Chapter 16: The Wall of Shattered Dreams
The Northern Fortress was less of a stronghold and more of a scar.
It was a jagged line of stone and desperation cutting across the desert, separating the endless sands of the Land of Wind from the rolling, jagged hills of the Land of Earth. This was where careers came to die, and where the "Narrow Road" ended in a wall that had seen more blood than rain in the last fifty years.
Escorting supplies here was a Rank C mission that felt like a Rank A gamble.
(Internal Monologue: No spoils. No glory. Just dust, heat, and the constant feeling that an Iwagakure scout is lining up a killing blow from a mile away. If I wanted to be a martyr for a pile of dry rations, I would have joined the temple.)
"Lord Fugi, I regret to inform you that Senior Baki does not agree with your plan."
Inside the commander's quarters, Oto Kaze stood with his head bowed. Opposite him sat Fugi, the man who held the keys to the north—and the leader of the largest political faction outside the Kazekage's control.
Fugi's robes were plain, elegant, and devoid of the gold trim that Rasa favored. He looked like a man made of flint.
"Is that so?" Fugi's voice was like grinding stones. "Has Baki also been bought? Rasa is clever, entrusting his three children to him. A golden leash is still a leash."
"Lord Baki and the Fourth Kazekage are not indecisive," Oto Kaze replied carefully, choosing every word as if walking through a minefield. "Their vision simply... differs from yours."
Fugi turned his gaze to the window, staring out at the invisible border.
"I've heard rumors," Fugi murmured. "Even up here, the wind carries whispers of Rasa dealing with mysterious strangers. Do you know of this?"
Oto Kaze shook his head. "Neither the Kazekage nor Senior Baki has mentioned such things."
(Internal Monologue: Mysterious strangers... Orochimaru. The fuse is already lit, and these old men are still arguing about who gets to hold the match.)
"Perhaps the time they spoke of has arrived," Fugi said, his eyes narrowing. "A fight for the survival of the Village. Go, Oto Kaze. Tell them I obey my orders. For now."
Outside on the parapet, the noon sun was a physical weight.
I leaned against the stone, letting the hot wind whistle through my gear. Next to me, Qian was feigning sleep on a stone stool, her breathing too rhythmic to be real. Yome stood on the very edge of the wall, her eyes wide, scanning the horizon.
"So boring," I complained, letting out a long yawn. "I could be halfway through assembling my new puppet joints right now. Instead, I'm watching sand move."
"Stay alert, Daimaru," Yome snapped without looking back. "If an Iwa infiltration team slips past because you were napping, it won't be boring. It'll be a funeral."
"I'm alert. I'm just efficiently bored," I retorted. "And you should rest those eyes, Yome. Staring at the horizon for ten hours a day is how you get nearsighted. Your brain can't process that much visual data. That's probably why you're so short—all your growth energy is going to your retinas."
Yome jumped down, her face flushed with annoyance. "I am not getting nearsighted! It's training, you idiot. If I can't process the details, I'm useless as a scout."
(Internal Monologue: She's defensive. Good. It means she's still got some fire left after three weeks of this desert hell.)
"Whatever you say, Short-stack," I said, waving an indifferent hand. "By the way, did Shion actually thank you before we left? He seemed... unusually intense."
Yome's expression softened. "He told me to thank you properly. He said what you did for him was a lifelong favor."
"A favor? I just gave him a recommendation. Miss Saya already paid me in high-grade medicine. I'm a businessman, Yome, not a saint."
"You know as well as I do that Shion was a dead-end student," Yome said. "But that 'Seven-Day Breathing Method'... it's changing him. You knew about that, didn't you?"
I went silent for a moment, looking out at the hills of the Land of Earth.
"I considered asking him to teach it to me," I admitted. "Taijutsu like that? It's a shortcut to power."
"And?"
"I gave up. My aptitude was too poor."
Yome laughed. "You? The guy who multitasking four puppets at once? Aptitude poor?"
"I'm serious," I said, my voice dropping.
(Internal Monologue: People think the Eight Gates or the Breathing Methods are for the 'untalented.' It's the biggest lie in the ninja world. To survive that training, your body has to be a freak of nature. Duy, Guy, Lee, Shion—they were born with bodies made of iron. If I tried to open those gates, my tendons would snap like dry twigs.)
"Many ninja strive to be proficient in everything," I said, staring at my scarred hands. "They end up being mediocre in everything. I know my limits. I'm a Puppet Master, a Wind user, and a survivor. I don't go against the heavens unless I have no other choice."
Suddenly, Yome stiffened. Her pupils dilated, her special vision kicking into overdrive.
"Daimaru... get down."
"What is it?" I reached for my puppet scroll, the boredom vanishing instantly.
"Heat haze," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Three miles out. But the haze isn't moving with the wind. It's moving against it."
I looked out. To a normal eye, it was just the desert shimmering in the sun. But to Yome, it was a death sentence.
"Is it Iwa?" I hissed.
"No," she said, her face turning pale. "It's too small for a squad. It's... one person. But the chakra signature..."
She choked back a sob.
"It's like looking at a sun. It's blinding."
A massive boom echoed from the base of the wall. The entire fortress shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling as a crack formed in the stone beneath my feet.
From the shimmering heat haze, a figure emerged. He wasn't wearing an Iwa headband. He was wearing the robes of a monk, and he was carrying a staff that hummed with a frequency that made my teeth ache.
"The Will of Heaven has directed me here," the stranger shouted, his voice echoing across the fortress as if he were standing right next to us. "Deliver the One-Tail's vessel to me, and I shall grant this fortress a quick end."
(Internal Monologue: A monk? Looking for Gaara? Here? Fugi was right—the 'mysterious strangers' are already knocking on the door.)
"Daimaru!" Oto Kaze's voice roared from the courtyard below. "Battle stations! This is an S-Rank threat!"
I looked at the monk, then at my half-finished puppet.
"I really should have stayed in bed today," I whispered, biting my thumb to summon my chakra.
The monk raised his staff, and the sky above the fortress began to turn a bruised, sickly purple.
The Will of Heaven was about to strike, and we were the only things standing in its way.
Who is this mysterious monk? And what does he want with the One-Tail? The battle for the Northern Fortress begins now!
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