"If that's the case," Raizen said, his voice calm but absolute, "then Hyūga Tennin will serve as commander of the Northern Expedition. Objective: eliminate all hostile ninja clans in the northern Fire Country. Estimated deployment — six thousand."
Sarutobi Keigo gave a slight nod, and the council fell into silence. The tension in the air was heavier than chakra smoke.
Raizen stood, cloak brushing the tatami.
"Tennin. This campaign isn't just another raid. It's Konoha's first move since its founding. We win, or we're finished."
"Understood, Raizen-sama," Tennin replied, bowing deeply.
The meeting dissolved. Only Raizen and Tennin remained.
"The north may look weak," Raizen said quietly, "but twelve clans make up that region — over ten thousand shinobi combined. Don't underestimate desperation."
Tennin nodded, but Raizen's gaze didn't soften.
"You'll lead openly," Raizen continued. "I'll provide support... quietly. You'll know when it happens."
"Yes, my lord."
When Tennin left, the orders were sealed and transmitted across Konoha within the hour.
By sunrise, the Northern Expedition Proclamation was posted on every wall:
"The northern ninja clans have defied the Daimyō's laws, violated the Sixteen Articles of Peace, and brought suffering to the people.
By order of the Daimyō and under the authority of Konoha, a punitive expedition shall commence.
Those who repent and surrender will be accepted into the new order.
Those who resist will face annihilation."
Konoha erupted.
To the common shinobi, this was the moment the village stepped from survival to dominance.
To the clan heads, it was a message written in blood — Konoha had no intention of staying a "village." It would become the village.
If the northern Fire Country fell, Konoha's control would stretch from the heartlands to the frostline. Two regions unified under one banner — a foundation for empire.
Outside Konoha, the reaction was panic.
Some clans cursed the "wolf ambitions" of Raizen and his council.
Others quietly began preparing surrender terms.
The smaller families understood what was coming. If Konoha's advance was unstoppable, resistance meant extinction.
The greater clans waited and watched, whispering to each other in dim halls, hoping someone else would draw first blood.
In the north, the Tōjū Clan felt the ground shifting beneath them. They sent envoys south to the Uchiha and Senju, begging for help — warning them that if Konoha devoured the north, the next fire would burn their borders.
But neither answered.
The Uchiha and Senju were locked in another brutal cycle of war, their hatred boiling higher with each battle. Madara and Hashirama, the young heirs of legend, were already leading from the front.
And that chaos — that perfect storm — was exactly what Raizen had waited for.
With the south consumed by Uchiha-Senju war and the east burning from Kurama and Yuechi skirmishes, only the north and west remained free to take.
A gamble, sure. But Raizen wasn't new to those.
When the Tōjū envoys were turned away by every major clan, their desperation deepened.
No one wanted to provoke Konoha now — not with its fifty thousand civilians, ten thousand shinobi, and the Daimyō's blessing behind it.
The great clans chose silence.
The Tōjū chose rage.
And in November, Hyūga Tennin's army — six thousand strong — marched from Konoha beneath the rising mist.
On November 7, they reached the northern border and split into four battalions. Their first target: the Mizushin Clan — six hundred strong, a minor family guarding the rivers.
Outnumbered and terrified, the Mizushin surrendered immediately.
One clan down. Eleven to go.
The surrender sent ripples across the north. For the first time, Konoha's banners flew beyond its own forests.
But the Tōjū wouldn't kneel. They rallied three mid-level clans and two small ones — six houses in total, nearly six thousand shinobi — and fortified themselves in the Antamon Mountains, determined to block Tennin's advance.
Tennin didn't flinch.
If anything, he smiled.
"Six clans out of twelve? That means the other six haven't chosen a side."
He rode to each one personally, bowing where needed, threatening where required. Raizen's ghost hung behind every word — quiet, calculating, terrifying.
By November 20, the last five northern clans surrendered to Konoha without a single drawn blade.
Half the Land of Fire had fallen under Konoha's influence before winter.
And the army that left Konoha six thousand strong returned ten thousand strong — swollen by northern recruits eager to prove their new loyalty.
The Tōjū Alliance trembled.
Konoha's banner now shadowed their mountains.
The wolf had begun its feast.