Chapter 180: If Life Were Only Like the First Meeting
The rain-slicked earth of the Land of Rain was littered with the bodies of the ambushers. With their commander lying dead in the mud, the surviving enemy shinobi stared in sheer terror. They watched their three targets slip through the encirclement once more, but no one dared to give the order to pursue. Gritting their teeth, they lowered their weapons. Chasing those three monsters any further would lead them straight into the vanguard of Konoha's main forces—a guaranteed death sentence.
Deep within a concealed rocky cavern, the three Konoha shinobi slumped against the damp walls, panting heavily. Outside, the relentless downpour cascaded over the cliffside, forming a thick, misty water curtain across the cave entrance. They were drenched to the bone, their armor heavy with mud and blood. Moving with quiet efficiency, Orochimaru ventured deeper into the darkness and scavenged a small pile of dry firewood left behind by past travelers. A quick spark of chakra brought a meager campfire to life, casting flickering orange shadows across their exhausted faces.
Tsunade rummaged through her soaked ninja pouch, pulling out a sealed ration pack. She tossed a few dry biscuits to her teammates. They needed to replenish their stamina immediately; the battlefield was unpredictable, and the next wave of enemies could arrive at any moment.
Jiraiya leaned heavily against the jagged stone. He chewed mechanically, the tasteless ration turning to ash in his mouth. His eyes, however, were entirely unfocused, locked onto the small, worn lucky amulet resting in his calloused palm.
The fabric was originally embroidered with the characters for Ping'an—Peace. Now, the threads forming the Ping character had completely unraveled, cleanly severed as if sliced by an invisible, microscopic blade. It was the aftermath of a triggered Sealing Jutsu. Beneath the frayed silk, faint, complex seal markings pulsed with a dying, ethereal glow.
"The structural integrity of that Jutsu was flawless," Orochimaru murmured from across the fire. His pale, serpentine eyes locked onto the amulet, gleaming with an intense, almost predatory curiosity. He had only caught a fleeting glimpse of the seal before it faded, but his analytical mind was already dissecting the mechanics. "To compress Wind Nature Chakra to its absolute pinnacle of shape and nature transformation, forge it into a singular, lethal strike, and then bind it within a fragile fabric pouch... The sheer precision required is staggering. It defies the very conventions of traditional Fūinjutsu."
As a researcher, his fingers twitched with the urge to snatch the amulet and tear its secrets apart under a microscope.
"Where exactly did you acquire that, Jiraiya?"
"It was just a cheap trinket," Jiraiya muttered, his voice hoarse. "I bought it on a whim during the Tug-of-War Festival. Later, when I was training at Mount Myōboku, Jia returned it to me..." He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing over the ruined threads. "I never imagined she had woven something like this inside."
Back then, he had assumed it was merely a sentimental gesture. He thought Jia was just worried that his reckless, loud-mouthed nature would get him killed once he left the safety of the toad sages, giving him a simple token to remind him to stay vigilant. He hadn't realized she had literally placed a life-saving weapon around his neck. Jiraiya kept rubbing the frayed edges, his chest tightening with a complex mix of guilt, awe, and sorrow.
The mere mention of Jia's name snuffed out the conversation. A heavy, suffocating silence descended over the campfire, broken only by the relentless, rhythmic drumming of the rain against the cliffside.
Minutes dragged on. Finally, Orochimaru broke the quiet, gesturing toward Jiraiya's hand with a pale finger. "If the embroidery was meant to spell Ping'an, and the first character contained an offensive strike... logic dictates the remaining An character harbors a secondary Jutsu."
Jiraiya's thumb froze. Reluctantly, he extended his arm, tossing the small pouch across the flames.
Orochimaru caught it deftly. He brought it close to his face, his slit-like pupils narrowing as he scrutinized the undamaged half of the fabric. Beneath the An character, microscopic curse marks were woven directly into the dye of the thread. The complex, spiraling geometry felt naggingly familiar.
A spark of recognition flashed in his eyes. "Fascinating. It appears Jia absorbed quite a bit of knowledge from the Fourth Hokage. The foundational formula of these curse marks heavily mirrors his distinct sealing style."
He ran a sliver of his own chakra over the bottom character. The Jutsu remained dormant, the curse marks perfectly concealed from the naked eye, but a faint, rhythmic thrum of energy echoed back against his senses. After a few moments of silent deduction, Orochimaru tossed the pouch to the blonde kunoichi beside him. "See for yourself."
Tsunade caught it with both hands, treating the fragile cloth with uncharacteristic gentleness. She closed her eyes, channeling her precise medical chakra into the fabric. "The residual energy signature is incredibly stable," she concluded softly. "There's no volatility or killing intent. It's an absolute defense—a high-tier protective Jutsu."
She leaned forward, holding the amulet out to her white-haired teammate. Her amber eyes softened with a rare trace of pity. "Jiraiya..."
"I'm fine!" Jiraiya snapped, his voice a little too loud, a little too strained. He snatched the pouch back.
Quickly, he re-tied the cord and slipped the amulet back around his neck, letting the cool fabric rest against his collarbone, right over his heart. Pushing himself off the ground, he turned his back to his teammates and marched toward the cave entrance.
At some point during their rest, the torrential downpour had finally ceased. In the perpetually weeping Land of Rain, clear skies were a myth. Yet, as Jiraiya stepped to the ledge, the thick, bruised clouds parted just a fraction. A single, brilliant shaft of evening sunlight pierced through the gloom, illuminating the mist and bathing him in a warm, golden glow.
It felt like a quiet blessing. Like a silent greeting from a friend standing in another world.
Jiraiya slowly raised his hand, his rough fingers reaching out as if trying to catch the fleeting light.
Meanwhile, on a completely different front, the relentless grind of war continued to claim lives on both sides.
However, the intelligence reports flooding in from the Land of Water border painted a deeply frustrating and bizarre picture. The shinobi of the Hidden Mist Village were stubbornly refusing to engage. They holed up in their fortified coastal territories, occasionally sending out small squads to harass Konoha's encampments before immediately retreating. A Tailed Beast would thrash around in the ocean for a bit, creating massive waves, and then a handful of Mist ninjas would lob a few jutsu from afar. It was entirely small-scale, hit-and-run skirmishes. They were practically just going through the motions of a war.
Sitting behind a desk piled high with paperwork for years as Konoha's Finance Minister hadn't dulled Shimura Danzo's hawkish ambitions in the slightest. When he marched out of the village, he had practically sworn a blood oath that he wouldn't return until Konoha's banners were planted in the capital of the Land of Water.
Instead, he was stuck staring at the ocean. The Hidden Mist forces flat-out refused to step foot on the mainland. They weaponized the vast, treacherous sea separating their island nation from the continent, using it as an impenetrable moat while they chipped away at Danzo's patience with petty harassment tactics.
Unable to launch a full-scale naval assault without suffering catastrophic losses, Danzo resorted to psychological warfare. He deployed his men to the shorelines to hurl the most vile, inflammatory insults imaginable across the water, hoping to goad the Mist into a reckless charge.
It failed spectacularly. The Second Mizukage, Hōzuki Gengetsu, simply refused to take the bait. The man practically radiated an aura of 'curse all you want, I'm deaf to your whining,' perfectly content to sit behind his watery defenses.
Inside the command tent, Danzo slammed his cane against the floorboards, his visible eye twitching with unadulterated fury. "The coward doesn't even dare step out of his own front door! Hiding in his little turtle shell! What kind of pathetic excuse for a Kage declares war just to sit on his hands? He should just crawl back home and nurse on milk!"
Danzo waved his arm violently, knocking a map off the table. "Gather the vanguard! I want a full-scale amphibious assault! We are invading the Land of Water by force!"
Standing near the tent flap, Kato Dan sweatdropped. He had never expected that Elder Danzo—a man who usually couldn't go three sentences without lecturing someone about budget cuts and fiscal responsibility—would turn out to be such an absolute, bloodthirsty hawk on the front lines. The man was more ruthless than their frontline commanders.
Stepping forward, Dan quickly bowed his head. "Lord Danzo, please reconsider. Launching a rash invasion into the Land of Water without absolute naval superiority is suicide. If our supply lines are severed and our retreat routes aren't secured, we will be trapped deep in enemy territory. It's a logistical nightmare."
"As if I need a junior to lecture me on military tactics," Danzo sneered, his lone eye narrowing into a cold, calculating slit.
His mind was already spinning a web of political use. He knew the historical geopolitical landscape intimately. The Second Mizukage, Hōzuki Gengetsu, and the Second Tsuchikage, Mū, were bitter, blood-feud arch-enemies. Years ago, the crushing war reparations had nearly left Gengetsu too terrified to even return to his own village. To appease the furious, bloodthirsty ninja clans of the Mist, Gengetsu had secretly conspired with the Third Raikage to launch a devastating raid on the Land of Earth, plundering a massive haul of resources from the Stone Village.
Through that joint heist, those two impoverished Kage—the Mizukage and the Raikage—had bonded over their shared poverty, becoming thick as thieves. Naturally, that exact event forged an irreconcilable, burning grudge between Gengetsu and Mū.
On the surface, the enemy villages currently appeared united against Konoha. But beneath that fragile alliance lay decades of bad blood and paranoia just waiting to be exploited. Danzo tapped his cane rhythmically. He needed to draft a coded missive to Hiruzen—Monkey—to coordinate a shadow operation. If he couldn't drag Hōzuki Gengetsu out of his shell through brute force, he would manipulate the Second Tsuchikage into stabbing the Mist in the back.
A deeply sinister, predatory smile stretched across Danzo's scarred face. It was the obvious expression of a man brewing a thoroughly wicked, venomous scheme.
Watching from the sidelines, a cold chill shot straight down Kato Dan's spine. What exactly is this Elder made of? he wondered, swallowing nervously. Why did his entire personality shift from a stingy accountant to a terrifying warlord the second he stepped outside Konoha's gates?
"Um... I will personally go and oversee the coastal scouting patrols," Dan announced abruptly, taking a brisk step backward. His survival instincts were screaming at him to stay as far away from Danzo's plotting as physically possible. There was absolutely zero benefit in getting tangled up in whatever dark conspiracy was forming in the Elder's head.
As Dan practically fled the tent, a pale, white-haired shinobi stepped out from the shadows. Hiruko crossed his arms, his expression sour. He was deeply dissatisfied with his current deployment.
"Lord Danzo, when you finally launch this assault on the Land of Water, I insist that you place me on the vanguard," Hiruko demanded. "I refuse to rot in the logistics department for another week."
Danzo, who had looked ready to murder a nation just seconds prior, spun around. In the blink of an eye, his terrifying scowl melted into a warm, incredibly accommodating smile. To Danzo, Hiruko wasn't just a shinobi; he was the literal God of Wealth keeping the Finance Department afloat. He had to be handled with kid gloves.
"Now, now, Hiruko," Danzo said, his tone dripping with grandfatherly patience. "You know the head of the logistics department suffered a terrible injury and is completely bedridden. The entire supply chain would collapse without your brilliant oversight. I just need you to hold the fort a little while longer. I assure you, the moment we breach the Land of Water's shores, you will be right by my side."
He placated the man with honeyed words, but internally, Danzo was cursing up a storm.
You're a damn lab rat! Why are you so obsessed with dying on the front lines?! Danzo thought, suppressing an exasperated sigh. Orochimaru is a perfectly balanced, six-sided genius who excels in every conceivable field. You, on the other hand, are completely lopsided! Your talents belong in a workshop minting ryo for my budget, not dodging kunai in the mud! Why do you insist on competing with him?!
Meanwhile, in a cot tucked away in the back of the tent, the supposedly 'critically injured' head of logistics lay perfectly still. He stared down at the absurdly thick layers of fake medical bandages wrapped around his perfectly healthy limbs and let out a long, silent sigh to the heavens.
Judging by the way Elder Danzo was operating, it seemed he was destined to remain 'tragically bedridden' for the entirety of the war.
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