Within the Land of Fire, a Konoha forehead protector was the greatest shield one could ask for—its mere presence guaranteed safety. Because of this, the caravan advanced without hindrance. Only when they crossed the border into the Land of Tea did the porters begin to glance about nervously, their movements tightening as if sensing unseen eyes.
Roshi immediately began dispatching Shadow Clones to scout ahead. Any small bandit group lurking in the forest paths was eliminated by his clones before they even realized they'd been discovered.
Sometimes the clones returned with spoils, much to Tanzai's delight. The merchant's smile grew wider with every pouch of pilfered coin or weapon recovered. But as the caravan neared the ancient woodland of Nochapo, that easy cheer was smothered by the shadows pooling beneath the trees.
"Captain Roshi, Nochapo lies just ahead," Tanzai urged, his horse edging closer, voice trembling. "That Chayama Gang…"
"The slope camp is empty." Roshi's tone was calm, but his gaze never left the emerald rise in the distance. His clones had already scouted it—an entire bandit stronghold, large enough to house hundreds, stood abandoned. No corpses. No signs of battle. Just a clean, deliberate evacuation.
Tanzai blanched. "Empty? Then… where have they gone?"
"I don't know." Roshi's reply was clipped, his eyes sweeping the thickening treelines on either side of the road. His vigilance was taut as a bowstring, every sense spread outward like a spider web. Hundreds of missing brigands, vanished without a trace—the weight of it pressed over them like a gathering storm.
That tension remained until the caravan finally bypassed Nochapo and entered the open stretch leading to Deai Port. The merchant sagged in his saddle, relief flooding his features. "We're past it! Thank the heavens—thank you, Captain Roshi!" To him, the threat seemed over.
But Roshi's gaze lingered on the port city ahead. Gray-white walls leaned against the mountainside, while tall masts speared the sky above the harbor. Yet the closer they came to the towering city gates, the sharper Roshi's unease grew—the silence of Nochapo still gnawed at him.
The caravan flowed toward the gates along with traders and townsfolk. Several guards in leather armor blocked the entrance, halberds in hand. Though their posture seemed lazy, their eyes were sharp as hawks', gleaming with scrutiny and something darker—greed.
When Tanzai's turn came, the scarred guard captain sauntered forward, eyes flicking over the travel papers and tarped carts. A thin, false smile curled on his lips.
"Cloth merchant, Tanzai?" His tone dragged mockingly. "By order of the city's new regulations, all incoming goods are subject to a 'special transit tax'… forty percent of their value."
"F-forty?!" Tanzai went pale, his voice cracking. "Impossible! There's never been such a law! Sir, surely you're mistaken—"
His cry was like a signal flare. From the shadows around the gate, dozens of armed men poured out, circling the caravan with predatory precision.
Anko's hand twitched beneath her purple coat, rage burning in her eyes. This wasn't law—this was robbery. But she didn't move.
At the rear, Itachi's gaze turned cold, dissecting every detail—the attackers' weapon calluses, the faint tattoos hidden under their armor, and the feral gleam in their eyes. These were no disciplined guards.
Tanzai's shirt clung to his back with cold sweat. Instinct screamed at him—don't provoke them. Bowing repeatedly, he forced a sickly smile. "Sirs, please, forgive me! It was my foolish tongue! I cannot pay forty percent. Allow me to sell inside the city first, then I'll return with your tax. Surely an exception can be made?"
Ninjas had no mandate to confront another nation's government. Not openly. Ever since the Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, created the Anbu, missions involving political entanglement or humiliation were quietly filtered. Official postings were always the same: escort, protection, subjugation. Anything messier never touched the public mission boards.
"An exception?" The guard captain sneered, his eyes gleaming as they swept over the carts. "No coin? Then leave two wagons as tax. Do it!"
"Yes!" The "guards" roared, rushing forward like wolves tearing into prey.
"Stop."
The word wasn't loud, but it sliced cleanly through the chaos, chilling the air.
Roshi stood before the two targeted carts, his figure blocking the path as if he had always been there. He didn't raise a weapon. He didn't even lift his hands. He simply stood—calm, immovable, his shadow cast long and heavy across the ground.
For the rushing men, it was like colliding headfirst with a stone cliff.
The two men who had rushed forward froze at the silent obstruction, their momentum breaking like waves against stone.
The scar-faced captain's triangular eyes narrowed to slits. His gaze raked over Roshi, lingering on the unmistakable leaf crest etched into the forehead protector. The corner of his mouth twitched. Swallowing his anger at being challenged, he forced his voice into a pompous, authoritative bark:
"A ninja from Konoha? Look carefully! I am this city's Guard Captain! Collecting taxes according to regulation is our duty! What's this? Are Konoha Ninja planning to interfere with the Land of Tea's internal affairs—attack officials lawfully performing their duties?!"
Roshi's tone was steady, but his gaze struck like an ice pick, drilling into the captain's eyes.
"We accepted a mission. Our contract is to escort this caravan and its goods safely to Deai Port." His voice hardened, each word carrying weight. "What you're doing is openly robbing the property of Konohagakure's client."
The last word landed like a hammer.
An invisible pressure erupted from Roshi—a suffocating, murderous aura, as if it had clawed its way out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. The air itself seemed to wither, drained of warmth. Several "guards" closest to the carts staggered back, their faces drained of blood, hands trembling so badly their weapons nearly clattered to the ground.
The scar-faced captain's bluster shriveled instantly. His throat bobbed in a hard swallow, a cold sweat breaking across his brow. This calm, expressionless young ninja radiated a danger far greater than any beast lurking in the wilds. He didn't doubt—if he gave the order to attack, the man before him would drown them all in blood without hesitation.
Anko shifted her stance subtly, feet sliding into place to intercept any flanking attempt. At the rear, Itachi's eyes were like twin obsidian blades, tracking the positions of the guards stationed farther back.
Silence choked the gate. The only sounds were the nervous snorts of packhorses and Tanzai's ragged breathing. Among the gathering crowd, several onlookers exchanged uneasy glances. One slipped away.
The captain's eyes darted frantically. Seconds stretched into eternities. His façade cracked, and the false authority he clung to crumbled. Finally, he forced a smile so stiff it barely resembled one, his voice brittle and dry.
"Heh… a misunderstanding. Just a misunderstanding! Everyone, fall back! Don't disturb our honored guests!"
The ring of men scattered instantly, like prisoners granted reprieve from execution.
Tanzai nearly burst forward with relief, eager to push through the gate—but Roshi's calm voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Pay them. By the old rules—whatever the amount is."
The suffocating aura had vanished, leaving Roshi's tone as composed as before.
Tanzai blinked, then fumbled as though waking from a nightmare. With shaking hands, he pulled several banknotes from his pouch and offered them with both hands. The captain snatched them, shoving them into his pocket without even a glance. His smile returned, wide and sycophantic.
"Let them through! Quickly now, let them through!"
The merchant nearly fell to his knees with gratitude, thanking Roshi in a trembling voice as he herded his men toward the docks.
But Roshi did not head for the port immediately. Instead, he led Anko and Itachi into a damp, narrow back alley, the smell of saltwater heavy in the air.
"Captain… just now…" Anko's satisfaction at putting the "guards" in their place was tempered by a deep frown. Her voice dropped low. "Will the Village think we overstepped? Could they hold you accountable?"
Roshi leaned casually against the wall, the light at the mouth of the alley splitting his face into shadow and glow. He didn't answer her right away. Instead, his eyes turned to the boy who had been quietly watching everything.
"Itachi. What did you see?"
The Uchiha lifted his gaze, calm as ever. "Many of those guards had tattoos—partially hidden. The kind common among the Chayama mountain bandits. They didn't seem like regular soldiers at all."
Anko froze, then the pieces clicked. Her memory flashed back to the telltale marks and expressions. Understanding struck like lightning.
Roshi smiled faintly. "Exactly. Newly 'reformed' bandits. Always running from shinobi hunts, but never shedding their old instincts. They've yet to learn what it means to play at being guards."
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