Although Yebairen despised trash like Ishikawa Itsuki, betrayal was still betrayal.
But to him, a weakling who crumbled so easily wasn't worth the air he breathed.
He sneered coldly.
"What use is a Konoha Genin who begs for his life? Kirigakure has no need for garbage."
"Kill him."
Itsuki froze, his blood draining from his face.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. If he betrayed his teammates, shouldn't that buy his life?
Panic flooded him. This isn't right. If I'd only stayed with them…
For the first time, he regretted everything. He thought of the teammates he scorned — Kudo, Kazama, and Jin. He had believed himself superior, untouchable. But when the storm finally came, it was they who had found shelter together. He was the one left in the open, waiting to drown.
If I'd swallowed my pride… if I'd just left with them… would my fate have been different?
But it was too late.
Steel flashed. A kunai slashed across his throat. Hot blood sprayed as his breath gurgled out of him. His body trembled, his vision dimmed.
Ishikawa Itsuki died alone.
A worthless death — and perhaps one that should have come long ago, the moment he turned his back on his comrades.
…
None of the Mist shinobi gave him a second glance. All eyes turned to Yebairen, their leader.
"Nara, Uchiha… so it was them." His voice was ice. "No wonder our squad fell. That wasn't unjust."
He lifted his hand in command.
"Three squads remain here. Hunt down Konoha's Team Seven — crush them before they can escape. A sensor will guide you. The rest, with me — we strike the Konoha frontline camp immediately."
He didn't hesitate. "Signal the general attack."
A purple flare erupted into the night sky, brilliant and violent. The Mist no longer bothered with concealment. Dozens of shinobi moved out in formation, heading straight for Konoha's forward camp like a tide of blades.
…
At the Konoha frontline camp, Commander Miyamoto Yukie sat hunched in his tent, eyes fixed on the map before him. His brow was furrowed deep, his shoulders tense.
This was his first time commanding a front line. He could feel the weight crushing him — every order, every movement could decide hundreds of lives. Sleep wouldn't come. The responsibility burned too heavily.
He was no clan heir, no prodigy. Just a civilian shinobi who had clawed his way up through grit and persistence. This post should have been his chance — but Yukie knew the truth.
He wasn't here to shine. He was here to buy time.
Konoha's leaders already knew of Kirigakure's mobilization. But with other fronts stretched thin, there weren't enough forces to reinforce him yet. So they sent him — with a handful of young shinobi and cannon fodder units. His survival was never expected. At best, his sacrifice would slow the Mist.
Still, he couldn't give up. If he held long enough for reinforcements to arrive, he might not only survive — he might finally prove himself worthy of the village's higher ranks.
His thoughts were broken by a sudden shout. A shinobi burst into the tent.
"Lord Jōnin! Emergency signal detected — red flare, the highest priority! Location confirmed: Outpost 27!"
Yukie inhaled sharply. The signal of last resort. His test had come.
Before he could respond, another flare lit the sky. This one wasn't red, but purple — not Konoha's color.
His face hardened. "Mist."
Without hesitation, he strode outside, voice rising in command.
"All units, battle stations! Medical corps, retreat to the rear — Third Battalion, protect them! Everyone else, prepare to engage!"
The camp erupted into motion. The sharp wail of the alarm echoed across the night. Patrol squads snapped to readiness, resting units grabbed their weapons. Within minutes, the camp transformed from stillness to a hive of ordered chaos.
Half an hour later, the storm was about to break.