Shimura Danzō sat alone at his desk, the dim oil lamp casting a sharp shadow across his face, splitting it in two like a coiled viper in half-light. His knuckles whitened around the urgent scroll from Konoha. The edges of the parchment curled, as if bitten by teeth.
"Sarutobi… that weakling bastard."
The low growl slipped between clenched teeth, drenched in venom, choking the already stifling air inside the tent. The ANBU who had delivered the report stood silent, still as a statue. Everyone knew—Danzō was on the verge of eruption.
That damned Tsuchikage, Ōnoki. Danzō could already picture the smug twist of that short, stocky face. Iwa had been rampaging across the Rain battlefield. Suna was crumbling. Victory for Konoha was close at hand.
He had held the trump card, Ōnoki's beloved son, Kitsuchi. The moment the boy was captured, Ōnoki had lost it. The Iwa army had massed along the border, ready to launch a rescue operation. That was the crisis Danzō had engineered. The very reason he had sent Orochimaru and Ryo to stir up chaos in Kumo and trigger the Eight-Tails' rampage.
That giant black pot of blame, dropped squarely onto Iwa's head, had successfully diverted Kumo's wrath. Their insane thirst for revenge had forced Iwa to pull back, defending their own territory instead.
Everything was going according to plan. Danzō was satisfied. This feat would bring him one step closer to the Hokage's seat.
It should have been his moment. With Kitsuchi as leverage, every term he drafted could've forced Iwa to bleed. For Konoha's benefit. For Root. For himself. He had it all in his grasp.
Until that damned Hiruzen destroyed it.
The scroll in his hands held the command like a knife to the throat.
["Release Kitsuchi unconditionally… excessive coercion is unwise… de-escalate to prompt withdrawal..."]
["De-escalate? Buy time?" Danzō nearly ground his molars to dust. That old monkey, sitting safely in Konoha, knew nothing of the battlefield. Nothing of the blood spilled in the Land of Rain. Nothing of how fragile momentum could be.]
He had endured this hellhole for over two years. Sacrificed countless Root elites. Built the intelligence networks himself. Walked through trap-ridden terrain. All for this one opportunity. To seize power. To silence his doubters. To show the Elder Council that Konoha needed an iron-fisted hand, not soft benevolence.
And now, with one feather-light order from afar, Sarutobi had swept it all away. Danzō's plan. His leverage. His glory. Traded for what? An empty promise of withdrawal. Letting Kurotsuchi go bought nothing. It weakened Konoha. It reeked of surrender.
"Get out." Danzō's head rose, his bloodshot single eye locking onto the ANBU. His voice rasped, heavy with wrath.
The ANBU vanished, a blur of shadow escaping from the tent as if fleeing death.
Crash.
Danzō slammed his hand into the desk. It splintered beneath his palm. Wood flew. His chest heaved. Every breath was a snarl.
Sarutobi Hiruzen… One day, I will redefine the will of Konoha. This false peace of yours will be replaced. Root will rule.
The rain poured harder.
Elsewhere, in the medical camp, the sharp scent of herbs and blood filled the air. The flickering oil lamp cast shadows over Tsunade's face. She had just completed another emergency surgery. Sweat clung to her skin. Her fingers still carried the warmth of fresh blood. Flexing her aching wrist, she pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the critical care ward.
The scene hit harder than any battlefield.
The dim light lit only a small patch of the space. In the shadows, rows of makeshift wooden beds stretched endlessly. Each held a blood-soaked figure wrapped in gauze. Groans, muffled sobs, coughing filled the cramped tent. The rain dripped through leaks in the canvas above, forming puddles beneath the beds.
A boy with half his face burned and hollow sockets stared blankly at the ceiling. A one-armed Jōnin struggled to lift a water cup with his remaining hand. Further down, someone wrapped head-to-toe in bandages wheezed like a dying bellows. A young medic beside him wiped sweat from his brow. Her eyes were red, her movements mechanical.
"Water…"
The one-armed Jōnin's fingers brushed the cup but couldn't lift it. The medic froze.
Tsunade moved before she could think.
Her heart clenched. This was just one case. One tent. The war had gone on too long. The Land of Rain was in ruins. Konoha's strength drained daily. And Suna? Amegakure? They were likely no better. This wasn't war. It was collective suicide.
Suna's siege was faltering. Their elites spent. Their supplies low. Hanzo of the Salamander was strong, yes, but his homeland was bleeding out between three nations.
Tsunade's gaze swept the wounded again. These people were Konoha's future. Their families. Their sons and daughters. Once so full of promise, now broken beneath white sheets or drowned in endless pain.
Even as one of the Legendary Sannin, she felt helpless.
Enough blood had been spilled.
Suna still fantasized about dragging Konoha down with them. But was Hanzo truly Konoha's enemy? No. His country was being eaten alive. He had to protect it. Right now, the one pressuring Amegakure the most was Suna.
If Konoha could act, show strength and goodwill, point its blade at Suna instead of Ame, perhaps something could change. Even a silent understanding with the Rain ninja to push Suna out could tip the scales. This war might finally begin to end.
True peace was distant. Hanzo wasn't a saint. But continuing this fight would only consume more lives. Konoha couldn't afford to bleed anymore. It had paid too much already.
The thought lit a fire in her heart. Someone had to break the deadlock.
She drew a deep breath. The scent of disinfectant grounded her.
She had to return to Konoha. Now.
To convince Hiruzen.
She couldn't count on Danzō. That war-obsessed maniac would only throw more lives into the fire. Only the Third Hokage—her sensei—had the wisdom and vision to listen.
Elsewhere in the camp, inside a candlelit tent, Orochimaru sat in silence. His pale fingers drifted across the casualty reports. His long black hair hung like a curtain, hiding the golden gleam in his eyes.
A year had passed since the Eight-Tails incident he and Ryo had orchestrated in Kumo. The ripples had exceeded expectations. Iwa's fury had been redirected. The Rain front had crumbled.
A cold smirk tugged at his lips.
Konoha, Suna, Ame… none of them were holding up. Prolonged combat. Loss of elites. Empty coffers. Public fatigue. Each thread tugging tighter.
Wars didn't always end in an explosion. Sometimes they ended in silence. In decay. Like autumn leaves rotting under frost.
Orochimaru saw it. He understood it. The gears of war were grinding down.
Even Hiruzen could feel it.
As for Tsunade, he could guess her thoughts. That naïve princess wanted to approach Hanzo. But Hanzo, that proud "demigod," would never accept help so easily. To do so would mean admitting he couldn't expel the invaders alone.
Still, it was… interesting.
Reports showed a sharp decline in activity. Even the cannon fodder had grown numb. The New Year had brought an unofficial ceasefire. Fewer battles. Smaller skirmishes. Everyone holding back. Waiting for someone else to collapse first.
But the end had already begun. It started the moment Iwa withdrew.
That thread was about to snap.
Tsunade didn't return to her tent. She took a long detour around the camp, arriving at a quiet clearing. Cold wind and fine rain struck her face, cutting through the storm in her heart.
She stared out into the distance. Beyond the curtain of rain lay the battlefield. Once, it had been a warzone. Now, it was ash. Craters. Scorched land.
A memory stabbed her heart.
A raid before the monsoon. Their goal: a key Suna outpost. The enemy's defenses were fierce. Wind Release turned sand into knives.
Konoha's vanguard captain, Tanaka, led the charge. Known for his Lightning Blade, a father of two. His lightning tore through the front. Victory was near.
But when two genin fell into a trap, Tanaka turned back. Into the barrage.
"Go!" That last shout still rang in her mind.
She'd found his shattered blade in the mud. His body riddled with kunai. The genin survived. Barely. Their eyes frozen in fear.
Tsunade had seen this scene a hundred times. Too many names. Too many families.
"There was another way…" she whispered.
She didn't want glory. Just an end to this.
Even victory would leave only ashes behind.
She looked up at the sky, gray and cold.
No more hesitation.
Now was the time. Before the next fire ignited.
(To be continued.)
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