Hidden Mist reinforcements, carrying orders from the higher-ups, finally arrived in the Land of Whirlpools.
Though Suikazan Fuguki was a cunning commander, even he could not alter the grand strategy. Orders stamped with the seal of the Mizukage carried weight heavier than steel.
Besides, Fuguki had no desire to resist them. If Mist failed against Konoha, the responsibility would be shared by those who issued the commands, sparing him from excessive blame.
Thus, the elite Mist forces hunkered down. They shifted to guerrilla warfare and prolonged skirmishes, bleeding Konoha slowly with attrition.
Across the battlefield, Konoha's own master and disciple, Uchiha Gen and Orochimaru, had no interest in breaking the stalemate either.
For Gen, this battlefield had become a structured hunting ground. Every day, he harvested souls with mechanical efficiency.
For Orochimaru, the lull meant steady supplies of research material and uninterrupted time to dive into his experiments.
When the tides of war stagnated, daily tasks became predictable, almost routine. To a man of Gen's station, it felt less like a battlefield and more like office work. Complete the day's harvest, return to camp, and then free time.
That night, lying on his cot, Uchiha Gen's thoughts drifted toward Obito. The scheme that had humiliated him still burned in his chest. Swallow my anger? Never. Retaliation is the only path.
Yet retaliation required opportunity, and Obito was a ghost. If he wished to remain unseen, none could find him. Without a target to strike, Gen could only consider indirect methods.
Spreading Obito's true identity? Futile. Obito had 'died' a hero of both Uchiha and Konoha. To accuse him without irrefutable evidence would be dismissed as slander. Worse, it would trigger investigations from every angle, Konoha's command, the Uchiha clan, even Kakashi himself.
The risk far outweighed the reward.
He considered using his White zetsu-series Conscience Envoys to spread rumors. With their stealth and shape-shifting, they were ideal for infiltrating.
But again, the cost loomed large. Whispered lies about a dead hero would attract swift detection. Konoha's shinobi would investigate relentlessly, forcing him to fight both the rumor's slow spread and their pursuit. It would consume time, resources, and souls, all for the petty satisfaction of annoyance.
Gen scoffed inwardly. Pointless. I don't waste effort on acts that harm others without benefiting myself.
Another thought arose; infiltrating Hidden Mist directly with his Spirit Transformation Technique, freeing Yagura and the Three-Tails from genjutsu. That might expose Obito and shatter his grip.
But again, why? If Yagura regained his will, he would likely retreat to govern and rebuild his battered village. Mist had bled heavily already, and with slim chances of victory, withdrawal would be the logical choice.
And if Mist retreated, this rich hunting ground would vanish. Kumogakure's front was an option, but transferring there was far from simple. Besides, without Mist, even Kumo would find sustaining the war difficult.
Ironically, Obito's current control of Yagura aligned with Gen's interests. Later, when the time was ripe, freeing the Mizukage might prove useful but not yet.
For now, Gen needed another path to vengeance.
He toyed with ideas, converting every White Zetsu around the Konoha and Mist camps into Conscience Envoys was a start, but insufficient. He needed something sharper, something that would bite.
Then, lying on his bed, his eyes lit with inspiration.
Obito, in his role as Mizukage's shadow, had plans to recruit for Akatsuki. He was instrumental in the eventual defections of Biwa Jūzō and Hoshigaki Kisame.
And according to the Book of Formations, Obito regarded Suikazan Fuguki with particular interest.
Most likely, Fuguki was Obito's intended first recruit. But fate had intervened; Kisame killed his master, seized Samehada, and earned Obito's trust.
Gen's lips curled. Then what if I bend fate to my will?
If he subdued Fuguki now, then drew in Jūzō and Kisame through him, he would plant not one but three spies inside Akatsuki. Imagine Obito's fury when his chosen allies turned out to be traitors. The thought of him vomiting blood in rage was exquisite.
More importantly, the plan carried real gain. Fuguki's cooperation would ease Gen's soul-harvesting, open the way to Jūzō and Kisame, and secure leverage even after Mist's eventual retreat.
It was a long-term investment with immediate payoffs.
If Fuguki resisted? All the better, an elite jōnin's soul was still a worthy prize.
The only concern was whether Mist would retreat if their commander fell. Gen considered it, then dismissed the fear. Fuguki's strength was respectable, but Mist had other elite jōnin.
Obito would simply replace him with another puppet. The war would grind on.
Decision made, Gen rose. Sitting cross-legged, his hands formed seals, and half his soul emerged from his crown—translucent, luminous, sharp with intent.
His spectral senses spread across the Konoha camp. Only two disturbances, White Zetsu agents.
A cold smile curved his lips. "Heh. Seems Obito isn't watching me so closely anymore."
He sank underground, drifting into a tent among the chūnin quarters. Inside lurked a disguised White Zetsu. Gen's spirit pierced it instantly, snuffing it out. Then he borrowed its burrowing ability, slipping beyond the camp unnoticed.
The process was familiar. Just as he had with Shiroichi and the others, he reshaped the husks into loyal Conscience Envoys. Inside the camp, outside the perimeter, every trace of White Zetsu was purged and repurposed.
When Konoha's side was secure, he turned toward the Mist's camp.
Like Konoha's, it too had watchers within and without. Gen dispatched the external spies first, then claimed the body of a Mist sentry.
From there, entry was effortless. The layered barriers of Mist's barrier squad, painstakingly erected, didn't stir. After all, the chakra flowing through their seals belonged to one of their own.
This was the brilliance of possession. By inscribing his Flying Thunder God seal with the host's chakra, Gen could later bring his true body in silently.
To the great shinobi villages, their barriers became nothing more than paper screens.
Not as elegant as Obito's Kamui, perhaps, but just as effective.
Inside, he repeated the process; locating the White Zetsu agents hidden within and erasing them, one by one.
When at last the camp lay quiet, Gen's soul drifted purposefully through the shadows. He stopped before the tent of Fuguki.
The corners of his mouth lifted.
"Time to begin."