"Agh—!"
Another unlucky genin—ignorant of Sand puppetry mechanisms—triggered a hidden poison needle trap while carelessly moving a broken puppet.
A black-faced chūnin with white hair, Ise Kuromaru, finally spoke up again: "Captain Uzumaki, perhaps we should wait for the toxin disposal squad before scavenging further—"
"Ise Kuromaru," Uzumaki Shinju's voice dripped with frost, "are you questioning the value of these puppets? Or do you have other... motives?"**
His glare promised retribution. One more word, and Ise would join the "mine-sweeping" detail—or face disciplinary action for insubordination.
"But Captain, if you keep forcing them into suicide missions, they will mutiny."**
Ise gestured subtly at the simmering resentment in the ranks. Normally, the men tolerated Uzumaki's graft—his clan's influence made protest futile. But this? Sending untrained grunts to disarm high-yield traps?
Even loyalists had limits.
"Who dares?!" Uzumaki sneered, hand resting on his sword hilt. "I am the sector commander. My word is law*."*** He pointed at a red-faced genin whose eyes burned with fury. "You. Replace that fool on the front line."**
When the genin hesitated, Uzumaki's grip tightened on his blade—ready to make an example.
Seeing the tinderbox about to ignite, Ise intervened: "Shiranui Riku. Disobeying orders brands you a nukenin*. Think of your clan."***
The threat landed perfectly. Shiranui Riku—unlike rootless cannon fodder—had family ties in Konoha. Teeth gritted, he obeyed.
Emboldened, Uzumaki escalated: "Stop wasting time on kunai! Strip those puppets now*, or face court-martial!"***
His greed outpaced reason. Half the scavengers were already dead or maimed, yet he pressed harder—desperate to loot everything before the追击部队 returned.
The Return of the Victor
The追击部队 arrived sooner than expected.
As Umino Yoru and his men emerged at Gourd River Pass, Uzumaki's demeanor flipped like a coin.
"Ah, Yoru! Magnificent work! I'll ensure HQ hears of your—"**
Yoru ignored him. A nod to Shikuro unleashed a sealing scroll's contents—twenty mangled Sand-nin corpses spilling onto the ground.
"Report:" Shikuro knelt, voice booming. "Enemy forces annihilated—save for Elder Chiyo's escape. Awaiting orders, Commander*."***
The message was clear.
"Orders, Commander!"
"Orders, Commander!"
One by one, the ranks knelt—Hagane Kotetsu's squad, Shiranui's survivors, even elite jōnin like Shirakumo Hayama—all pledging allegiance to Yoru.
Uzumaki's face purpled. "You—!"**
Then he met Yoru's gaze—and remembered.
This wasn't some paper-pushing bureaucrat. This was the Butcher of Gourd Pass, who'd soloed 300 Sand-nin.
Gulp.
"Hear this!"** Yoru's voice cut like steel. "Uzumaki Shinju abandoned his post during enemy assault—a capital offense. Arrest him."**
Shirakumo's blade flashed.
Uzumaki barely twitched before being disarmed and pinned. His remaining lackeys froze—terrified the abused genin might "accidentally" stab them during the arrest.
"You can't—! Do you know who my—?!"**
The kiss of cold metal against his throat silenced him.
Yoru's verdict was law here. A "tragic battlefield execution" for cowardice would be very convenient.
And dead men filed no appeals.