[Iwagakure Western Front]
Three hundred miles northeast, where jagged cliffs swallowed the moonlight, the Shimura clan moved. One hundred genins, thirty chunins, thirteen jonins, including Danzo, the patriarch. This was not a small operation, by all means. During the Second Shinobi War, the number of shinobi was much more scarce, especially high-ranked ones.
I stood atop a wind-scoured ridge, Yukiko's chakra senses painting the valley below in vivid detail. A convoy of fifty Iwa-nin snaked through the pass, wagons groaning with sealed scrolls, weapon crates, and sacks of rice—precious fuel for the war machine that was Iwagakure.
"Sensors?" I asked, using signs rather than his own voice
"Three," Yukiko replied. "Rear guard. Chunin-level"
"Mark them on the map"
Her fingers flickered in a silent signal drawing crosses on the map. Shadows detached from the cliffs—Shimura assassins of jonin-level, their chakra suppressed, their blades glinting like fangs.
I raised a hand. "On my signal, attack"
I started to focus as I unleashed thirteen hand seals, allowing to guide chakra through my pathways to cast one of the strongest jutsu in my repertoire: a two-phase attack.
Successive Wind Explosion [A]
B-rank jutsus were quite rare, as they symbolized jonin-level strength. The Shimura clan, specializing in futon jutsu, only possessed four of them. The Successive Wind Explosion, of A-rank, was of extreme rarity in Konoha. Not only was it of elite-jonin-level, it also happened to be of wind element, which was one of the scarcest element for shinobi of the leaf.
Two explosions wreaked havoc onto the enemies.
The first explosion was not a bomb, but a bullet of compressed air. A long-range ninjutsu was shot accurately and hit the group of three sensors, sending a message to the convoy's vanguard: they were under attack. Before the dust settled, shadow shurikens storms rained down, each tagged with paralysis poison.
This was the reason why he had gone through the trouble to teach the [Shadow Shuriken] jutsus to all 50 of the Shimura Wind Corps.
However, the shurikens were just a distraction, one that prevented them from escaping the zone.
A second explosion happened, a few seconds after the first one. This time, it was much more massive, causing the convoy to explode from within, targeting all iwagakure shinobi at once.
"Flank left!" barked an Iwa captain who had somehow summoned a wall of Earth on his right—before a Shimura blade severed his spine.
The clan fought as one organism.
Kenjutsu specialists carved through panicked genin. The training period was short, but enough to engrave hell in their muscles. Compared to the intensity of the daily trainings, the battlefield was chaotic but surprisingly manageable.
Poison-tipped senbon dropped those who fled.
Yukiko slithered through the chaos, her sensor marks already corpses, she targeted the jonin-level enemies. This was quite the satisfying sight, but I could not sit idle.
I did not draw my blade. I orchestrated, and controlled the battlefield. Since the enemies posed no immediate danger, I instead focused on minimizing the Shimura losses, rather than focusing on killing efficiency.
When the last Iwa-nin fell—a boy no older than fourteen, trembling as he fumbled for a kunai—I nodded to a clansman. The kill was swift, clinical. This much was to be expected after all the training they went through.
"Take the scrolls, burn the rest," I ordered.
Flames devoured supplies. Rice became ash. Scrolls spat sparks as their seals ruptured. A crate of soldier pills melted into acrid sludge.
"Casualties?" I asked.
Yukiko scanned the living. "One fractured arm. Two with minor burns."
"Acceptable. Move out. The next strike is in nine hours."
Machinal, calculated. This was the way I would be leading my clan. The way I would be leading the Shimuras.
===
As the Shimura vanished, the flames cast long shadows on the cliffs—a message in ash. Dawn on the Western Front. Konoha's trenches braced for another assault… that never came.
"They're… retreating?" murmured a Konoha chunin, peering over the parapet.
"Not retreating, stalling" Iwa's front lines milled in disarray—no fresh troops, no barrage. A captain barked orders to ration water.
===
Over a map in a hidden cave, pins marking butchered convoys, I was studying the battlefield. Yukiko was watching me trace routes, surprised at the depth of my analysis.
'He is not just thinking of the next battle, he is looking three, no, four steps ahead', Yukiko realized with surprise
"They'll send escorts next time," she said. "Chunins, jonins maybe"
"Let them." my finger stabbed the map. "We bleed the escorts. Then their villages bleed. If they are too strong, we retreat. There is no reason for us to expose ourselves more than we already do"
He glanced at the Shimura resting nearby—teenagers binding wounds, elders cleaning blades.
"They grow stronger. Each battle tempers them. Each victory binds them to me", I grinned
"Yukiko."
"Danzo-sama?"
"Send word to Konoha. Request extended deployment. The stalemate… requires further management"
She hid a smile. Of course. Stalemates, after all, were fertile ground for shadows to thrive. More time meant more rewards, and more importantly, more opportunities for the Shimura clan to grow as a force to reckon with.
I originally thought it would take a lot of convincing to gain support from the clan. However, everyone followed heroes. Good, bad...At the end of the day, the glory would go to the winners. And I was doing just that.