Two squads of Konoha ANBU had entered the Land of Waves. After two months, all their supplies were exhausted.
Without military rations, finding food became difficult—and risky, as it could expose their position.
Without ninja tools, many ANBU had to scavenge the battlefield carefully, often falling into traps hidden in enemy tool pouches.
The Uzumaki shinobi, however, had no such worries. Uzushio Village had long protected the nobles of the Land of Whirlpools and could always replenish supplies from them.
To pressure the Uzumaki more effectively, Konoha needed to cut off their supply lines and make the nobles realize that helping the Uzumaki now was dangerous—deadly even.
Yorimitsu's current mission target was a noble town chief—one of the staunchest supporters of Uzushio's rule.
He didn't tell Matsutori where they were headed or what they were going to do.
ANBU operatives only needed to execute orders—not think.
Now, having taken command, Yorimitsu himself had become the kind of superior who sacrificed subordinates without hesitation.
The two advanced toward their target town. They didn't seek speed—only safety and survival.
"How old are you, Matsutori?"
"Captain Fox, I'm twelve this year."
He had just graduated—one of the lucky few to become a chūnin after the village lowered its promotion standards.
Not sure what to talk about, Yorimitsu asked, "What's your dream?"
"My dream?" Matsutori answered, "My dream is to be like Lord White Fang—completing missions in ANBU and becoming the strongest ninja!"
Konoha's White Fang was a legend of the ANBU—growing stronger through countless battles, honing his swordsmanship until he reached Kage level.
There were three ways for a Konoha shinobi to learn ninjutsu:
First, through family inheritance.
Top-level jutsu and secret arts were like infectious diseases—passed down only through blood, body, and kinship.
White Fang's swordsmanship was one such inheritance.
Second, by earning the trust of a squad leader or mentor willing to teach them.
Finding a compatible teacher or captain was rare—almost a miracle.
Third, by joining ANBU and making great contributions to the village.
That path relied on luck—luck to survive.
Yet it was also the most "fair," and that sense of fairness was part of why ANBU remained loyal to Konoha.
"Good luck, Matsutori. One day, you'll be a ninja like Lord White Fang."
From afar, Yorimitsu carefully observed the town through his binoculars.
The settlement had around a thousand households, enclosed by wooden walls. Every few dozen meters stood a watchtower manned by the town's samurai guards.
Ordinary samurai trained their bodies daily; a genin would still need several moves to take one down.
Elite samurai could refine chakra to strengthen their bodies—roughly equivalent to genin-level ninjas.
Beyond that were true samurai elites, the kind trained only in the Land of Iron.
These men were cheap and plentiful.
Yorimitsu and Matsutori found a blind spot in the samurai's patrol routes and quietly slipped inside the town.
The settlement was divided into an outer city and an inner city—the latter being where the noble lord lived and governed.
Bustling nightlife was a luxury reserved for capitals like Kyoto; small towns enforced strict curfews for security.
The streets were empty—everyone was indoors.
Commoners could be killed by shinobi from the ninja villages—or by wandering rogue ninjas.
Thus, they clung to their local nobles, hoping their protection and hired ninja would keep the peace.
Yorimitsu and Matsutori made it near the inner city.
"Careful!"
A patrol appeared from the side. Yorimitsu immediately slipped into an alley, Matsutori following right behind.
They hid behind a few trash bins until the patrol passed.
Once the coast was clear, Yorimitsu whispered, "Be extra careful now. Look for a weak spot in the defenses. We'll scale the inner wall."
The inner city was guarded just like the outer one—with watchtowers and patrolling samurai.
After climbing over, they pressed themselves flat against the ground, hugging the shadow of a building as they moved along its base.
Ten minutes later, they reached the brightest area.
Ahead was the noble's study.
Two figures stood inside, silhouetted against the window—but it was impossible to tell which was the town chief.
Suddenly, the window burst open and someone leapt out—an Uzumaki ninja!
The noble froze by the window, shocked as the Uzumaki suddenly stopped talking and darted toward a nearby building.
Two more Uzumaki appeared elsewhere, with samurai rushing over in response.
The whizzing of kunai and the clatter of armor filled the air, making Matsutori's heart race.
Seeing his captain's retreat signal, he turned to flee—only to realize they had run into a full Uzumaki squad.
Kunai struck the walls around him—thunk, thunk!
One pierced his shoulder. Another hit his foot.
Just as he was about to call out for help, he saw his captain—Fox—get struck by a kunai and vanish into a puff of white smoke.
What?!
A shadow clone?!
When?!
Matsutori suddenly remembered that moment when they had infiltrated the inner city—when his captain briefly disappeared, then appeared behind a different trash bin.
A bitter smile crossed his face. He recalled what their academy instructor had once said about substitution jutsu:
"You replace yourself with a log, hide, and strike when your enemy loses sight of you."
The key was to create or exploit a momentary blind spot.
A shadow clone—wasn't that just a higher form of substitution?
Fox Captain had turned all his cunning and trickery onto himself—using his own "life" and clone alike as decoys to fool the enemy.
Matsutori looked toward the noble.
He had suspected from the start that their mission was to assassinate the noble of this town.
Sure enough—behind the window, Fox Captain somehow appeared right behind the noble, kunai raised.
He'd used a flawless infiltration technique.
All the Uzumaki and samurai were focused on Matsutori. The captain's timing was perfect.
He and the noble would die in the same second.
When he had first joined ANBU, Matsutori thought he'd been chosen for his talents—that he was destined for greatness.
But after only a few months, he learned the truth: he was just a tool.
That very morning, his captain had wished him luck, told him he'd one day become a hero like White Fang.
Now, for the sake of the mission, he was dying in the trap his captain had set.
So this was ANBU, huh?
An Uzumaki ninja crouched beside his corpse and sliced open his mask with a kunai.
Underneath was a young face, twisted with resentment—resentment toward what, no one knew.
Yorimitsu had ordered Matsutori to infiltrate the inner city, without ever telling him the true objective.
Even if Uzushio took the body, they'd gain nothing—no secrets, no proof.
"Not good! The town chief is dead!"
The panicked shout came from one of the samurai. The Uzumaki turned, horrified, and saw the noble's lifeless body slumped over the window ledge—
a kunai embedded in the back of his neck.
"Damn it!"
The Uzumaki cursed. Their freshly forged alliance—and all their efforts—had just gone up in smoke.