The quiet room had no windows, dim and dustless.
An old man with a single eye, his right one bound by a bandage, leaned back in a wooden chair. The wrinkles at the corners of his eye fanned out like a folding screen, and his once fierce, murderous face now showed faint traces of exhaustion.
A red candle flickered on the table.
The wavering light illuminated half his face, making his features appear even darker and more ominous.
"The southwestern border of the Land of Lightning—Thunder Drum Mountain—"
Yamanaka Ryoma repeated the mission assigned by Danzo, his voice as cold and mechanical as ever, like a machine built solely for carrying out orders.
Danzo, leaning on his cane with his right hand, squinted his left eye into a narrow slit, quietly observing Ryoma, who stood with his head bowed, waiting.
"This mission is critical. You're the only one I can trust with it."
Ryoma maintained his icy demeanor, head still lowered, but Danzo keenly noticed a hint of distraction.
"Something on your mind lately?" Danzo asked, showing a rare moment of concern for his most trusted subordinate.
Ryoma had been with him since the founding of Root, his right-hand man for over twenty years. They'd faced countless life-or-death trials together, making him the one person Danzo trusted implicitly. If he had to name someone who would never betray him, it would undoubtedly be Ryoma—no one else in Root came close.
Ryoma gazed at the flickering candlelight on Danzo's face. Beneath his dark sunglasses, his cold eyes held a trace of confusion. "I… I can't remember something."
"What is it?"
"I don't know." Ryoma shook his head slowly. "There's someone familiar. I can't recall their name or face, but I feel like they're important to me."
Danzo's forehead creased deeper.
Root members severed all ties to the outside world—no past, no future, their personal will and emotions erased to exist solely for missions.
Ryoma's current state clashed with Root's principles and Danzo's expectations. If this continued and affected Root's missions, Danzo would have no choice but to track down this "someone" and eliminate them.
Suppressing his displeasure, Danzo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, and probed, "Where did you meet them?"
"A familiar place… a dark room with no light, like an underground base."
The Anbu or Root?
Danzo's mind churned with guesses.
"Any specific details?"
Unaware of the killing intent hidden in Danzo's words, Ryoma stared blankly at the dancing candlelight, murmuring, "They seemed to smile a lot—bright, warm, gentle…"
Not someone from Root.
Danzo's killing intent sharpened.
The smiliest person in Root was probably Chihaya, but Danzo couldn't connect that maniacal grin with anything "warm" or "gentle."
Ryoma was his most capable operative, once Root's only elite Jonin, privy to all its secrets. Danzo couldn't tolerate any weaknesses, especially one tied to the outside world that could explode into a problem at any moment.
With a forced smile, Danzo patted Ryoma's shoulder. "You're probably just tired. After this mission, take some time off. I'll help you look for this 'familiar person.'"
Ryoma's body stiffened. Having followed Danzo for over twenty years, he knew his leader's nature all too well. Sensing the barely concealed killing intent, he paused, then shook his head firmly. "No need. They're probably not that important."
Danzo gave Ryoma a long, hard look, his smile fading.
This was the first time Ryoma had ever defied his orders. It seemed a thorough investigation into this mystery person was necessary.
"We'll deal with this when you return. Go."
"Yes!"
Ryoma nodded sharply, turned, and strode out of the quiet room.
Whoosh!
His cloak stirred a breeze, extinguishing the already faltering candlelight.
In the darkened room, Danzo sat alone, gripping his cane, like a statue carved from shadow.
Equipment Department
The group, having finished preparing their ninja tools, stood silently at the entrance, awaiting Ryoma's arrival.
Clad in uniform black attire, their cold eyes peered through various masks, their mere presence filling the room with an oppressive air.
The atmosphere felt inexplicably tense.
"What's your name?" Hikari crisp voice, muffled slightly by her mask, broke the silence.
A woman, expressionless as a puppet, opened her dull eyes, heavy dark circles beneath them, and met the eerie black gaze of Hikari owl mask.
"If you're requesting tools, report to me after you're done," the woman said, brushing her hair to either side of her shoulders and picking up a pen and paper, her tone strictly business.
A fully brainwashed tool?
Hikari gaze shifted from the woman's vibrant chakra core to the top of her head, where no emotional aura flickered—just a walking husk, devoid of feeling.
"Are there any blank sealing scrolls? How many can I take?" Hikari asked, rubbing her palms together. She'd forgotten to check last time she was here.
Standard ninja tools weren't much use to her, but sealing scrolls, capable of storing items, were invaluable. If she encountered something valuable on a mission without enough scrolls, it'd be a wasted opportunity.
The intel suggested the mine in the Land of Lightning was critical—so important that Danzo had sent Ryoma himself. The ores there must be extraordinary, and Hikari saw a chance to cash in.
"Third shelf, far right. Three at most," the woman replied.
"I didn't take any tools last time. Combined with this mission's quota, can I exchange both for scrolls?"
The woman paused her breathing, eyeing Hikari carefully. "Scrolls are valuable. Five at most."
"Thanks."
Her goal achieved, Hikari hurried to the shelf and grabbed five scrolls.
Sealing scrolls, made from chakra-conductive wood, were expensive and often out of stock at Konoha's ninja shops. The one she had was a gift from Hiruzen Sarutobi. Now, she could stock up.
Rustle!
She unfurled the scrolls one by one.
The costly chakra paper was etched with intricate sealing formulas, densely packed except for a blank circle in the center, indicating nothing was sealed inside.
After checking for damage, Hikari selected two multi-use sealing scrolls and three single-use ones.
Sealing scrolls used Yin-Release ninjutsu, transforming objects into intangible projections in some mysterious way. They were rigid in function: whatever you sealed in one go had to be retrieved in one go.
Single-use scrolls could seal larger volumes but were limited to one use, regardless of whether the space was fully utilized. Multi-use scrolls, made of smaller linked seals, were narrower and longer. The ones Hikari held could seal up to ten times, with ten blank circles for categorized storage.
Satisfied, she tucked the scrolls away. Their value alone was equivalent to completing a top-tier B-rank mission.
She rejoined the group to wait.
Moments later—
Clang!
Without a sound of footsteps, Ryoma pushed open the door and entered the equipment department.
"Lord Ryoma!"
Swish!
Root's ingrained obedience kicked in. Everyone except Hikari instantly bowed, showing respect for Danzo's right-hand man.
Ryoma counted heads, ensuring no one was missing. His gaze lingered briefly on Hikari before he nodded amicably.
"Come here."
Seeing Ryoma beckon, Hikari raised an eyebrow and stepped forward.
"Eyes up."
Swish!
A dozen masked faces turned toward them.
Ryoma scanned the group calmly. "The target is Thunder Drum Mountain in the Land of Lightning. I'm the team leader. Yato is the deputy leader. In my absence, follow her orders strictly."
"Yes!" they responded in unison.
Now deputy leader, Hikari observed the emotions above their heads.
No dissent, no trouble.
Root's absolute obedience was both reassuring and unsettling. For these tools stripped of personal will, a superior's command was law. Even if Ryoma appointed a child as leader—or ordered them to die on the spot—they likely wouldn't blink.
Ryoma removed his sunglasses, donning a purple-black mask. Hikari noticed his eyes, hidden beneath the mask, had pale purple pupils, nearly identical to her chakra's color.
"Move out!"
His muffled voice echoed in the room, and seventeen chakra cores flared brightly.
Deep in the Dense Forest
Purple-red, humid mist hung in the air. Lush green vines and branches sprawled across the undergrowth, like venomous snakes coiled in the foliage.
Hiss… hiss…
A ragged, frantic panting shattered the rainforest's stillness.
A scrawny man in plain hemp clothing gasped for air, swinging a steel blade to hack through obstructing vines and branches.
Squelch!
He yanked his boot from the rotting, muddy leaves, stumbling deeper into the jungle.
Rip!
His clothes caught on sharp branches, tearing apart and leaving red scratches on his reddish-brown skin.
Seemingly numb to pain, he swung his blade wildly, clearing a path, occasionally glancing back with bloodshot eyes, as if drowning in endless terror.
Hiss!
The stench of decay licked at his neck like a slimy tongue. Ignoring the potentially toxic mist, his chest heaved, drawing in oxygen with each labored breath, like a bellows straining under pressure.
His chakra core flickered weakly.
His chakra was nearly depleted. If those two monsters caught up, fear-fueled survival instincts pushed his exhausted body to new limits.
Plop!
His foot sank into a soft patch, and one leg plunged into a mud pit.
This was—
He stared in horror at the pile of rotting leaves swallowing his leg. Foul-smelling mud oozed out, cold and viscous, as if countless invisible hands were pulling him down.
A hidden swamp.
Squeezing strength from his stone-hard muscles, he infused chakra into his fibers, grabbed a vine, and hauled himself out.
Huff, huff!
His already scarce chakra dwindled further. He glanced back at the path he'd come from, then down at the concealed swamp.
Whoosh!
His blade sliced through vines to the right, and he darted in that direction.
Crack, crack, crack!
He hacked through branches, leaving obvious cuts, then doubled back, took a deep breath, pinched his nose, and plunged into the swamp.
Splat!
The mud, mixed with rotting plant debris, reeked so badly it churned his stomach.
The forest fell eerily silent the moment he submerged.
The quiet was more unnerving than the pursuit.
Suppressing his discomfort, he crouched low, sinking deeper into the mud, moving carefully to avoid making noise.
Each shift stirred bubbles—gurgle, gurgle—shockingly loud in the dead forest.
Finally, he tucked himself beneath the ground, hidden under withered leaves.
Only his gleaming eyes remained exposed, warily scanning the surroundings.
The space beneath the leaves was cramped, his body curled tightly, knees nearly touching his chin. His hemp clothes, soaked in mud, clung heavily to his skin, miserably uncomfortable.
Breathing the foul swamp gas, the acrid stench burned his nose and throat, each inhale like swallowing embers.
Crack!
The sound of snapping vines jolted him, his limbs locking up in the mud.
The monsters were here!
Burying even his mouth in the muck, his eyes, like two pebbles in the sludge, stared fearfully at the purple-red mist above, noticing three spinning lights twisting through the haze.
"Did you get answers, Itachi?"
In a yellowish ravine—
Kisame Hoshigaki, with blue hair and shark-like skin, leaned against a tree, his bandaged greatsword slung over his back. His golden pupils glinted with boredom.
"Shut up."
Itachi Uchiha, clad in a black-and-red cloud-patterned cloak, crouched on the ground, deep lines framing his nose. His Sharingan spun with three tomoeDOF.
The man, meant to be hiding in the swamp, was now half-buried in hardened earth, only his head exposed. His vacant eyes locked with Itachi's, the scarlet three-tomoe Sharingan glowing eerily.
"—The Land of Lightning—southwestern border—Thunder Drum Mountain—"
"The target's at Thunder Drum Mountain? No wonder we couldn't find them," Kisame said, stretching his stiff neck, his sharp, triangular teeth glinting.
Thunder Drum Mountain again?
Itachi's eyes flickered with suspicion. "Why there? What's special about it?"
"Thunderstone… thunderstone mines…" the man mumbled, drooling, his eyes blank as he repeated himself.
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