charging straight into the camp.
Yukie's face twisted.
The situation was dire.
He gritted his teeth, ready to fight—
When suddenly, a massive blade blocked his path.
A man with a bandaged neck and predatory eyes stepped out.
"The Seven Ninja Swordsmen…?"
Yukie's face darkened. His voice ground out through clenched teeth:
"The Decapitating Carving Knife… Juzo Biwa?"
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