The Beijō River cut across the entire eastern region like a blade of cold steel. Broad, fast, and unforgiving, it was the largest river in the eastern Land of Fire. Tonight, its banks trembled with more noise than the current itself.
Birds scattered from the treeline as six thousand shinobi gathered in a cleared stretch of forest. Their metal forehead protectors glinted beneath the overcast sky, each one engraved with the swirling triangle emblem that marked the still-young symbol of Konoha. To anyone who knew that symbol, the sight was enough to steal the breath straight from their lungs.
This was the Eastern Campaign.
Konoha's forces had crossed the river without concealment and now faced the Wind Demon Clan entrenched at Daxiekou Pass, a natural fortress of cliffs and narrow ridges. Tension hung so thick it could've been cut with a kunai.
Inside the half-built camp, squads of shinobi crowded around a long table, arguing under lamplight. Sarutobi Sanbei sat at the head, his expression carved from stone.
"Has our messenger returned?" Sanbei's voice rumbled across the tent. "If the Wind Demon Clan is willing to surrender, the eastern region falls into our hands without a single wasted life."
Sanbei had once been an enemy, imprisoned after Raizen personally defeated him. But after the Sarutobi Clan surrendered, he'd pledged to Konoha and earned command of this entire campaign. His first move hadn't been to draw blood. Instead, he sent a small diplomatic squad to the Wind Demon Clan, hoping to make them see reason.
He'd miscalculated.
A jōnin in a green flak vest stepped forward, face tight. "Reporting. Our messenger returned… in pieces."
Sanbei's brow twitched. "Pieces?"
"The patriarch of the Wind Demon Clan sliced off his ear. Sent him back with a message: 'The Wind Demons will never bow to Konoha.'"
The tent simmered with outrage.
Sanbei's calm cracked just enough to reveal the killing intent beneath. In the Warring States era, you could spit at a ninja, stab a ninja, even poison a ninja. But you didn't mutilate a messenger. That was a deliberate slap to the face.
And to Konoha, faces mattered.
"Arrogant fools," Hyūga Tennin muttered as he stepped forward, white eyes faintly glowing. His chakra was sharp enough to prickle the skin around him. "If they reject mercy, then we hit them hard and fast. Their corpses can apologize for them."
The young Hyūga prodigy didn't raise his voice, but the entire tent felt the weight behind his words.
Sanbei nodded. "Exactly. We need an example. The Wind Demon Clan volunteered."
He turned to Sarutobi Sasuke. "Give everyone the current assessment."
"Yes." Sasuke unrolled a scroll. "The Wind Demon Clan is one of the largest families in the east. Total population around five thousand. Three thousand shinobi. They've sent two thousand to fortify Daxiekou Pass."
A low scoff rolled through the tent.
"Two thousand?" someone muttered. "That's barely a warmup."
Sanbei slammed a palm on the table. "Do not underestimate them. They fight from a nearly impregnable chokepoint. If we get sloppy, the cliff will drink more of our blood than they will."
Silence returned instantly, disciplined and tight.
"Good. Here are the assignments."
Sanbei pointed across the map.
"Sarutobi Sasuke. You'll assemble six hundred shinobi. Half as camp security. Half as perimeter patrols extending five kilometers out. Any movement, any noise, any flicker of chakra, you report instantly."
"Yes!"
"Tennin." Sanbei's gaze shifted. "Your Byakugan gives us reach no scout team can match. You'll lead the vanguard. Pick a hundred shinobi and move into Daxiekou. Map every ledge, every chakra signature, every hideout. No surprises."
Tennin bowed, sharp and precise. "Understood."
"Shimura Kina!" Sanbei barked. "You're in charge of logistics. One thousand shinobi. Keep supplies running, keep the lines steady, and make damn sure the med-nin get everything they need."
"Yes, commander!"
"And the rest…" Sanbei straightened, voice turning cold. "You're with me. We prepare for the decisive battle."
Orders surged outward like ripples from a thrown kunai. Within minutes, the tent emptied, leaving only the scratching of map markers and the rustle of armor as squads moved to their tasks.
Hyūga Tennin, already armored and ready, nodded once to Sanbei and vanished into the night with his hundred. Their goal was simple, brutal, and inevitable:
Find the Wind Demons.
Learn their weaknesses.
Carve open the pass so Konoha could push through.
Meanwhile, far across the Beijō River, the Wind Demon Clan had already noticed Konoha's movements. They weren't fools. They weren't blind. They had their own scouts, their own fears, their own pride.
Two vanguard forces moved simultaneously.
One from Konoha toward Daxiekou.
One from the pass down toward the Beijō River.
The collision point was guaranteed.
And when scouts from two warring clans met in the Warring States era, only one thing ever followed.
Blood.