As the supply convoy trudged slowly forward, Aburame Tetsumaru performed a mental audit of his assets. Currently, he had five Broodmothers established within the Land of Fire and nine in the Land of Wind. However, the Land of Wind was too barren; the hives there could only sustain the Mining Zerg and lacked the resources for rapid mass production.
The five hives in the Land of Fire, however, were fully functional, churning out resources for Scythe-Mantises and Exploding Locusts. Setting the locusts aside as expendable ammunition, he currently had thirty-one mature Scythe-Mantises at his disposal. In a month, his production capacity would hit forty-six per month. His numbers were set to skyrocket, taking another step toward his ultimate goal: a legion of a million giant insects.
Six days later, Team 121 completed their escort mission. Tetsumaru led his three wilted disciples back to their camp for some much-needed rest.
"Sensei, when are we getting a combat mission? I can't take this anymore!" Inuzuka O shouted, his frustration boiling over.
"Twelve escort missions in a row and nothing happened! It's too boring!"
"This sucks! Even building bridges was better—at least we got to fight three waves of Suna ninjas!"
"Please, Sensei! Let's just pick a different mission! I'm begging you!"
The two boys took turns venting their grievances, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of complaints.
Nara Yoshito didn't speak. He was too lazy to even roll his eyes, choosing instead to stare blankly at his teacher. He, too, wanted a change. Initially, the lack of construction work had been a relief, but after two months of constant running on escort duty, the sheer monotony was starting to grate.
Tetsumaru shooed his disciples off to bed. The missions were assigned directly to him; he had no say in the matter.
We're all just cogs in the machine, he thought. Suck it up. That's the shinobi life.
Once the kids were gone, he stood alone in the silence for a moment before muttering under his breath, "Useless. Another total waste of space."
He was cursing the Commandant of the Land of Rivers base: Mitokado Homura.
The man was the polar opposite of Shimura Danzo. He was pathologically conservative, terrified of defeat, and refused to take even the slightest risk.
At the end of year 31, the White Fang had torn through the Land of Rivers, creating a massive strategic advantage. The Third Hokage had appointed Homura as the new Commandant to solidify those gains. Everyone understood the move: it was standard political maneuvering to bolster a teammate's prestige—as long as it wasn't Danzo, the rank-and-file didn't care.
However, around that same time, the Hidden Cloud had deployed the Two-Tails Jinchuriki to the Land of Grass. The Two-Tails was a force of nature, causing catastrophic damage and putting the front in a state of emergency. To counter the beast, the Hokage had reassigned Sakumo Hatake to the Grass theater.
With the White Fang gone, the Sand felt the mountain lifting off their shoulders. They launched a hasty counter-offensive and managed to score a few minor victories.
No one expected that these minor setbacks—which the average ninja saw as trivial—would paralyze Mitokado Homura. He didn't change the overall strategy, but his execution became cowardly and absurdly over-cautious. Every minor troop movement by the Sand, every tiny shift in the wind, would trigger a full Jonin council meeting for "research and discussion."
After a few rounds of this, everyone realized the truth: the Commandant simply didn't want to be held responsible for a potential loss.
Good grief, Tetsumaru thought. Why even have a Commandant?
Honestly, it made even the hot-headed Danzo look good by comparison. Well, almost. Danzo was still unacceptable. The problem with both elders was that they couldn't read a battlefield. Homura merely wasted opportunities and made everyone miserable; Danzo actively sent people to their deaths with his "tactical genius."
As a transmigrator who valued his own life above all else, Tetsumaru felt helpless against a stupid boss. He went to bed in a foul mood.
When is Orochimaru getting here? It's been a year.
Unknown to him, the pieces had already begun to move.
The next morning, Tetsumaru received an internal bulletin that made his spirits soar.
"Elder Mitokado Homura has been recalled to Konoha to oversee logistics."
Beautiful, he thought. Finally. He's gone!
"The 'Legendary Sannin' have forced a retreat from the 'Half-God' Hanzo and his Rain ninjas. The Land of Rain has officially exited the war."
Wait. The Sannin vs. Hanzo again? How many times was this now?
Tetsumaru dug out an old, weathered scroll. The character for "Secret" was etched into the casing, protected by an encryption seal designed to self-destruct if tampered with.
He broke the seal and unrolled the document. Right at the top, he found a line: "Sannin fight Hanzo, earn the title 'Legendary Sannin'." At the end of that entry were four "X" marks and a single "Check" mark.
Tetsumaru sighed, his expression slumping into one of dejection.
"The first time they 'fought' Hanzo was at the end of Year 31. Now it's Year 36. This 'Three Heroes vs. Lu Bu' act has played out six times. It's finally over."
He pulled out a pen, changed the last checkmark to an "X," and added a new entry.
"Year 36: Sixth encounter."
Which one was the actual canon event from his memories? At this rate, the "plot" from his past life was losing its value as a reference. It was becoming little more than a tool for post-event verification.
He sighed again, scanned the rest of the intel, closed the scroll, and reapplied the seal. He turned back to the bulletin.
"Orochimaru will be reassigned to the Land of Rivers as Vice Commandant."
Lord Orochimaru is coming. Excellent.
There was no announcement of a new Commandant. As Vice Commandant, Orochimaru would be the de facto supreme leader. The Land of Rivers front was finally going to get back on track.
The war had dragged on far too long. The consumption of resources was staggering, but the psychological toll on the frontline ninjas was worse.
Back on Earth, the U.S. military had researched this during WWII: a soldier's combat effectiveness and will to fight can only last about 90 days on the front line before plummeting toward a total nervous breakdown. In the Shinobi world, that concept didn't exist. "A ninja is one who endures"—that was the standard definition. But in reality, ninjas were still human. If you ground them in a meat-grinder for too long, they went insane.
In the current state of the world, rogue ninjas were everywhere. Even those who stayed with their villages were mostly lunatics. Rules didn't exist for the deranged. Some massacred civilians for fun; others committed arson or poisoning within their own villages; others secretly conducted human experimentation.
Looking at you, Orochimaru, Tetsumaru thought.
But as twisted as Orochimaru had become, Tetsumaru still preferred his leadership. They had a long-standing "working relationship," and more importantly, Orochimaru's record was solid. People believed in him.
Elders like Homura and Koharu were relics of a bygone era. Their styles were different, but the results were the same: endless stalemates. When a commander fails, the rank-and-file pay the price in blood. As long as a commander wins, people will follow even a madman. If a commander loses, no amount of "kindness" will save them from being despised.
If the war didn't end, the risk would keep mounting. Tetsumaru's hatred for the war was intense. Among the ninjas he knew—excluding the fresh graduates from the last year—war-weariness was the universal default.
The Konoha shinobi were desperate for a leader who could guide them to victory. They were desperate to go home.
With that weight of expectation in his heart, Tetsumaru woke his three subordinates. The morning's intel had included one more thing: Team 121 had been assigned another escort mission.
Bakayaro.
Eleven days later, a dust-covered Team 121 returned to camp with yet another supply convoy.
Tetsumaru told his disciples to get some sleep. Tomorrow, the Sannin would arrive with reinforcements from the Rain theater. Everyone would be there to welcome the new Vice Commandant.
The following day, amidst a sea of thunderous cheering, an army of 2,300 reinforcements led by Orochimaru and Tsunade arrived at the Land of Rivers base.
Walking alongside Orochimaru was a white-haired ninja. Orochimaru and Tsunade actually walked half a step behind him.
The moment the three Kage-level powerhouses appeared, the cheering reached a fever pitch. Everyone in the camp was screaming. Gradually, the reinforcements joined in, their voices synchronizing into a single, unified roar. They were all chanting one name.
"WHITE FANG!"
"WHITE FANG!"
"WHITE FANG!"
Tetsumaru and his disciples stood just below the main stage. On the stage stood the outgoing Homura and Utatane Koharu, who had traveled from Konoha specifically for this event.
As the army roared "White Fang," the expressions on the two elders' faces became... complicated.
Watching from below, Tetsumaru saw their forced smiles and understood exactly what was happening. In the hearts of the two elders, the welcoming ceremony they had so meticulously organized had just become a catastrophic failure.
A hero returns in glory, and eight thousand ninjas chant his name.
It was a grand scene, a spectacle that would stir the soul of any man. It was the supreme honor every general dreams of. Sakumo Hatake, clearly moved, raised both hands and waved to the crowd, his face beaming.
He didn't realize that this "glory" was actually a death sentence.
In the history of the world Tetsumaru came from, this scene had played out countless times, and it always ended in tragedy. From Zhou Yafu of the Han Dynasty to Nian Gengyao of the Qing, how many great generals saw their fortunes turn after such a display, eventually being forced to take their own lives?
Of course, some generals faced that persecution and said "no thanks"—men like Li Shimin, Zhao Kuangyin, or Zhu Di. They didn't walk into a grave; they walked onto a throne. Destiny, it seemed, was determined by character.
History was a mirror. Sakumo Hatake was a pure, straightforward ninja. Therefore, this spectacle was the direct cause of the White Fang's death.
Observing the subtle shifts in the elders' faces, Tetsumaru was certain: the "White Fang Incident" would be orchestrated by these two old fossils. They might not be the ones to pull the trigger—not because they didn't want to, but because they were too cowardly to take the heat.
Once, these two had been elite ninjas, chosen for the Second Hokage's guard. Then came that final, life-altering test in the woods. Hiruzen Sarutobi was the first to step forward and became the Hokage. Shimura Danzo was a step too slow and became the Shadow. Akimichi Torifu faded into obscurity; Uchiha Kagami died. And Homura and Koharu became "Elders"—assistants with titles but no real backbone.
They had stopped fighting long ago, hiding in the village to enjoy peace and power, eventually becoming utterly useless. Homura had tried to run a war front with "democratic decision-making." He wasn't a commander; he was a bottleneck.
Men like that don't have the guts to commit a murder themselves. They only provide the "suggestions."
The three commanders of the reinforcement army ascended the stage and waved, triggering wave after wave of applause.
Tetsumaru noticed Orochimaru was wearing a dark, knowing smirk. Who knew what he'd noticed or what he was plotting? Tsunade, surrounded by the cheers, seemed to be in a better mood; her smile was becoming genuine.
Jiraiya... Jiraiya wasn't there. Was he commanding the rear guard, or was he on a separate mission?
Before Tetsumaru could figure it out, the ceremony transitioned into a full-blown festival. The ninjas began lighting bonfires, hauling out massive barrels of sake and mountains of food. It was a feast.
Half of the luxury supplies Team 121 had spent weeks escorting had been for this moment. It was a calculated move to boost morale.
With the reinforcements, the total number of Konoha shinobi in the Land of Rivers hit eight thousand. But this army was exhausted, having fought for five years. They were desperate for a win and desperate for rest.
The "Grand Spectacle" of the arrival—the return of a hero, the synchronized chanting—was designed to stir their spirits. The feast that followed—the fruit, the meat, the wine—was meant to solidify that morale. The sheer luxury of the supplies would remind everyone of Konoha's wealth and power, restoring their faith in inevitable victory.
Around the bonfires, the ninjas were overjoyed. Between the firelight and the alcohol, every face was flushed red. The bitter smiles and weary sighs were gone, replaced by loud boasts of bravery and battle. They were talking about the final showdown with the Sand. They were talking about victory.
In an unnoticed corner, Tetsumaru swiped a bottle of sake. He popped the top, hesitated for a second, and then took a swig. He desperately needed something to take the edge off his nerves.
Tetsumaru was tall and built like a man, but the fifteen-year-old body's reaction to alcohol was stronger than he expected. As the liquid hit his throat, it triggered a violent urge to cough.
Drawing on his experience from his past life, he knew that coughing with a mouthful of booze would send it straight into his lungs. He gritted his teeth, suppressing the cough with everything he had. Ignoring the fact that his face was turning purple, he forced the sake down.
"Heh. Is this your first time drinking, Tetsumaru-kun?"
The alcohol hit his stomach and was absorbed almost instantly. That single mouthful was enough to make his head swim, and under the influence of the buzz, he felt himself finally start to relax.
He smiled and waved. "Lord Orochimaru. It's been a long time."
Orochimaru's smile was rare—it lacked its usual sinister edge. It was cold and clear, reminiscent of the man Tetsumaru had first met years ago. Orochimaru had also been drinking; there was a looseness to his posture.
Tetsumaru liked this version of Orochimaru. He wasn't just approachable; he possessed an undeniable, magnetic charm.
"Just as we anticipated," Orochimaru said. "We shall face the Sand together. Let us see which is harder to handle: the Iron Sand or the lethal poisons."
"Yes, my Lord. I've been looking forward to this day for nearly three years. I hope for a truly satisfying battle this time."
"As you wish. I, too, have been waiting for a long time." Orochimaru chuckled. "You gave me many surprises in the past, Tetsumaru-kun. I expect you won't disappoint me now."
"I will do my best."
The two of them raised their bottles and clinked them together. They both took a swig, and then both of them simultaneously burst into a fit of coughing.
Tetsumaru: ╰(＊°▽°＊)╯
Without a hint of embarrassment, Orochimaru wiped his mouth. "Ah. Today is actually my first time drinking as well. Did I not mention that?"
Tetsumaru blinked, then burst into laughter.
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