Chapter 387: The Flames of Provocation
Two days later.
The jagged border of the Land of Lightning lay shrouded beneath a heavy, bruised sky. A cold, sparse drizzle fell across the craggy terrain, slicking the stone walls of a vital Kumogakure stronghold. Hundreds of elite shinobi garrisoned this fortress, their presence a silent warning to any trespassers.
"This miserable weather."
Idate, a Kumo guard stationed in the highest watchtower, dragged a calloused hand across his wet face. He let out a long, lazy yawn, his breath pluming in the chill air.
"I really have zero motivation today..."
He leaned his weight against the damp wooden railing of the tower. Despite his casual complaints, his dark eyes scanned the misty horizon with practiced sharpness. The Ninja World had been anything but peaceful lately. Konoha had swallowed both the Hidden Mist and Sunagakure whole. Their momentum was terrifying. Raikage-sama had already issued a maximum-security alert across all territories to guard against a sudden Konoha strike.
"Idate!"
A Kumo Chunin jogged up the wooden steps, his boots splashing in the puddles. He shoved a wrapped ration bundle into Idate's chest.
Idate grunted in thanks, peeling back the wrapper. He opened his mouth to take a bite.
A deafening roar shattered the quiet rain.
A towering pillar of crimson fire erupted from the main camp gates, painting the gloomy sky in violent shades of orange. The shockwave hit a fraction of a second later. A wall of superheated air, thick with shattered stone and burning splintered wood, slammed fiercely into the watchtower.
Idate dropped his rations, his lazy demeanor vanishing instantly. His pupils shrank to pinpricks.
"Enemy attack!" he roared, his voice cutting through the ringing in his ears.
Down below, the sprawling camp had already descended into absolute chaos.
"Who is it?"
"Identify yourselves! How dare you strike Kumo territory!"
Through the billowing smoke and roaring flames, countless dark silhouettes surged forward. They moved like phantoms, pouring out from the crags on both sides of the valley. They wore pitch-black stealth suits, their faces hidden behind porcelain masks painted with stark animal patterns.
Idate leaned over the railing, his breath catching in his throat. Illuminated by the raging fires below, the metallic glint of their forehead protectors caught his eye. The engraved spiral leaf symbol was unmistakable.
"Konoha Anbu!"
Idate's heart plummeted like a stone. How could they launch such a massive, brazen assault? Until now, the border conflicts had been nothing more than minor skirmishes and probing attacks.
The masked phantoms below offered no demands, no battle cries. Their silence was absolute, their opening moves purely lethal.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
"Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique!"
Dozens of massive fireballs and swarms of smaller, erratic flames tore across the rain-swept sky. The standardized, highly coordinated Fire Release combinations scorched the earth, incinerating tents and Kumo shinobi alike. This ruthless, hyper-efficient tactical style left no room for doubt. These were Konoha's elite killers.
"Damn it all!" a Kumo commander bellowed from the courtyard. "Counterattack! Form up and counterattack, now!"
Crackling blue arcs of electricity erupted across the camp as the Kumo shinobi activated their Lightning Release, charging forward to meet the invaders.
But the sheer volume of enemies was overwhelming. And worse, they fought with a bizarre, unnatural disregard for their own lives.
A Kumo swordsman drove his lightning-coated blade straight through an Anbu's chest. The masked figure collapsed, but instead of bleeding, the corpse rapidly dissolved. The flesh melted into a puddle of thick, white, viscous liquid that slowly seeped into the muddy earth.
Idate never witnessed this grotesque transformation. He lay slumped over the watchtower railing, a kunai buried deep in the back of his neck, his blood mixing with the cold rain.
On the far side of the burning camp, the earth began to tremble.
Deep within the shadows, the ground split open. Several heavy wooden coffins erupted from the dirt, standing upright like tombstones. With a heavy thud, the wooden lids crashed forward into the mud.
Figures stepped out from the dark interiors, their bodies radiating a suffocating, deathly aura and a terrifying density of Chakra.
The man leading the pack was a towering giant with wild orange hair. It was none other than Suikazan Fuguki, one of the legendary former Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist. Behind him stood a gallery of notorious rogues and elite killers from across the Ninja World, all individuals who had long since been buried.
Suikazan Fuguki cracked his stiff neck, the sound like snapping branches. He surveyed the chaotic, blood-soaked battlefield before him, a cruel, jagged grin splitting his face.
"What an interesting little mission we have here." He raised a massive hand, his voice booming over the roar of the flames. "Slaughter them all! Leave no one breathing!"
The introduction of these Edo Tensei powerhouses shattered whatever fragile resistance Kumogakure had left. These reanimated warriors felt no pain, their bodies knitting back together from fatal wounds in seconds. Their Chakra reserves were a bottomless well. They were absolute killing machines, tearing through the Kumo ranks with terrifying ease.
The Kumo defensive line collapsed entirely. Agonized screams, the deafening boom of explosive tags, and the sharp, tearing screech of Lightning Release blended into a horrific chorus of slaughter.
"Fall back!" a bloodied Jonin screamed, dragging a wounded comrade by the collar. "Get out of here! Inform Raikage-sama immediately!" He parried a lethal strike, his eyes wide with terror. "Konoha... Konoha has officially declared war on us!"
When the fires finally began to die down, the stronghold was nothing but a graveyard of ash and corpses. Only one Jonin and three Chunin managed to flee into the stormy night, their escape deliberately permitted by the unseen orchestrator of the massacre. Every other soul in the camp had been butchered.
Meanwhile, deep within the Land of Earth.
The Rocky Highlands housed a rare, highly valuable mineral vein, heavily fortified and guarded by Iwagakure's finest. But tonight, the impenetrable fortress had been transformed into a living hell.
Unlike the chaotic, explosive battlefield at the Kumo border, the slaughter here was quiet, methodical, and infinitely more desperate.
A single, mournful shriek tore through the dry night air.
An Iwa Jonin stared down at his own torso in absolute horror. Without warning, the space around his midsection had begun to warp, spiraling into a bizarre, localized vortex. The very fabric of reality twisted inward. The Jonin's body was violently wrenched along with it, his bones snapping and flesh tearing as he was wrung out like a wet rag. Blood sprayed across the jagged rocks as he collapsed in a mangled heap.
The surviving Iwa shinobi scrambled backward, their faces pale, their minds fractured by terror. They raised their kunai with trembling hands, staring at the lone figure advancing through the dust.
Obito, fully garbed in a standard Konoha uniform and flak jacket, walked forward with slow, measured steps.
Desperation took hold. Countless shuriken, volleys of explosive tags, and massive boulders conjured by Earth Release ninjutsu were hurled at the masked man. The attacks rained down in a relentless storm.
Yet, every single projectile, every blast of fire, and every crushing rock simply phased right through his body as if he were nothing but an illusion. He didn't even break his stride.
'Kamui...'
Obito stopped, his lone visible eye cold and dead beneath his mask. He looked down at the trembling Iwa shinobi cowering before him.
"Too weak," his voice rasped, dripping with disdain. "Did you honestly believe you could stop me?"
He slowly raised his right arm, extending his palm toward a shinobi attempting to crawl away over the rubble.
"Wood Release: Cutting Sprigs Technique!"
A sickening series of wet crunches echoed through the gorge. Countless jagged, razor-sharp wooden spikes violently erupted from inside the fleeing ninja's body. The wood tore through his organs, skin, and armor, impaling him from the inside out until he resembled a grotesque, bloody hedgehog. Crimson pooled rapidly across the dry earth.
"Wood... Wood Release?" an Iwa Chunin stammered, dropping his weapon.
That gruesome display completely shattered whatever psychological defense the survivors had left. Wood Release. The legendary, god-like power of the First Hokage, Senju Hashirama. The ultimate symbol of Konohagakure's supremacy.
"You... you are from Konoha?" the stronghold's commander, a towering man renowned for his Earth Release mastery, shouted. His voice cracked despite his stern facade. "Konoha... are you truly intending to wipe us all out?"
Beneath his mask, the corners of Obito's mouth curled upward into a cruel smirk. He made no effort to deny the accusation. Instead, he deliberately lowered his pitch, adopting a chilling, arrogant tone perfectly suited for a Konoha elite.
"If you want to blame someone," Obito said slowly, letting the words hang in the air, "blame yourselves for standing in Hokage-sama's path. That stubborn old fossil of a Tsuchikage doesn't know how to appreciate our mercy. Since he refuses to bow, do not blame Konoha for being ruthless."
The moment the final word left his lips, Obito's figure blurred. He vanished from his spot entirely.
A fraction of a second later, he materialized directly behind the towering commander. A cold, gloved palm pressed firmly against the back of the Iwa shinobi's skull.
"In your next life," Obito whispered into the man's ear, "pray you are born into a better village."
The spatial vortex flared to life again, instantly swallowing the commander's head and upper torso with a sickening crunch. His headless body crumpled to the dirt.
With their leader dead, the remaining morale in the stronghold evaporated. The defense completely collapsed.
Obito stood amidst the carnage, his hands resting casually at his sides as he watched the handful of survivors scramble frantically into the dark canyons. He made no move to pursue them. His objective was complete.
"Tell Ōnoki," Obito called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the wind. "Tell him to surrender Iwagakure to Konoha immediately. Otherwise... the next thing to disappear from the map will be your entire village."
Later that same night.
Two bloodstained, top-secret intelligence scrolls were rushed directly to the desks of the Fourth Raikage, Ay, and the Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki.
High in the peaks of Kumogakure, inside the Raikage's office.
A deafening crash shook the very foundations of the building. The massive, solid oak desk was instantly pulverized into sawdust and splinters by a single, devastating punch.
The Fourth Raikage, Ay, stood amidst the wreckage, his massive, muscular frame wracked with violent surges of blue lightning. His hair stood on end, making him look like a furious, cornered lion.
"Konoha!" he roared, the sheer volume of his voice rattling the glass windows. "This crosses every line! Uchiha Akira!"
He crushed the crumpled battle report in his massive fist, his eyes bloodshot and bulging with absolute rage.
"Slaughtering my subordinates! Wiping out my border strongholds! Good! Very good!" Ay's chest heaved as he glared at the wall, his killing intent suffocating the room. "Since that arrogant brat wants a war so badly, I will give him one! I will fight him until the bitter end!"
Ay whipped his head around, glaring at his trembling secretary standing frozen in the doorway.
"Issue the mobilization order immediately!" he bellowed. "Assemble every single combat-ready shinobi! Empty the reserves! This time, it is total war! Either Konoha burns to ash, or Kumogakure perishes trying!"
Miles away, deep within the stone walls of the Tsuchikage Building in Iwagakure.
Ōnoki sat suspended above his chair, staring down at the unrolled scroll in his hands. His deeply wrinkled face was pulled taut, his expression incredibly grim.
"Wood Release..."
The aged Tsuchikage muttered the words like a curse. His gnarled hands trembled slightly against the parchment.
Unlike the hot-blooded Raikage, Ōnoki's mind immediately raced to the terrifying geopolitical implications. What did the sudden reappearance of Wood Release signify? It meant that Konoha had somehow successfully replicated and mastered the god-like power of the First Hokage.
Ōnoki felt a cold sweat break out on his neck. He dared not follow that train of thought to its logical, apocalyptic conclusion. An unmatched, suffocating sense of crisis enveloped the old man—a fear he had not felt despite surviving three Great Ninja Wars.
"Grandpa..."
Kurotsuchi, standing quietly by the window, stepped forward. She looked at Ōnoki's ashen face, her usual brashness replaced by cautious concern.
"What... what do we do now? Are we truly going to war with Konoha?"
Ōnoki slowly closed his eyes, drawing in a long, ragged breath to steady his racing heart.
"We have no choice left, Kurotsuchi," he rasped, his voice heavy with the weight of his office. "They have already pressed the blade against our throats. If we do not fight back now, Iwagakure will be quietly erased from the map of the Ninja World."
Ōnoki floated higher into the air, his small, frail stature suddenly radiating an astonishing, oppressive aura of hardened resolve. He opened his eyes, a dangerous glint replacing the fear.
"Draft a message to the Raikage immediately," Ōnoki ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Tell that muscle-brained hothead that if he doesn't want his village to be annihilated, he will cooperate with us."
"And then..." Ōnoki's gaze hardened, blazing with absolute, unyielding killing intent. "We will march on Konoha together, and crush them before they can crush us!"
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