Kirigakure.
Uchiha Fugaku sat in silence, eyes locked on the latest battle report.
The Tang Country's border was always a mess — cult skirmishes, rogue shinobi, small villages fighting for scraps. But lately, the reports from Kirigakure had grown unnerving. Their movements were sparse, almost invisible… yet every strike landed with surgical precision. And more often than not, it was the Uchiha who ended up as corpses.
Even the parents of one of their promising prodigies had been killed in the Mist's shadowy ambushes.
Now, new intelligence spoke of something worse: a large Kirigakure force had mobilized. Just days ago, an Uchiha squad had clashed with a team of Mist jōnin — and vanished without a trace.
"They haven't been found since," Fugaku muttered, fingers tightening on the scroll.
Yashiro, standing beside him, looked grim. "If they circle around and strike us from the rear, this entire front collapses. Tang isn't Fire Country — if our stronghold here falls, we're finished."
This outpost wasn't just holding Konoha's line. It carried the bulk of the Uchiha clan's strength. The elders had entrusted Fugaku to keep it secure, but the unspoken truth was clear: this was also his test. If he showed the power of an elite jōnin, his position as future clan head would be cemented.
"Then let's take the mission," Fugaku said flatly. His voice carried no doubt, but deep down he knew: he wasn't recognized as elite yet. All he commanded here were his clansmen — no Sarutobi or Shimura shinobi would answer to him.
At his side stood Yashiro and another silent Uchiha, Shin. Together, the three walked to the mission camp.
The camp was the beating heart of the outpost: shinobi rushing in and out, delivering reports, grabbing new assignments. It was more factory than headquarters, churning endlessly for one thing — intelligence. No mercenary work, no outside commissions; every mission here came straight from Konoha.
They queued quickly, and at the end of the line, an old man shuffled through scrolls.
Sarutobi Fuji. Once an elite jōnin of the First Great Ninja War, now gray and stooped, his battlefield edge long dulled. Still, he was the commander of this outpost. Konoha's resources were stretched so thin they had even stationed relics like him here.
Fugaku didn't waste words. "Sarutobi-jōnin. I need the mission report from five days ago."
"Five days…" Fuji frowned, then tugged free a scroll. "That mission remains incomplete. We've already sent teams after it — many have been lost." His sigh was heavy. "We're short-handed. That's why Uchiha was ordered here."
"Leave it to us," Fugaku replied.
Fuji gave him a long look. "Uchiha Fugaku… young, but promising. Very well." He handed over the scroll. "Your clan shelters you, but if you're here now, they must believe you're ready. Then prove it. And be quick — Kirigakure's movements suggest they're preparing to enter the war outright."
Fugaku nodded, then led his men out. The atmosphere grew heavier with every step.
Their first stop was near a natural hot spring, the last reported site of the missing squad. But the land bore no scars of battle. No shattered trees, no scorched earth — only dried blood on the ground.
"Two hours passed before the sentries even realized something was wrong," Fugaku said, crouching low.
All three activated their Sharingan, scanning the area. Nothing. No chakra residue.
"No signs of jutsu," Shin muttered.
"At least it wasn't the Seven Ninja Swordsmen," Yashiro said, exhaling. "If it were them, even an elite jōnin wouldn't have survived."
They pressed on.
The second location wasn't far — a hot spring inn. Yashiro gestured toward it. "That's where the pursuit team was killed."
"Bold of them to strike so close," Fugaku muttered. His gut tightened. "But speculation won't help. We need intel."
They slipped inside. Doors locked, windows shuttered — but barriers meant nothing to shinobi. One leap carried them over.
The silence inside was suffocating. They scoured the building and regrouped in the warehouse.
There, seven bodies hung like broken puppets, swaying gently in the draft.
All three fell quiet.
"They were silenced…" Shin's voice was low.
"But the report didn't mention this," Fugaku realized. His fists clenched. That could mean only one thing.
"They came back," Yashiro said flatly.
The Mist-nin hadn't just struck once and vanished. They'd returned to erase evidence — and leave a message.
Fugaku's jaw tightened. He had never truly experienced war before. Now, staring at his slaughtered comrades, he understood its cruelty in full.
"Next site," he said at last.
The last place their allies had been seen. The third grave.
Konoha had lost three squads here. And the night was only just beginning.