The western front of the Land of Fire, rear camp.
Before he even lifted the curtain, the sll hit him.
It was the scent of blood mingled with the sour bitterness of boiled dicinal herbs, so thick it felt suffocating.
Just as Kitahara Kaede reached out, the curtain was shoved open from the inside.
Two dical ninja rushed out carrying a stretcher, nearly colliding with his face.
Lying on the stretcher was a Chunin whose entire right arm was swollen and glistening, with black-purple veins crawling from his wrist up to the root of his shoulder.
The man's mouth was open, but he could no longer make a sound.
"Move! Get out of the way!"
They sprinted past him.
Kitahara Kaede stood still, watching the stretcher for a few seconds.
The scale of the field hospital exceeded his expectations.
Tents were linked to tents, stretching for hundreds of ters along the rear positions, and every single one was full.
People lay in the aisles; straw mats were spread across every available inch of open ground, patient after patient.
Those still capable of walking sat outside the tents, waiting.
Most of them bore those sa black-purple veins.
Those with a slower progression could still exchange a few words with their friends; those with a faster progression had already stopped moving.
White cloths covered their faces.
Kitahara Kaede didn't linger, walking straight toward the largest tent.
Inside, forty to fifty wounded soldiers were cramd together. Three teams of dical ninja were working frantically, but even their efforts weren't enough.
A small space had been cleared in the center.
Tsunade was crouching there.
Her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, and her hands were covered in a green glow of chakra, pressed against the forearm of an unconscious patient.
The black-purple veins on the man's arm writhed slightly under her palms, as if resisting her.
Her complexion was pale, and a thin layer of sweat clung to her forehead.
"The samples!" Tsunade shouted to soone nearby without looking up.
A dical ninja hurried over and handed her three sealed vials.
Tsunade took them with one hand and gave them a quick glance.
"The base is Erosion Scorpion Venom, but Chiyo modified the formula. All conventional detoxification thods are useless."
She set the vials on a nearby dicine cabinet. Without pausing, she drew a silver needle and plunged it into an acupoint on the patient's arm.
Chakra poured through the tip of the needle, forcing a small globule of black liquid out through the puncture hole.
Tsunade used tweezers to pick up the substance and placed it in a petri dish.
"Send this for analysis. I'll handle the rest."
She stood up and stretched her wrists.
Moving to the corner of the tent, she bit her thumb and ford a hand seal—
Then, she slamd her palm onto the ground.
White smoke exploded.
The massive form of Katsuyu materialized behind the tent.
Imdiately, the gargantuan entity began to split.
Small slugs peeled away from the main body, rapidly crawling toward the wounded and attaching themselves to the most severely poisoned areas.
The entire tent seed to be covered by a living web.
Kitahara Kaede's gaze didn't follow the slugs; instead, it remained on Tsunade.
Maintaining a summoning jutsu along with so many clones simultaneously required a terrifying amount of chakra.
She had not yet developed the Strength of a Hundred Seal.
Without the ability to store chakra, all her consumption relied on her body's real-ti supply.
She could hold out for half a day, but this was a battlefield—it wasn't a matter of half a day.
"Prioritize those with a heart rate below forty," Tsunade commanded, already crouching before the next patient.
Kitahara Kaede stood at the entrance for a while.
He couldn't help with the dical treatnt.
What he could do was at the front lines.
***
After passing through three defensive lines of the rear camp, he entered the front-line command post.
A war zone map hung inside the tent, and several Jonin were huddled around a sand table, discussing in low voices with grim expressions.
Kitahara Kaede scanned the room, his gaze landing on a man in the corner.
Silver-white hair combed back, a broad forehead.
He had a lean, compact build—not particularly tall, but like a blade kept in its sheath, waiting to be drawn.
A short sword was slung diagonally across his lower back, its hilt wrapped in white cloth.
He stood there in silence, not joining the discussion.
Yet, the people around him naturally left a circle of space around him.
Sakumo Hatake.
At this ti, he did not yet hold the title of the "White Fang of the Hidden Leaf."
But Kitahara Kaede knew what this man would do in the future.
On the battlefields of the Second Great Ninja War, Sakumo would personally kill the parents of the Sunagakure puppeteer, Sasori. With his White Fang blade, he would sweep across the battlefield, making his na legendary throughout the shinobi world.
The prestige of the "White Fang" would, for a ti, surpass that of the Sannin.
And the fact that Sasori's parents died on the battlefield would cause the young Sasori to completely collapse.
Years later, Sasori would kill the Third Kazekage, leaving Sunagakure leaderless—a chain reaction that would eventually ignite the Third Great Ninja War.
Karma is a cycle that obeys no logic.
But that was for the future.
For now, Sakumo was rely a young Jonin, dispatched to the western front to chew through the sa hard bones as everyone else.
Sensing the gaze, Sakumo turned his head.
The two locked eyes for a mont.
Then, he walked over.
"Hagoromo Kaede-dono."
His tone was flat, but the word "dono" was spoken naturally.
Seniority and strength determined how one addressed others, and Sakumo was unambiguous about that.
"Sakumo Hatake," Kitahara Kaede nodded.
"Did you arrive with Lady Tsunade?"
"Yes. She's in the rear treating the poisoned wounded."
Sakumo didn't pry and got straight to the point.
"The situation at the front is bad."
He walked to the sand table and pointed his finger at a river valley marker to the southwest.
"Sunagakure has established three defensive lines in this valley. Puppet units harass us in shifts, and every wave is poisoned. It's contact-based; a single scratch and you're done. Our n are afraid to even touch them. That's how most of the casualties are happening."
He moved his finger slightly toward the rear.
"The biggest problem is Chiyo. She doesn't show herself, hiding in the rear and controlling puppets remotely. Her chakra thread range is far greater than a standard puppeteer's; we can't pin down where she is."
Kitahara Kaede looked at the terrain on the sand table.
"You have an idea," Kaede noted.
Sakumo's finger slid from the valley to the ridgeline of the flank.
"Flank them. Cut through here and sever the chakra threads between her and the front-line puppets."
He paused.
"But there's a prerequisite—soone has to hold the front."
He looked at Kitahara Kaede.
"While the puppet swarm attacks, Chiyo will continuously deploy poison via hidden weapons. The person pinning them down cannot retreat, and they cannot be poisoned."
None of the other Jonin in the tent spoke; they knew their own limits.
Kitahara Kaede stared at the valley line on the sand table.
Tanking a puppet swarm attack while defending against airborne toxins.
Shadow Clones to spread out the firepower, Chidori Sharp Spear to dismantle puppets from a distance, and Fire Style for wide-area clearing.
The pressure would be significant.
"Fine," Kitahara Kaede nodded. "We'll discuss the specific plan tomorrow. Give the reconnaissance reports for the other end of the ridge."
Sakumo showed no excessive reaction. He nodded, turned, and left.
Kitahara Kaede watched his departing figure.
This man's swordsmanship would one day make the entire shinobi world tremble.
But in the end, it wouldn't be an enemy who killed him, but his own people.
***
Night fell.
By the ti he returned from the front-line command post to the rear camp, it was past midnight.
Most of the tents had their lights out. Only the row belonging to the field hospital remained lit.
Kitahara Kaede lifted the curtain.
The lights inside were dimd, and most of the wounded were asleep.
Occasionally, soone would groan softly or toss in their sleep.
A few dical ninja were dozing in the corner, leaning against dicine crates, their heads nodding rhythmically.
Tsunade was by the dicine cabinet.
Sitting on a low stool, her head was tilted against the edge of the cabinet, her eyes closed.
Petri dishes were spread across the table, the toxin separated into several different colored liquids.
Beside them lay half a page of notes; the handwriting grew increasingly sloppy from top to bottom, until the last few lines had rged into a single jagged line.
Katsuyu had long been recalled.
She had likely pushed herself until her body could no longer take it before stopping.
Kitahara Kaede stood at the tent entrance for a while.
The light was dim, and her face was hidden in shadow, leaving only the silhouette of her profile visible.
Her brow was furrowed, still tense even in sleep.
He walked over.
He took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Tsunade's shoulder shifted slightly, her breathing shallow.
Kitahara Kaede dragged over an empty camping stool, placed it just inside the tent entrance, and sat down.
The night wind seeped through the gaps in the curtain, bringing with it the scent of smoke from a distant campfire nearing its end.
The footsteps of a patrol echoed over the gravel path, fading into the distance before drawing near once more.
Silence filled the tent.
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