Chapter 369: Akatsuki's Big Move! Intelligence from Kakuzu
Konoha Village.
Deep within the Hokage Building.
The air above the heavy oak chair—the seat symbolizing the absolute zenith of authority in the Ninja World—rippled. Uchiha Akira materialized from the void, his posture already settled into the high-backed leather.
"Hokage-sama."
The greeting came the very fraction of a second his presence registered. An Anbu operative, face hidden behind a painted Tanuki mask, dropped to a silent kneel before the mahogany desk. The operative extended a tightly bound scroll with both hands, his head bowed in absolute submission.
"This arrived through the highest encrypted channel. For your eyes only."
Akira did not speak. He merely raised a single hand.
A localized surge of gravity yanked the scroll from the Anbu's grasp, snapping it neatly into his waiting palm. His thumb brushed over the complex sealing formula. A sharp, concentrated spike of chakra flared from his fingertip. The complex locking jutsu shattered like brittle glass, dissolving into harmless blue sparks.
He unrolled the parchment.
The ink slashed across the paper in frantic, jagged strokes. The messy handwriting painted a clear picture of a highly unstable environment, penned by someone with precious little time to spare. Yet, the distinct, stamped kanji for 'Money' at the bottom corner immediately gave away the sender.
Kakuzu.
The ancient, immortal monster who prized wealth above his own existence, now thoroughly leashed and forced to bow to Akira's overwhelming might.
A cold, razor-thin smile touched the corners of Akira's mouth. "A full assembly, huh?"
The intelligence report was brief, but its implications carried immense weight. Pain, the enigmatic figurehead of the Akatsuki Organization, had issued an absolute summons to every active core member.
Location: Land of Rain, Amegakure.
Kakuzu did not know the exact reason for the sudden recall, but the frantic urgency bleeding through the hurried ink suggested one thing. The man who fancied himself a living god was finally preparing to tip his hand.
"Perhaps the Tailed Beast extraction plan has hit too many walls," Akira mused, his voice a low, dangerous hum in the quiet office. "It seems the man with the Rinnegan can no longer sit still."
Akira flicked his wrist.
A cluster of violet flames erupted from his fingertips, instantly devouring the parchment. The ashes drifted down, dissolving before they even hit the floor.
The board was already set, and the Akatsuki's grand design was fundamentally broken. The One-Tail, Shukaku, was firmly under his control; though still housed within Gaara, the boy and the beast belonged entirely to Konoha. The Nine-Tails remained securely locked inside Naruto, living right under Akira's watchful gaze. The Three-Tails was safely bound to Kurenai Yuhi.
More, all three vessels were currently secured within the absolute sanctuary of his Tianyu Space.
For the Akatsuki Organization to gather all nine Tailed Beasts and resurrect the Ten-Tails was nothing but a dead dream.
"Since everyone is gathering..."
Akira pushed himself up from the Hokage's chair. His boots clicked against the polished wood as he approached the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Below him, the sprawling expanse of Konoha stretched out, bustling with life, prosperity, and absolute order under his iron-fisted rule.
"This is a rare convenience. It certainly saves me the tedious effort of hunting down those rats one by one." His reflection in the glass showed eyes cold enough to freeze blood. "If they wish to huddle together, I might as well crush them all in a single strike."
Whether he chose to break their wills and incorporate the useful ones into his ranks, or simply obliterate them into dust, this assembly would permanently erase a lingering annoyance from the map.
"You are dismissed," Akira commanded, not turning away from the glass.
The Anbu operative vanished with a faint rustle of fabric, leaving Akira completely alone in the expansive office.
He shifted his attention to the massive, detailed map of the Ninja World pinned to the adjacent wall. His dark gaze swept past the sprawling green borders of the Land of Fire, locking onto the small, perpetually weeping territory of the Land of Rain.
"A bit of a distance."
The air around him warped, bending light and space into a swirling vortex.
"Amenominaka."
In the blink of an eye, the Fifth Hokage vanished from the room.
A thousand miles away.
The harsh, biting winds of the Land of Earth howled across a desolate stretch of the Gobi Desert. This barren wasteland marked the exact location where Akira had violently brought Kakuzu to heel, serving as one of the many spatial coordinates he had permanently burned into the fabric of the Ninja World.
Akira materialized above the cracked earth. He did not let his boots touch the sand.
Without a fraction of a second's pause, chakra exploded from his form, launching him straight into the upper atmosphere like a fired artillery shell. He stabilized his ascent, his sharp eyes cutting through the thin air to lock onto a specific trajectory.
The border separating the Land of Grass and the Land of Fire.
That jagged frontier was where Jiraiya currently commanded the northern defense line. Dragging the Toad Sage along to Amegakure was a calculated, highly amusing choice. After all, Jiraiya was the former master of the three orphans who now controlled the Rain Village.
Beyond the psychological warfare of it all, a truly qualified ruler understood the value of theatrics. Occasionally, one had to display a touch of benevolence and allow their subordinates the illusion of participation in these grand, world-shifting events.
Akira accelerated.
His body became an uncatchable streak of blinding light, tearing a massive white contrail across the blue expanse. He ripped through the cloud layer with an aggressive, domineering velocity, shooting toward the Land of Grass. The sheer kinetic force of his passage was catastrophic to the sky itself. The dense sea of clouds violently churned and split apart, forcibly plowed open to leave a massive, gaping vacuum channel stretching for kilometers in his wake.
Far below, nestled along the tense border between the Land of Grass and the Land of Fire, sat a heavily fortified hidden valley. The terrain was a jagged nightmare, a strategic choke point notoriously difficult to assault. Recognizing its value, Konoha had locked the region down with a massive deployment of heavy combat troops.
Deep within the sprawling encampment, inside a hastily constructed wooden command post, a loud, drunken burp shattered the quiet afternoon.
Jiraiya sat slumped in a highly ungraceful heap on the woven tatami mats. A completely drained sake bottle dangled loosely from his thick fingers, his cheeks flushed a deep, unhealthy red. Crumpled balls of paper and half-finished manuscripts littered the floor around him like fallen snow. His highly anticipated next installment of the Make-Out Paradise series had been stalled for months, the victim of a crushing, alcohol-soaked writer's block.
"Sigh..."
A long, rattling breath escaped Jiraiya's lips. His hazy, unfocused eyes stared blankly at the wooden beams of the ceiling. He looked entirely defeated, the heavy weight of his depression pressing down on his broad shoulders.
The rumors from the village... the confirmed reports that Tsunade and that terrifying Uchiha brat were...
The mere thought of it sent a suffocating, agonizing tightness seizing his chest. It felt exactly as if the finest, most precious cabbage in the world had been violently uprooted and devoured by a ruthless, red-eyed pig named Uchiha.
And the worst part? It was a pig he had personally watched grow into a monster.
"I was here first, damn it," Jiraiya mumbled to the empty room, his voice thick with self-pity.
He hoisted the ceramic bottle, tipping it back in a desperate bid for one last drop, only to scowl at the hollow clinking sound. Empty. Groaning, the Toad Sage swayed heavily as he forced himself to his feet, intending to stumble outside and clear his head with some fresh air.
He never reached the door.
In a fraction of a heartbeat, the cloudy, drunken haze in Jiraiya's eyes vanished, replaced by the razor-sharp focus of a veteran Sannin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at rigid attention.
A terrifying, suffocating aura was tearing through the atmosphere, bearing down on their exact coordinates at an impossible, physics-defying speed.
"Enemy attack?"
The adrenaline spiked, instantly burning away half the alcohol in his bloodstream.
Before Jiraiya could even form a hand seal, the sunlight streaming through the windows was abruptly eclipsed.
A catastrophic wave of wind pressure slammed into the valley. The sheer kinetic shockwave of Akira's abrupt deceleration hit the encampment like a localized hurricane. Outside, the heavily armed Konoha shinobi on patrol were sent violently stumbling backward. Several chunin were lifted entirely off their feet, thrown hard into the dirt by the crushing air currents.
"What's going on?!"
"Enemy invasion! Defensive formations, now!"
"Alert! Everyone, on your feet!"
Chaos erupted through the valley. Dozens of shinobi frantically drew their kunai and katana, their eyes snapping upward to the sky, searching for the source of the devastation.
High above the panicked camp, suspended effortlessly in mid-air, Uchiha Akira looked down at them. His hands rested casually behind his back, his dark robes snapping wildly in the residual winds.
As the dust settled and the panicked shinobi finally registered the face of the man floating above them, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
The raw, gripping fear evaporated, replaced by a tidal wave of absolute, fervent worship.
"It's Hokage-sama!"
"The Fifth Hokage!"
"Lord Akira is here!"
The ringing of steel echoed across the valley as weapons were hurriedly sheathed. One by one, the elite shinobi dropped to a single knee, bowing their heads. When they looked up, their eyes burned with an almost fanatical excitement.
In the current era of Konoha, Uchiha Akira was no longer just a military leader or a political figurehead. He was a living god. He was an absolute, unshakable belief.
Down below, Jiraiya shoved open the rickety wooden door of his command post. He squinted up at the floating figure, taking in the sheer, unadulterated arrogance radiating from the young Uchiha. The corner of the Sannin's mouth twitched uncontrollably.
"I say..." Jiraiya grumbled, aggressively scratching at his messy mane of white hair. His face was a portrait of utter helplessness. "Can't you just use the main gate like a normal person? What if you scare the kids?"
Akira did not bother replying from the sky.
His figure blurred, phasing out of existence and instantly materializing mere inches in front of Jiraiya. The sudden proximity made the Sannin flinch.
"Why do you reek of alcohol?" Akira's voice was a flat, freezing blade, devoid of any warmth.
Jiraiya let out a hollow, awkward chuckle, trying to wave off the oppressive killing intent casually rolling off the Hokage. "Isn't it obvious? I'm bored out of my skull."
He scratched his head again, the lingering alcohol loosening his tongue. "Sitting on this godforsaken border... those bastards from Iwagakure are acting like timid little turtles hiding in their shells. They don't have the spine to attack, but they refuse to pull back. I'm practically rotting away out here."
It was the absolute truth.
Ever since Akira had systematically annihilated Sunagakure, violently annexed the Hidden Mist, and broadcasted his terrifying strength to the world, that old, stubborn fox Ōnoki had become paralyzed by caution. The Tsuchikage kept his heavy infantry stationed right at the border line, but he never dared to order a single boot to cross into Fire Country territory. It was a cowardly stalemate, designed purely to be a thorn in Konoha's side.
Akira's dark eyes narrowed, staring through the Sannin. "When the time is right, we will launch the offensive." His tone was absolute, leaving no room for debate. "There will be no probing attacks. No drawn-out tactical skirmishes. We will simply roll over their lines and crush Iwagakure into complete submission."
Before Jiraiya could process the sheer brutality of that statement, Akira's gaze snapped back to the empty sake bottle still dangling from the older man's hand. His voice dropped an octave, dripping with disdain.
"As the supreme frontline commander, what exactly is this pathetic display? Reeking of cheap alcohol in the middle of the day?" Akira stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "You are meant to lead by example. Do you not understand the concept of discipline?"
Jiraiya's face flushed—this time not from the sake, but from genuine embarrassment. He shifted uncomfortably under the younger man's piercing glare.
"I know, I know..." he muttered softly, looking away. A bitter, barely audible complaint slipped past his lips before he could stop it. "It's all because of you and Tsunade anyway..."
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