Chapter 81 – The Subterranean Conspiracy
Kitsuchi spat out the filthy rag, the stench of mud so sharp it made him gag twice.
He rolled his eyes in a daze, first at the desolate battlefield, then down at the stone shackles on his body.
"Ugh… what happened to me? My knees hurt as if I've knelt in a temple praying for three days and nights…"
Seeing his foolish son finally wearing that not-too-bright—yet blessedly normal—look of idiocy again, Ōnoki, hovering mid-air, felt his heart slide back into his chest.
Good; the wretch who'd hugged his leg crying "let the world be filled with love" had vanished. If Kitsuchi had kept that up, Ōnoki might have been forced to purge the bloodline himself.
"Hmph, enough drivel—when we're home I'll settle this disgraceful account!"
Ōnoki snapped, rubbing his aching lower back. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the heavy scroll to Yahiko.
"That's the advance and the first batch of assassination contracts."
Grabbing Kitsuchi by the collar again, Ōnoki rose higher, looking down at the youth in the black cloak with red clouds. Even in defeat, the Tsuchikage's pride could not bend; his tone stayed hard as rock:
"Iwagakure's coin isn't easy to hold. Take the mercenary blade, but keep its edge keen. If Akatsuki pockets the fee yet does nothing, this old man won't mind snapping that blade himself!"
Yahiko raised a hand and caught the scroll steadily.
The coarse feel under his fingertips lifted his mood—this was Akatsuki's formal business licence in a brutal world.
"Rest assured, Lord Tsuchikage." He slipped the scroll into his sleeve, smile fading to the cold professionalism of an elite. "Akatsuki's credibility flows like the rains of the Land of Rain. As long as the fee is met, I'll pluck the very stars from the sky for you."
"Now the deal is struck…" He pointed into the distance. "Those five thousand Iwa ninja?"
"All forces—withdraw!!"
With a single command amplified by Chakra, Ōnoki grabbed the bewildered Kitsuchi and, without another glance at Yahiko, streaked northward as a beam of light.
This time, he was truly retreating.
As for borrowing the road to attack the Land of Fire—forget it. Better to lead an intact army home and cut losses than to drown in that quagmire; Face is for the weak, the strong count only the casualty ratio.
As the Iwagakure host vanished like a receding tide, the existential crisis shrouding northern Rain Country ended in an absurd yet sensible stroke of a pen.
"See that, Konan?"
Watching the distant specks fade, Yahiko showed no relief at survival, only a cool clarity born of seeing through the world.
"This is what the great nations are."
"Their mouths speak justice, their minds scheme profit. When you're weak they play righteous judges, crushing you like an ant."
He reached out and clenched the empty air, as though seizing some invisible authority.
"But once you're qualified to sit at the table, once your fist is hard enough to bruise their hands… they'll swap the blade meant for you for a smiling cup of negotiation."
"Even if the wine is laced with poison they'll cheerfully drink it with you."
Konan stood quietly behind him, watching Yahiko's straight back.
He was no longer the hot-blooded fool who'd led them in reckless charges.
He had become dangerous, deep, a blade hidden in the rain. Yet this sense that the sky could never fall as long as she followed him was almost addictive.
"So what do we do next?" she asked softly, stowing the scroll.
"The great powers won't swallow this retreat. Diplomacy is always the army first, courtesy later. Iwagakure has pulled out, but the lords of Fire and Wind are already sharpening their pens to kill with words."
"Let's go—back to the Village."
Yahiko stretched and strode off.
"The fighting's over, but the real show has only just begun."
…Meanwhile, on Rain Country's eastern frontier.
Konoha forward command post.
Nara Shikaku stared at the intelligence scroll, his Face so grim it looked ready to drip.
"Iwagakure… has withdrawn?"
Not only withdrawn, but the famously stubborn Third Tsuchikage Ōnoki, having personally entered the fray, had failed to defeat the leader of "Akatsuki"?
"Armed neutrality…"
Shikaku turned the phrase over, a chill crawling up his spine.
It signified a new virus capable of upending the order of the Five Great Nations, now breeding madly in that land of endless rain.
"I must report to Lord Hokage at once."
He rose abruptly, staring into the darkness outside the tent, and muttered:
"The skies of the Ninja World are about to change."
Deep within an unnamed mountain cavern in the Land of Rivers.
Two campfires struggled in the damp air; sparks hissed and were swallowed by darkness. The atmosphere inside was colder than the freezing rain outside, thick enough to suffocate.
On the left sat Nara Shikaku, beside him Akimichi Choza crunching chips to calm his nerves, and Inoichi Yamanaka with eyes closed while every sense stayed on alert.
On the right, Sand Advisor Grandmother Chiyo's Face was livid; behind her several Sand Jonin with gloomy eyes kept hands on their weapon pouches.
Though a cease-fire held, the Villages were age-old foes; sparks flew whenever their eyes met, as though either side might tear the other apart in the next second.
"Advisor Chiyo, could you dial down that Killing Intent? It's ruining my appetite."
Nara Shikaku sighed, tossing a stick into the fire, his tone as weary as a salaryman facing another overtime shift. "Next to the monster we need to discuss, the old grudges between Konoha and Sunagakure can wait."
"Hmph."
Chiyo let out a cold snort, her wrinkled eyelids drooping, voice like two rusted iron plates scraping: "Konoha brat, spare me the slick tongue. If your intel proves worthless I'll poison you all right now—an extra meal for Rain's dead."
"Worth or not, let's piece the puzzle together."
Unruffled, Shikaku drew a scroll damp with mist from his coat and laid it across his knee. His casual air vanished; in his half-lidded eyes gleamed the cold light of a top-tier strategist.
"What we faced this time was never some wandering missing-nin gang. If we keep hiding our cards, the next Great Ninja War might shrink the Five Nations to Four."
Chiyo's cloudy eyes shifted; she stayed silent for three seconds.
The memory of that crushing defeat was fresh—watching their elites slaughtered like chickens by a handful of foes forced her pride to yield for the moment.
"On our southern front we met Orochimaru."
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