Naoto stared directly into Sakumo Hatake's eyes, his tone laced with sharp irony.
"Tell , White Fang, why is it that when a foreign ninja steps into the Land of Fire, they are t with imdiate interrogation or execution? I recall that when Stone and Sand ninja rely crossed your borders, they were driven out or slaughtered without hesitation."
He took a step forward, his white tendrils swaying like cobras. "What we are doing now is protecting our sovereign soil, no different from what you do. Why is it that when we defend our ho, it is labeled as 'obstructing Konoha'?"
Sakumo opened his mouth to retort, but found his voice trapped in his throat. He was a soldier, a man of cold logic and duty, but the hypocrisy of the Great Nations was a mirror he wasn't prepared to look into.
Before he could find an answer, the rhythmic thud of marching boots echoed from the woods. Sakumo's face paled.
Hundreds of samurai, clad in uniform steel armor, surged from the treeline, encircling the Konoha survivors.
These were not the ragtag ronin of the past; they held precision crossbows, carried longblades, and were equipped with specialized ninja tool pouches and explosive tags.
They moved with the terrifying discipline of a modern army. At their head stood a man with eyes like frozen iron—Nanshi.
Nanshi didn't waste words. He simply raised his hand and slashed it downward.
"Fire!"
A storm of hundreds of bolts hissed through the air, each trailing a sizzling explosive tag. They wove a tapestry of white smoke and lethal intent across the sky.
"Scatter!" Sakumo roared, his blade a blur as he deflected the bolts aid at his remaining n. But the sheer volu of explosives was overwhelming.
The ground erupted in a deafening chain of blasts, turning the battlefield into a sea of fire.
"Charge!"
Nanshi drew his blade and led the samurai into the fray. The battle turned white-hot instantly. Though the Konoha ninja were elite, they were drowning in numbers.
The samurai fought with terrifying cohesion—crossbown provided suppressive fire while the frontline infantry moved in phalanxes, grinding down the ninjas' maneuvering space.
Sakumo's short blade moved like lightning, reaping a life with every stroke. But he soon realized the horror of his situation: these n fought without fear of death. For every ten who fell, twenty more surged forward to fill the gap.
Naoto and Kakuzu were not idle. They drifted through the chaos like ghosts, picking off isolated Jonin.
Kakuzu's black threads lashed out in five directions at once, while Naoto's white spears carried a debilitating neurotoxin that slowed the reflexes of anyone they grazed.
"Captain! We can't hold!" a blood-soaked Jonin scread.
Sakumo gritted his teeth, forcing back three samurai with a single sweeping strike. He turned his eyes toward Shima Shirokumo.
Shima was locked in a deadly dance with Nanshi. Both were masters of the blade; sparks flew as steel t steel in a frantic blur.
But Nanshi was fueled by a singular, burning desire for revenge. His pupils had been slaughtered by Root; he didn't care if Sakumo or Shima were part of Root or not. To him, they were simply "Konoha."
"Die!"
Nanshi's blade beca a streak of cold light aid at Shima's throat. Shima twisted to dodge, thrusting his own blade toward Nanshi's abdon.
Nanshi didn't flinch. He let the blade sink into his flesh, using the mont of impact to anchor himself. He twisted his grip and brought his sword down in a brutal arc toward Shima's right arm.
Splat—
Blood sprayed as Shima's right arm was severed at the elbow.
Despite the blade buried in his gut, Nanshi didn't retreat an inch. He raised his sword again, aiming for Shima's head.
"Shima!"
Sakumo took a brutal hit from one of Kakuzu's tendrils to force his way through the crowd. He parried Nanshi's finishing blow and hauled the maid Shima onto his shoulder, turning to break the encirclent.
"Retreat!"
The last few Jonin fought a suicidal rearguard action to let their captain escape. Kakuzu stood in the clearing, watching them flee, but made no move to pursue.
Nanshi clutched the wound in his stomach, staring at the retreating figures with hollow, icy eyes. "Why... didn't you chase them?"
Kakuzu glanced at him. "Are you giving orders? Who are you to ?"
Without another word, Kakuzu turned back to the piles of bodies and began systematically harvesting heads. He grumbled as he worked. "Tsk. So many of them are charred. That's a lot of wasted profit."
Nanshi watched him disappear into the woods, silence falling over the graveyard. Naoto walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't mind him. He's in a different world than us."
In this battle, of the seventeen Konoha elites, only three escaped with their lives. The newly ford Samurai Corps had paid a heavy price, with over a hundred casualties.
Nanshi took a step forward, coughed up a spray of dark blood, and collapsed. The "trade" he had made with Shima had pierced his lung and grazed his heart. He had been standing on sheer willpower alone.
"Was it worth it?" Naoto asked, looking down at the wound.
Nanshi didn't answer. He stared at the path the Konoha ninja had taken. There was no joy in his eyes, only a vast, echoing void. "Perhaps."
He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of his life slipping away. But soon, he felt soone tearing open his armor and ripping his clothes.
A familiar, raspy voice grunted in his ear: "Who taught you how to stitch? A veterinarian? Move over. If I wait any longer, he actually will die."
Nanshi opened his eyes to see black threads probing into his chest. In an instant, his ruptured heart and lungs were being perfectly, chanically sewn back together.
Kakuzu retracted his threads. "Your head is worth a decent amount too. Consider this surgery a down paynt on your own bounty."
Konoha
When Sakumo Hatake led the three survivors back to the village three days later, Konoha was paralyzed with shock.
Shima Shirokumo's arm was treated, saving his life, but his career as an elite ninja was effectively over. Another Jonin had to have both legs amputated due to severe necrotic damage, forcing an early retirent.
The mission was a catastrophic failure. They hadn't even laid eyes on Shisui Abura before being decimated.
The "White Fang of the Leaf," a legend that struck fear into the hearts of the Five Great Nations, had been defeated by a naless "border force" from a minor village.
Within half a day, the whispers began. Rumors that Sakumo had grown arrogant, that he had neglected his duties because of his fa, or that he had simply lost his edge.
But by the evening, the narrative shifted into sothing far more poisonous.
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