Ryuzen hadn't even left the training hall when ANBU in porcelain masks appeared at his side. No words were exchanged, only a sealed scroll handed to him with the Hokage's mark.
Mission orders.
By midday, he was standing in front of Hiruzen Sarutobi in the Hokage's office. The old man's pipe smoke curled between them like a veil.
"This isn't just a mission," Hiruzen said, voice lower than usual. "It's a message. You'll be traveling beyond Fire Country's northern border. Intelligence reports suggest Iwa has been moving troops—too carefully, too quietly. I need confirmation."
His gaze sharpened.
"And Ryuzen—don't hold back. Bring me the truth, no matter the cost."
The borderlands of Fire Country were a different world from Konoha's warmth. The air was thin, the forests harsh, and every step carried the weight of unseen eyes. Ryuzen moved like a shadow, his chakra suppressed to near nothing.
By nightfall, he had reached the cliffs overlooking enemy territory. He crouched among jagged rocks, eyes flicking open into crimson.
The Sharingan.
The world sharpened. Every detail—every distant flicker of torchlight, every subtle shift of leaves—spoke to him like words on a page.
Below, an Iwa encampment sprawled across the valley. Not a simple patrol post—this was a staging ground. Supply wagons. Barracks. Training grounds where shinobi sparred even under the night sky.
Ryuzen's pulse slowed. He counted. Measured. The pattern of guard rotations. The presence of jōnin with chakra dense as boulders. And there, at the heart of it—a command tent, its seal marked with the insignia of Iwa's Second Division.
A forward army. Ready to strike.
He moved closer. Not recklessly—precisely. His Sharingan mapped the blind spots between torches, the rhythm of footsteps, the half-second openings that no ordinary shinobi could exploit. To them, it would look like the night was empty.
To him, it was a path laid bare.
Slipping behind a sentry, his kunai flashed once, clean, silent. He caught the body before it hit the dirt, easing it into shadow. His eyes glowed faintly red as he scanned through the thin fabric of the command tent.
Inside, stone-faced Iwa officers hunched over maps. One name repeated again and again.
"Kitsuchi."
The son of Ōnoki. Already commanding a division.
Ryuzen's jaw tightened. This wasn't just reconnaissance—it was proof the Third War had already begun in the dark, weeks before the first battle would be declared.
But information was only half the mission. The other half was survival.
The moment his Sharingan caught the faintest shimmer of chakra threads in the air, he knew he'd been spotted. Iwa's sensory squad.
"Who's there!?"
Torches flared. Alarms rang. The camp erupted like a nest of hornets.
Ryuzen didn't run. He moved. His body flowed between kunai strikes, eyes predicting each attack before it was launched. A spear of earth erupted from the ground—he was already in the air. Shuriken whistled through the night—his blade deflected them with impossible timing.
One Iwa jōnin charged, chakra spiking.
"Earth Release: Rock Spear Barrage!"
The earth itself shot upward in deadly pillars.
Ryuzen's eyes spun faster. His body blurred, each movement a step ahead of inevitability. His kunai met the jōnin's throat before the final spear formed.
Blood sprayed. Silence followed.
And then the camp roared again.
Ryuzen didn't linger. He had what he came for. With the Sharingan guiding him, he slipped into the forest, the sound of pursuit echoing behind him. Explosions lit the night. Arrows rained. But none touched him.
By the time dawn painted the sky, he was already across the border, Konoha's forests swallowing him whole.
That evening, he stood once more in the Hokage's office, mission scroll in hand. Hiruzen read in silence, his expression grim.
"So it begins," the Hokage murmured. "The storm we feared is already moving. You've done well, Ryuzen. But know this—your report will not silence the council. It will only make them watch you more closely."
Ryuzen said nothing. He simply turned to leave, Sharingan flickering faintly under his lashes.
They could watch all they wanted.
He had seen the battlefield that awaited them.
And he intended to decide how it ended.
Author note
This chapter marks a turning point—Ryuzen is no longer just a mystery inside Konoha's walls; he's now a force moving in the shadows of the coming war. His first true mission shows both his genius and the danger he represents, not only to enemies but to those within his own village who fear his power. From here, the political intrigue in Konoha and the flames of the Third Shinobi War will collide. The storm is no longer on the horizon—it has already begun.