Two large Anbu divisions from Konoha entered the Land of Waves. After two months, their supplies were completely exhausted.
With no soldier pills left, getting food became both difficult and dangerous—any attempt to forage risked exposure.
With no ninja tools, many Anbu had to carefully scour battlefields, which left them vulnerable to traps hidden in abandoned tool pouches.
The Uzumaki ninja, on the other hand, had no such concerns. Uzumaki Village always protected the nobles of the Land of Whirlpools, and in return they could draw on noble support for supplies.
To better suppress the Uzumaki, their supply lines had to be cut. The nobles needed to understand that helping the Uzumaki was dangerous—lethal, even.
The mission Yoru received was to assassinate a noble town lord, one of the strongest supporters of Uzumaki Village's rule in the area.
Yoru didn't tell Matsutori where they were going, nor what they were about to do.
Anbu operatives only needed to follow orders, not ask questions.
With his new role, Yoru himself became the kind of commander who ignored his subordinates' survival, using them as expendable tools.
The two advanced toward the target town. The mission wasn't about speed—it was about avoiding reckless risks and an ugly death.
"Hey, Matsutori, how old are you?"
"Captain Fox, I'm twelve this year."
Just graduated, and thanks to the lowered Chūnin standards, had luckily made it in.
Yoru didn't know what else to ask, so he said: "What's your dream?"
"My dream?" Matsutori replied:
"My dream is to be like Lord White Fang—build up a record of missions in the Anbu, and become the strongest ninja!"
Konoha's White Fang was a legend of the Anbu, who grew stronger and stronger through countless missions, honing his swordsmanship until he reached Kage-level.
In Konoha, there were three ways to learn jutsu.
The first was inheritance from one's clan.
Top-tier jutsu and secret techniques spread like diseases—only through parent-to-child, blood, or body fluids. White Fang's blade techniques were inherited.
The second was earning the trust of a teacher or captain, who might then pass techniques on.
Finding a mentor who truly suited you was rare—exceptionally so.
The third was joining Anbu, and earning new jutsu through merit.
That path required luck—the luck to survive long enough.
It was also the fairest path, and one of the fundamental reasons Anbu demanded such loyalty.
"Good luck, Matsutori. You'll become a ninja like Lord White Fang someday."
Outside the town, Yoru carefully observed through a spyglass.
The settlement held about a thousand households, surrounded by wooden walls. At intervals stood watchtowers, manned by samurai trained by the lord.
Ordinary samurai trained their bodies and wielded long swords—tough opponents even for genin.
The more advanced ones could refine chakra, strengthening their taijutsu to the level of genin.
The truly elite samurai were trained only in the Land of Iron.
These samurai were cheap—paid little, yet still useful.
Yoru and Matsutori found a blind spot in the samurai's line of sight, slipped past patrols, and scaled the town walls.
The town was divided into an outer district and an inner district.
The inner district held the lord's residence and offices.
Bustling nightlife belonged only to capitals like Kyoto. In small towns, curfews were strictly enforced for defense.
The streets were empty. Civilians hid indoors.
Ordinary people could die at the hands of village shinobi—or wandering rogue ninja.
They clung to their nobles, hoping their lords and hired shinobi would bring them peace.
Yoru and Matsutori made it near the inner district.
"Careful!"
A patrol of samurai appeared. Yoru darted into an alley, Matsutori close behind.
There were a few trash bins in the alley. Both hid behind separate bins.
Once the samurai passed, Yoru whispered: "Matsutori, be extremely careful now. We'll search for a weak spot in their defenses and scale the inner wall."
The inner walls, like the outer, had towers and samurai.
Once inside, the two hugged the ground, creeping against the base of a building, inching along its wall.
After more than ten minutes, they reached the brightest-lit area.
Ahead was the lord's study.
Two silhouettes were visible in the window, but it was impossible to tell which was the lord.
Suddenly, the window burst open.
An Uzumaki ninja!
The lord, standing by the window, froze mid-sentence as the ninja lunged out, heading toward a nearby wall corner.
Two more Uzumaki ninja appeared elsewhere, while samurai rushed in at the alarm.
The whistle of kunai, the clatter of armor—it all made Matsutori tense.
When he saw his captain signal for retreat, he quickly fled outward.
He hadn't expected an Uzumaki squad here.
Kunai thudded into the walls around him.
One struck his shoulder. Another pierced his foot.
Just as he was about to cry out for his captain—he saw Fox struck by a kunai, then vanish in a puff of white smoke.
What?!
A shadow clone?
When?
Matsutori suddenly remembered—back when they infiltrated the inner city, his captain had vanished for a brief moment. Later, they hid behind different trash bins.
He gave a bitter laugh, recalling what their academy teacher had said when explaining the Substitution Technique.
Substitution meant disguising a log as yourself, hiding away, and waiting for the enemy's blind moment to strike.
The key was finding—or creating—that instant when the enemy lost sight of you.
The Shadow Clone was like an advanced form of that principle.
Captain Fox had used every trick he had… on himself.
His subordinates' lives were no different than clones—expendable, meant to fool the enemy.
Matsutori turned toward the noble.
He had already guessed their mission might be to assassinate the town's lord.
And sure enough—through the window, Fox had somehow infiltrated behind the lord, kunai raised high.
Such precise infiltration skills!
The Uzumaki and samurai were all focused on him. The captain's timing was perfect.
He and the noble lord would die in the same second.
When Matsutori was first recruited into Anbu, he thought it meant he had some special talent, chosen by the higher-ups for greatness.
But after a few months in Anbu, he realized he was only a tool.
That morning, his captain had wished him luck—told him he'd achieve his dream, become a ninja like White Fang.
And now, to complete the mission, the captain had sacrificed him.
So this was Anbu.
An Uzumaki ninja reached Matsutori's body, crouched, and sliced open his mask with a kunai.
Beneath was a young face, twisted in resentment—though no one could know exactly what he hated.
Yoru hadn't even told Matsutori what their mission was. All he'd ordered was to infiltrate the inner city.
He knew nothing. Even if Uzumaki Village took the body, they'd find no evidence.
"Not good! The lord is dead!"
The samurai's cry rang out. The Uzumaki turned in horror—only to see the town lord slumped lifeless at the window, a kunai lodged in the back of his neck.
"Damn it!"
The Uzumaki cursed. The reinforcements they'd just secured had all gone up in smoke.