The "Barren Flats" were a geographical scar where the Land of Fire's forests withered into the Land of Wind's dust. Following Hanzo's declaration, this border had become a "Kill Zone."
Squad 9 and Squad 11 had been merged into a temporary B-Rank Strike Unit. Their mission was "Simple" according to the brass: Re-take and hold the Well of Three Sorrows. Without this well, Konoha's western advancement would die of thirst. But the Hidden Sand had already fortified it.
"The tactical reality is disgusting," Renju whispered, crouched behind a ridge of sun-bleached rock. He was staring through a far-viewer, his dark blue eyes tracking the heat shimmers. "They have two Puppeteers on the roof of the stone house and four close-combat specialists in the trenches. But look at the sand, Renza. It's too still."
Renza sat beside him, sharpening one of his stolen Stone trench knives with a rhythmic, aggressive shick-shick-shick. His white hair was hidden under a sand-colored hood. "Hidden traps. If I use a 'Burst' to lunge, I'll trigger a thousand needles before I reach the door."
"Exactly," Renju said. He took a slow, deep breath, his Total Concentration: Constant now humming at a steady, quiet 20%. "I'll provide the 'Silt.' You provide the 'Gale.' We don't fight them. We drown them in the environment."
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In a B-Rank mission, the enemies aren't just Chunin; they are Elite Chunin—men who have survived dozens of kills and have mastered specialized jutsu.
"Begin," the command echoed through their headsets.
Renju moved first. He didn't run; he slid down the ridge.
"Water Breathing, Fifth Form: Merciful Rain of the Dry Land."
He didn't create a tidal wave. He used his chakra to pull the moisture from the very air, condensing it into a thick, localized fog that rolled over the well. To the Suna ninjas, it looked like a natural weather phenomenon, but the mist was "heavy." It coated their puppet strings, making the chakra-conductivity sluggish.
"Vision is gone!" a Suna ninja yelled from the trench. "Puppets are dragging!"
"NOW!" Renju roared.
Renza exploded from the opposite side. He didn't use a lunge. He used "Wind Breathing, Fourth Form: Rising Dust Storm."
He slammed his trench knives into the sand and exhaled a violent, concentrated burst of air downward. The resulting explosion of sand and wind created a blinding shroud. Under the cover of Renju's fog and Renza's sandstorm, the two boys became ghosts.
Renza reached the first trench. A Suna ninja lunged at him with a poison-coated scimitar. Renza didn't parry. He used a Micro-Burst to pivot his hips, the heavy Stone knife catching the scimitar and snapping it through sheer weight. He drove the knuckle-guard into the man's throat, feeling the windpipe collapse.
"One," Renza hissed, his eyes glowing with a manic, grey light.
From the roof of the stone house, a Suna Elite Chunin—a man known as Ebizo the Spider—realized the threat. He didn't panic. He bit his thumb and slammed his hand onto a scroll.
"Puppet Secret Art: Hundred-Handed Embrace!"
A massive, six-armed puppet erupted from the sand behind Renju. It didn't swing a sword; it opened its chest cavity, revealing a spinning array of jagged saws.
Renju felt the vibration through his feet. He didn't look back.
"Water Breathing, Second Form: Water Wheel... Reverse Flow!"
He spun his chokutō in a vertical circle, but instead of a slash, he created a high-pressure vortex of water that acted as a liquid shield. The saws hit the water and screeched, the friction throwing sparks that died in the mist.
"Renza! The roof!" Renju shouted, his voice strained. Holding the water shield against a mechanical saw was draining his chakra at an alarming rate.
Renza didn't hesitate. He ignored the burning in his lungs—the "Glass Lungs" that haunted him since the ambush. He leaped, using a Burst to propel himself fifteen feet into the air.
The Spider Puppeteer saw him coming and fired a stream of fire from the puppet's palm.
Renza didn't dodge. He breathed.
"Wind Breathing, Third Form: Clean Storm Tree... Void!"
He swung his knives in a cross-pattern, creating a vacuum that sucked the oxygen away from the flames, extinguishing them mid-air. He landed on the roof like a predator, his trench knives finding the gaps in the Spider's armor.
CRUNCH.
He sheared the chakra strings. The massive puppet in the courtyard slumped into the mud, its saws grinding to a halt inches from Renju's chest.
Renza stood over the puppeteer, his knives dripping with oil and blood. The Suna ninja looked at him, terrified. "You... you're just a brat. How can a brat have eyes like that?"
"I'm not a brat," Renza wheezed, his nose beginning to bleed from the over-exertion. "I'm the wind you forgot to account for."
He ended it with a single, brutal downward stab.
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The well was theirs. But the victory was hollow.
As the sun set, the two squads stood among the corpses of the Suna ninjas. Karin was treating Taiga's wounds, while Maki and Sato set up perimeter seals.
Renju sat by the well, staring at his reflection in the bucket. He looked older. The lines around his eyes were deepening. He had killed two men today. He didn't feel the "weight" anymore; he just felt cold.
Renza sat across from him, cleaning the gears of the broken puppet. "B-Rank missions," Renza muttered. "The enemies don't scream as much. They just... stop."
"They're professionals," Renju said. "Just like us."
Renza looked at his friend. "We're ten, Renju. We're supposed to be playing with shuriken in the Academy backyard."
Renju looked up at the sky, where the vultures were already circling. "The Academy is a dream. The well is the reality. We hold this spot for three days. If we survive... we might get a week of rest back at the base."
"Three days," Renza said, gripping his stolen knives. "I can hold my breath for three days."
They didn't get their rest. The war didn't allow for it. But as they sat in the silence of the Barren Flats, the Gale and the Abyss grew a little colder, a little sharper, and a lot more dangerous.
Over the next few months, the "Well of Three Sorrows" would change hands four times. The OCs would be promoted to Chunin by age 11—not out of merit, but out of necessity. They were the survivors.
They will hold the record of the youngest Shinobi to be promoted to Chunin.