"Because we're not alone out here," Jin said quietly. "If the frontline collapses, those four thousand won't just stop at us. They'll sweep the whole camp away. If we warn them now, the base can mobilize reinforcements and set traps. We buy time for everyone — including ourselves."
Kudo Nobuyuki swallowed hard. The logic was undeniable, but the risk of revealing their position still tasted like cold iron in his mouth.
Nara Kazama didn't hesitate. "If Jin's plan fails, at least we die knowing we did our best. If it works, we live. There is no third option."
Kudo's shoulders dropped. He looked at the sealed, fog-shrouded sea and then at the three pairs of young faces around him — the two strange prodigies and one stubborn civilian. He gave a short, decisive nod.
"Do it," he said. "Signal flare. I'll cover."
Jin's lips curved into a half-smile. "Good. Kudo, when I give the sign, you haven't just got to light it — you need to launch it toward the line of sight the base uses for signals. Aim high and use three flares in a row. The second one will be coded for hearing — tell them this is urgent. The third is a visual confirmation."
Kudo's hands trembled as he checked the flare canister. Ishikawa Itsuki stood at the edge of the mist, jaw clenched, obviously ready to object — or run. Jin shot him a look that was equal parts warning and invitation. Itsuki's bravado curled in on itself; for once he said nothing.
The air felt heavier, as though the fog itself was waiting.
Kudo lit the fuse. The flare hissed, spat flame, and shot up. A white flare bloomed in the night, then a second long burst of red, and a final blazing yellow — the sequence Jin had described.
For a heartbeat nothing happened. Then, like answering thunder, the front-line watch exploded into motion.
From the direction of the base came the distant rumble of drums and the human shape of movement — shouts, boots, the flash of torches. Lanterns bobbed on the horizon, and the soft distant silhouettes of small groups racing to intercept took form. Jin let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
The fog did not clear. If anything, it thickened — Kirigakure had covered their advance in it. But now the Mist's advantage was no longer total. The front camp had time to prepare scaffolds, spike traps, and a narrow channel of flaming oil along the expected approach. Reinforcements would not arrive instantly, but they would arrive.
A sound like a whispering shadow slid through the trees — a signal from the controlled Kirigakure man. He spat, reluctant to speak, but the weight of seeing his comrades' bodies urged him. He named a point on the map; the number of squads. Kirigakure had indeed split their force along multiple vectors, but the main node — the thousand-strong vanguard — would sweep along the reef on the left flank toward the base's supply lines.
Jin's face hardened. "Good. Kudo, our immediate goal is delay. Nara, you and I will set an ambush across the channel. Use your shadow techniques to limit their movement and force them into chokepoints." He flicked a finger at the nearest tree. "Kudo, when they breach, channel them into the oil. If they press reinforcements, pull back along the path I mark. We must not be surrounded."
Kudo had battlefield experience and followed orders like a map. He took the plan and made it his own — he moved to set the modest earth walls that would shepherd the enemy where Jin wanted them to go. Ishikawa Itsuki, trembling with suppressed panic, tried to speak up. The voice that answered him was not Jin's, but the composed murmur of Kazama:
"If you step out of line, you will get us all killed," Kazama said. "Stay where you are and hold fast."
Itsuki bit down on his rage and nodded, knuckles white.
Within moments the forest was a preparation of silence and steel. Jin could feel the hum of the world shifting — the base mobilizing, the Mist teams closing in. The first shriek of movement sliced through the fog: Kirigakure's scouts, like black fish in milk, darted between trees.
They came in smaller waves first — probing, feeling for weak points. Jin didn't waste chakra on flashy signs. He moved like the cold hand of winter, disappearing and reappearing with the sick, efficient mathematics of his Six Styles. Before any of the Mist-nin could process what had happened, Jin's strikes had gutted their forward momentum; each blow was a lesson in lethal economy, aimed not merely to kill but to make the rest hesitate.
Nara Kazama's shadow wove through the mist like a net. He stripped balance from the attackers, jerked limbs out of alignment, and sealed steps that should have taken them away. The first real wave, guided into the shallow ravine by Kudo's small earth barricades, hit the oil channel that the base defenders had laid. A match tossed by a veteran at the base ignited the float; flame licked up the slick line and the first line of attackers found themselves trapped between hungry fire and the iron teeth of Konoha's prepared spears.
Screams began — the harsh, muffled sound of men who had been trained in the Mist's discipline but not in how to die without retreat. The noise was horrid. The fog swallowed them and made everything monstrous and indistinct.
Jin's eyes — Sharingan hidden behind the lids where they could — tracked figures, read microexpressions, saw the faint breath patterns. He read motion curves and closed angles like someone reading a book. For every body that tried to surge forward, he found the pressure point and ended it. He was not a whirlwind of spectacle; he was a scalpel, precise and swift. Kudo, bolstered by the chaos, slammed earth walls higher. Kazama looped his shadow like an umbilical cord, pulling the enemy's limbs into positions Jin could exploit.
Amid the rending chaos, Itsuki finally did something useful — he dug with his remaining strength, rolled a fallen lantern, and toppled it against a jammed wheel. The sudden burst of flame pushed a clump of Mist-nin back from a flank and saved Kudo from a sweep. It was a clumsy, fearful move, but it worked. Kudo's jaw tightened; he nodded at the man who had once been arrogant and reckless. Survival, it seemed, had a habit of bending hearts.
The first battle of the night lasted twenty minutes but felt like an hour. When the last of the immediate wave slumped in the mist, Jin was breathing hard, sweat cooling under his collar. His sleeve was damp with blood — not all of it enemy. He realized, with that peculiar clarity warriors have in the lull after combat, that four thousand could not be wholly broken by this one skirmish. But the flank had been delayed, the base had time to fortify, and the Mist's tempo had been disrupted.
From the direction of the base came the first real sound of coordinated counterattack: the lines of Konoha's reserves preparing to strike recognizable battle formations. Lantern fire marched forward. The tide had shifted.
Nara Kazama, wiping his palms, let his shadow recede. He met Jin's eyes and did something rare for a Nara — he grinned.
"Not bad," he said. "You lied well when you said you were useless."
Jin's mouth twitched in response. He felt different than he had before the mission: sharper, more purposeful. He also felt the weight of what he'd admitted to Shisui earlier, like a live wire under his skin.
"Tonight was just the front," Jin said quietly. "They'll reorganize and they'll try again. We've bought time. That's all."
Kudo, still catching his breath, spat a little blood and laughed shakily. "Then we buy time as long as it takes."
Far off in the mist, a bell tolled from the base — a long, resounding sound that promised reinforcements, rationed hope, and a war that would not be decided by a single night.
Somewhere beyond the fog, four thousand figures moved like a slow storm. They had been delayed. They had been hurt. But they had not yet been stopped.
And Uchiha Jin, crouched in the wet earth, felt the familiar, cold thrill of the hunt. He had lied to survive — and he had won. For now.