The Fourth Raikage sat back down with a slightly embarrassed expression. He picked up his teacup from the desk and, even though the liquid had already gone cold, took a long, self-satisfied sip as if it were the finest brew on earth.
"This tea isn't half bad. Where did we purchase it?" the Fourth Raikage asked, acting as if absolutely nothing awkward had just transpired.
"Ahem... it was purchased from the Yorozuya," the Kumogakure shinobi answered after a brief hesitation.
The Fourth Raikage blanked. ...What?
Ah, right. The merchant caravan from the Land of Tea mentioned earlier.
Holy hell!
It's a miracle those bastards didn't poison it!
Setting the cup down, the Fourth Raikage decided it was best to drop the sophisticated act; it fundamentally clashed with his persona anyway.
He locked his gaze onto Yugito and demanded, "What exactly happened to you?"
Yugito was currently in a wretched state, her body wrapped in extensive layers of bandages, looking thoroughly broken and battered.
In truth, her injuries were severe. The only reason she and B had delayed their return to Kumogakure until dawn was because Killer B had spent the night stabilizing her wounds while waiting for backup to secure their perimeter.
Furthermore, B's decision to abandon the hot pursuit of Kakuzu had been heavily influenced by these operational variables, rather than a mere inability to track the mercenary's scent profile.
Under those specific circumstances, Yugito was in no condition to be left unattended. Had B pursued the target solo, she would have been exposed to extreme vulnerability.
What if the enemy had engineered a classic diversionary tactic?
If B had sprinted off after Kakuzu, Biwa Jūzō could have easily executed a textbook counter-march, slipping back to abduct Yugito while she was unguarded. That would have resulted in an unmitigated catastrophe for the village. After all, Yugito was a Tailed Beast Jinchūriki, making her an asset of absolute paramount importance to Kumogakure.
Consequently, B had ultimately chosen to break off the chase, declining to perform even a perfunctory sweep of the sector.
"When the internal chaos erupted within the village, I happened to be returning to the primary checkpoint," Yugito explained. "That was when I intercepted Biwa Jūzō and Kakuzu of the Yorozuya attempting to breach the main gates. In the urgency of the moment, I moved to neutralize them but failed to contain their advance. I pursued them to the wilderness where I sustained these injuries, until B-sama arrived to extract me."
The Fourth Raikage's eyes flashed with validation. "Exactly as I deduced!"
"My initial tactical assessment was entirely correct. If B hadn't bridged the gap when he did, you would have been captured, and our village would be facing a crisis of catastrophic proportions!" the Raikage analyzed confidently.
Beside them, Killer B began gesturing wildly, breaking into an immediate rap cadence. "Wrong, yo! You got it wrong, Bro! The paradigm was complex, the details quite severe. Let me drop the bars so the truth becomes clear—yo, yo! A solitary tear, true love conquers all fear—"
The Fourth Raikage's face turned completely black. "B, shut your damn mouth! Either speak to me like a normal human being or get out of my sight. My temper is already red-lining today!"
B's expression stiffened with slight embarrassment. When it came to his older brother, he was genuinely obedient.
Straightening his posture, B dropped the persona and began a serious recap of the engagement.
It turned out that Yugito hadn't walked into a grand, pre-orchestrated ambush. Rather, the enemy had simply left a solitary operative behind to anchor the rear, and that lone defender had possessed enough raw lethality to nearly dismantle Yugito entirely. It was pure coincidence that B, having spotted the smoke from the Valley, had crossed paths with her on his way back.
Listening to the full debrief, the Fourth Raikage's expression shifted into a complex mask.
Had the enemy's primary strategic focus been the extraction of the Two-Tails, they never would have deployed a solitary operative to handle the rearguard. Furthermore, according to Yugito, the infiltrators were actively securing an intelligence scroll during their retreat.
That scroll... was undeniably the Heavenly Transfer Technique.
So, after all that sound and fury, this syndicate of mercenaries had turned Kumogakure completely upside down just to steal a document-delivery jutsu? Were these people entirely insane?
"No, wait. We've overlooked a critical detail," the Fourth Raikage suddenly interjected.
Without waiting for a response, he continued, "The Yorozuya is fundamentally a mercenary syndicate! This operation likely wasn't born out of their own strategic interests; they were contracted. If we analyze this through the lens of a paid contract, the brief becomes clear. Perhaps the client's parameters required them to acquire our Heavenly Transfer Technique while simultaneously inflicting maximum logistical disruption upon Kumogakure. Is that a viable hypothesis?"
The reporting shinobi pondered the thought before nodding quickly. "I believe that is highly probable, Lord Fourth!"
At this stage, it was best not to challenge the Raikage's logic; anyone could see the leader's executive dignity had already taken a massive beating today. Besides, the hypothesis actually sounded quite reasonable on paper.
The Fourth Raikage nodded in self-satisfaction, his features relaxing considerably as his mood improved. He attempted to analyze the variables further to dig out a deeper geopolitical conspiracy, but after mulling it over for a long moment, he achieved nothing but a growing headache. Ultimately, he decided to stop playing the grand strategist, as he simply wasn't built for intellectual gymnastics.
"Ahem. Very well," the Raikage barked, clearing his throat. "We will proceed along those analytical lines. Continue investigating the Yorozuya and unmasking the client behind this operation. Furthermore, issue an international decree: the Yorozuya syndicate is officially designated as a primary adversary of Kumogakure. We will settle this score with those bastards in due time!"
"Understood, Lord Fourth!" the shinobi responded instantly.
What followed was a tedious mountain of administrative updates and localized logistics. The Raikage spent the rest of the day buried in paperwork, and it wasn't until night fell that he finally managed to catch a moment of rest.
…
Meanwhile, deep within the confines of the Pure Land.
Diarmuid had entirely lost his frame of reference regarding time since arriving in this realm. His cognitive faculties remained perfectly active, and with no external anchor calling out to awaken his physical form, he had spent the duration exploring the vast expanse of the afterworld.
The Spirit Particles within this pale, featureless realm were extraordinarily active. This environment allowed Diarmuid's soul to passively undergo a continuous process of growth and reinforcement. Had he been able to completely quiet his mind and dedicate himself to refining his Spirit Transformation Jutsu here, the long-term benefits to his spiritual architecture would have been astronomical.
However, Diarmuid refrained from doing so. For the past period, he had simply drifted through the featureless, pale expanse of the Pure Land.
He possessed no sense of orientation; within the Pure Land, Cartesian coordinates simply did not exist. He walked entirely guided by a raw, foundational instinct.
He felt an unyielding, primal certainty that there was an asset or a presence hidden within this white void that he absolutely had to locate. It was a compulsion wired directly into his soul.
To be completely frank, it was an incredibly taxing psychological process.
The pale void of the Pure Land was populated by an infinite sea of catatonic souls, existing within a dimension where time itself had ground to an absolute halt. Amid this endless stasis, Diarmuid was the solitary anomaly, an entity continuously marching toward a destination and a path that even his own conscious mind could not define.
"So, you have arrived."
A sudden, abrupt voice resonated directly within the chambers of Diarmuid's consciousness.
Guided entirely by reflex, Diarmuid muttered an internal response, "Yeah."
Wait... what?!
The moment that syllable left his mind, a jolt of pure adrenaline shot through his spiritual form. Holy hell, that was close!
Without him even registering the shift, his cognitive processing speed had been subjected to an insidious degradation, slowly drifting toward the same absolute stasis that gripped the surrounding dead. Had his mind been operating at its standard thresholds, he never would have allowed himself to respond to an unknown voice on pure reflex.
This was a textbook symptom of cognitive decay.
The most terrifying aspect of the phenomenon was that he had remained entirely oblivious to the transition until now!
It was a chilling realization. If he hadn't experienced that sudden shock, he might have eventually lost his cognitive autonomy entirely, joining the infinite sea of catatonic souls wandering the void. If his consciousness ever degraded to that baseline stasis, he wasn't entirely certain if Orochimaru's tether would even be capable of pulling him back to the living world.
It was difficult to calculate. He had conducted numerous experiments regarding spiritual mechanics during his tenure, and external stimuli typically failed to restore autonomy to a soul that had achieved absolute stasis. Granted, Reanimation Jutsu operated on an entirely different metaphysical paradigm... but it was a variable too close to call.
As these analytical thoughts flashed through his mind, Diarmuid's consciousness cleared substantially. His brow furrowed as he scanned the blinding white environment around him.
The infinite sea of catatonic souls that had previously sat in disorganized arrays throughout his immediate vicinity had completely vanished. It was as if the moment that voice had resonated through the void, Diarmuid had been transitioned into an isolated pocket of the Pure Land entirely devoid of other spiritual presence.
"Who's speaking?" Diarmuid demanded after a brief silence.
To be completely honest, he felt exceptionally apprehensive. This wasn't the living world; this was the legendary Pure Land, a realm where ancient gods, legendary shinobi, and mythical monsters could easily manifest.
In this dimension, raw spiritual density was the sole metric of authority. While his own spiritual weight was undeniably monstrous compared to a standard human baseline, if he were to stumble into some primordial entity or an ancient monster, the outcome would be highly volatile.
However, his inquiry was met with a protracted, absolute silence. No response came.
The delay left Diarmuid deeply perplexed, wondering if the entire exchange had merely been a phantom hallucination born of his decaying cognition.
Then, the voice manifested once more.
"So, you have arrived."
"Yeah! I'm here. Who the hell are you anyway? Care to share a name? In the living world, they used to call me Alexander the Great!" Diarmuid blustered, deliberately adopting a loud, provocative tone.
Another immense period of time slipped past, though within this realm, time remained a completely abstract concept.
Just as Diarmuid's patience was beginning to red-line once more, the voice cut through the void.
"So, you have arrived."
"I am obviously here, you absolute lunatic! Do you have a screw loose somewhere?! Can you drop the broken record and change your vocabulary?!" Diarmuid barked out testily.
He was actively trying to map out his interlocutor's operational parameters. Insults, psychological baiting, or playing the sycophant were all standard diagnostic tools to see if he could force a deviation or a variable response from the entity.
Stuck listening to a repetitive phrase like "So, you have arrived" over and over again was enough to drive anyone up a wall.
Another heavy period of absolute stasis followed. But when the voice finally returned, it carried a tangible structural deviation.
"You are not Alexander the Great. Who are you?"
Diarmuid blinked. ...What a bizarre entity.
"Ahem. Fine. I am Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage of Konohagakure," Diarmuid declared with absolute, shameless effrontery, clearing his throat.
"..."
"Rodriguez Diarmuid... that is your true designation, is it not?"
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Diarmuid's features, his eyebrows shooting upward. This time, he chose to withhold a verbal response, remaining perfectly silent.
"Your life-force remains anchored to the living world. Consequently, you must vacate the Pure Land. This realm is highly volatile for the living; it is exclusively the domain of the deceased," the voice intoned flatly.
Diarmuid lapsed into a brief silence before inquiring, "I have yet to receive your identity, sir. How exactly did you acquire knowledge of my name?"
"We have crossed paths before," the voice answered after another long delay.
Diarmuid's brow furrowed. Could it be a prominent acquaintance of mine who passed away and is currently utilizing their spiritual autonomy to offer me a tactical warning? Talk about having impeccable social capital!
Look at that. Even after passing on to the afterlife, they still remember to look out for me and warn me of local environmental hazards!
My personal prestige is truly unparalleled. I can command respect even within the confines of the afterlife!
Amused by his own internal tangents, Diarmuid spoke into the void once more. "My apologies, but my memory processing centers are a bit degraded. Where exactly did our paths cross?"
Another long silence ensued. Diarmuid found himself entirely unhurried now; he deduced that the entity was likely operating under severe structural restrictions, preventing immediate transmission.
He simply had to wait for the processing cycle to clear.
Sure enough, after a prolonged interval, the voice resonated. "Konoha."
Ah, that explains it. No wonder my attempt to masquerade as Sarutobi Hiruzen failed so spectacularly; we actually crossed paths within Konoha.
Feeling a touch of embarrassment, Diarmuid pressed further. "And under what chronological parameters did this meeting occur?"
The voice lapsed into another immense delay. Diarmuid was beginning to realize that the entity's cognitive flow was severely compromised; it seemed to literally process and answer his questions on a rigid, sequential delay.
"The Nine-Tails," the voice muttered.
Perhaps the entity itself could no longer process standard chronological parameters? After all, this was the Pure Land.
Hearing those words, Diarmuid's expression stiffened as a sudden, shocking realization struck his mind. He asked in a hushed, tentative whisper, "...Minato? Is that you?"
Analyzing the variables, the pool of individuals who had lost their lives during the Night of the Nine-Tails within Konoha, possessed personal familiarity with him, and maintained a fundamentally positive relationship with his faction narrowed down to a single, definitive candidate.
It could only be Namikaze Minato.