Entry
In the quiet night, the campfire in the cave had nearly burned out, casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. Three figures sat in silence around the dwindling embers, wrapped in cloaks damp from the perpetual drizzle of the Land of Rain.
The Uchiha who joined the vanguard unit had been handpicked by the Hokage based on intelligence from the Anbu Black Ops. Each one had passed psychological and combat assessments. Fugaku Uchiha had insisted on this—he feared that sending arrogant or undisciplined clansmen would only fuel the growing hostility toward the Uchiha in the village.
Their clan's reputation was already deteriorating. Konoha's suspicion of the Uchiha would only deepen if careless actions on the front lines led to disgrace or internal conflict. If the Uchiha were ever to change their fate, it wouldn't be through strength alone—image and discipline were critical.
Some roots must be cut for the tree to grow straight, Fugaku thought. His expression remained calm, but his mind was weaving through contingencies and internal reforms he would pursue once the mission ended.
Nearby, Aburame Nozawa stirred. His movements were deliberate and eerily precise, like all from his clan. Aburame insects were sensitive to circadian patterns, and even in this gloomy cave, their internal rhythms were rarely wrong.
Fugaku opened his eyes as well.
"Nozawa," Fugaku said, his Sharingan glowing faintly in the gloom, "are the kikaichū ready? We have three days. We need to neutralize that Jōnin squad by then."
"They are ready," Nozawa replied in a low monotone. "All specimens are resistant to moisture. Their wings remain functional even in persistent rain."
Nozawa extended his arms, and black insects surged forth from his sleeves and collar, filling the cave's air like a living fog. Fugaku didn't flinch, but even with experience, such a sight brought discomfort. Anyone unfamiliar with the Aburame would likely be overwhelmed.
The insects poured out of the cave and vanished into the misty forest.
Clad in standard Konoha rain cloaks, the three shinobi moved silently behind the swarm. With the kikaichū ahead of them scanning for movement, their job was to wait for a target and strike decisively.
Fugaku kept his Sharingan active. The three tomoe spun slowly, refining the world into precise, sharp motion. Against an average sensor or tracker, Nozawa's insects would pass unnoticed—but there were exceptions.
The Kamizuru clan of Iwagakure, for example, used bees in battle. Unlike the Aburame, their control was more aggressive and chakra-reliant. But who knew what other obscure jutsu users hid in the chaos of the Third Shinobi World War?
Fugaku's focus was total. The Sharingan fed his mind a constant stream of visual data—movement in the trees, subtle shifts in chakra, irregularities in the environment. His discipline was clinical.
Suddenly, Nozawa raised a hand.
"Captain," he said, "enemy detected—four shinobi, approximately three hundred meters southwest. Standard formation, two veterans, two less experienced. They appear to be on patrol or reconnaissance."
Fugaku nodded. "Maintain pace. Report any deviation in their route or formation."
The trio adjusted course, using high branches to move swiftly but silently. Nozawa's kikaichū continued to relay information in near real-time.
The enemy slowed down. Then stopped. They were resting.
Fugaku signaled a halt. He crouched with his team on a sloped ridge, overlooking the clearing where the Rain-nin gathered. The four figures were now in view.
One of them stood with clear command presence—likely the squad leader. Judging by his composure and gear, he was a mid-to-high level Jōnin. The other three looked younger, probably Chūnin rank, though the wartime promotions made it hard to assess true ability.
"Listen," Fugaku said in a low voice. "Nozawa, entangle their captain and the ninja on the left. Sato, you take the one on the right. I'll handle the center."
The others nodded silently.
"When I give the signal, we strike. I'll eliminate my target first. Nozawa, once that's done, release the captain and leave him to me. If we kill all four swiftly, we complete the primary objective. After that, we'll decide how to use the remaining time to improve our coordination."
He raised three fingers.
"One."
"Two."
"Three."
Fugaku vanished in a blur of speed, a silent shunshin carrying him through the mist like a phantom. Two kunai flew from his hands, curving through the air toward the Rain captain, just as Nozawa's kikaichū began to converge from above.
Sato moved in from the flank. The kikaichū swarmed down in coordinated formations—two tactical clouds targeting their marks.
"Ambush!" the Rain captain barked. "Defensive formation! Konoha shinobi—!"
He saw the arcing kunai and parried with a curved blade, sparks flying.
Fugaku didn't stop. He was already beside his target—one of the younger Rain-nin. His Sharingan locked eyes with the enemy, initiating a subtle genjutsu. The Rain-nin's pupils dilated; he froze mid-draw.
In that instant, Fugaku's kunai pierced the man's heart with precision honed from years of training and clan techniques. The body fell soundlessly.
> "Eliminated: Chūnin-level shinobi. Gained minor dōjutsu enhancement."
The strange message echoed in Fugaku's mind, but he pushed it aside for now. The mission came first.
He turned toward the Rain captain, who had begun retreating, abandoning his subordinates.
"Konoha's Uchiha!" the man shouted. "They've entered the war! Retreat!"
Coward. Fugaku's expression hardened.
With swift hand seals, he exhaled a volley of flame.
"Katon: Hōsenka no Jutsu!"
(Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique!)
Several fireballs exploded in front of the fleeing captain, forcing him to halt.
Trapped.
The Rain-nin turned around, now resigned to fight. Twin kunai in hand, he assumed a guarded stance. The tension in his eyes betrayed awareness—this was no ordinary opponent.
Fugaku's Sharingan swirled again.
The Rain-nin grunted and weaved hand seals. "Kai!"
But genjutsu takes time to break, and Fugaku had already closed the distance.
The kunai clashed—steel against steel—sparks briefly lighting the foggy air. Fugaku's second blade swept around, grazing the captain's ribs. Not fatal, but a clean first blood.
The Sharingan's rhythm could not be overcome by mere experience. Against a fully matured three-tomoe eye, even Jōnin could falter.
Fugaku circled, waiting for the next moment.
The rest of the battle would be swift.