Chapter 32: The Mission of Minato's Squad

Chapter 32: The Mission of Minato's Squad

Suna's large-scale movements could not escape Konoha's notice. Both sides tacitly pulled back their front lines, amassing strength and preparing for the inevitable climactic battle. The small-scale skirmishes that had become routine stopped entirely. Each side's ninja focused on sharpening their weapons and readying themselves for the confrontation that loomed ever closer.

One night, the Third Hokage arrived at the Konoha camp under the cover of darkness, escorted by a contingent of ANBU. The command authority, once held by Sakumo Hatake, was now seamlessly transferred to Hiruzen Sarutobi. For this campaign, Sarutobi would act as a front-line shinobi, leading from the trenches. Sakumo, far from resisting this shift, showed no objection. After all, when the top leader decides to step in for some glory, complaining would be unwise. Those in power could afford such indulgences, even if it meant others bore the consequences.

Sarutobi needed to personally oversee a victory to consolidate his rule. In truth, war is merely an extension of politics by other means, and this campaign's primary purpose was to serve the political ambitions of those in power. No matter how one viewed the upcoming battle, it seemed inevitable that Suna would be the one to lose. The war was a chessboard, and the ninja merely pawns in a game driven by the machinations of those vying for power.

Despite his youth, Hayama was a seasoned veteran of these battlefields. He remained indifferent to the heightened activity within the camp, unshaken by the looming final confrontation. His days continued much as they had before—sleeping, eating, and honing his skills. It was a monotonous existence, but one that Hayama found oddly satisfying.

Still, the illusion of calm could not last forever. The reason for Konoha's presence in the Land of Wind was not simply to provide its shinobi with a change of scenery for training. No, these fighters had long been itching to press into enemy territory, some even dreaming of adopting the desert tribes' iconic headscarves as trophies of their victory.

In the camp's strategy headquarters, Minato's squad knelt before the highest commander, the Third Hokage. Though kneeling wasn't something Hayama particularly enjoyed, he followed suit when he saw his teammates do so. Despite his personal distaste for subservience, he knew the value of blending in and adhering to local customs—at least for the sake of appearances.

"Konoha was founded 41 years ago," Sarutobi began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "At the time, I was still young, but I understood the transformative impact its creation would have on the entire ninja world…"

Hayama couldn't help but think that if Sarutobi wanted to lecture them on history, he might as well start with the Sage of Six Paths. After all, there's no harm in aiming for the absolute beginning, especially when you're not the one kneeling.

Eventually—though not before Hayama's legs had long since gone numb—Sarutobi's speech shifted to the actual orders.

"Minato Namikaze, Hayama Shirokumo, Akimichi Tōtō, Inuzuka Gaku," he called out solemnly.

"Yes, sir!" the four responded in unison.

"As your Supreme Commander, I assign you the following mission: Take down Suna's medical units. Your goal is to eliminate as many of their medics as possible."

Minato's eyes widened briefly, but he maintained his composure and led the team in acknowledging the command.

Satisfied, Sarutobi nodded approvingly. Perhaps sensing Minato's hesitation, he elaborated on the mission's importance.

"Medics are critical targets in any battle. This is basic knowledge taught at the Ninja Academy. You are all among Konoha's finest. I shouldn't have to explain further."

After a long pull from his pipe, Sarutobi added, "Sometimes, achieving peace and ensuring the village's future requires making inhumane choices. Remember, Konoha's shinobi must always fight for the village's interests. Never forget that."

"Yes, sir!" the team answered firmly.

With their orders received, Minato and Hayama retreated to their tent to prepare for the upcoming operation.

"Hayama, is what we're doing really meaningful?" Minato asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

As he carefully cleaned the short sword gifted to him by Sakumo Hatake, Hayama paused. Looking at Minato's youthful face, he sighed before responding.

"What you really mean to ask is whether this is right or wrong, isn't it?"

Before Minato could respond, Hayama continued, "There is no 'right' or 'wrong' in battle. Ideals like national or ethnic justice mean nothing to me. I can't tell you whether this is right, but as shinobi, our duty is to complete the mission. Set aside your pity. If you don't, you'll be the next to die."

"I understand," Minato replied quietly, though his voice betrayed lingering doubt.

"If you truly want to change things," Hayama added, "wait until you actually become Hokage. Only then can you question the validity of these missions. Until then, it's a waste of time."

Determination flickered in Minato's eyes. Becoming Hokage wasn't just his dream; it was a necessity if he hoped to transform the ninja world. Failure was not an option.

Watching Minato's resolve solidify, Hayama felt a mix of emotions. Humans, he realized, have an unparalleled capacity for self-justification. Even the noblest intentions could be twisted into rationalizations for any action—good or evil. If the world's brightest minds could find ways to excuse themselves, how could mere shinobi do otherwise?

That night passed without incident. The sun rose the next morning, oblivious to the fact that it would shine on a day destined for the history books. Its light touched the barren landscape of the Land of Wind, a stark contrast to the rainy Land of Rain just a mountain range away. Hayama, recalling his past world's geography lessons, suspected that the mountains acted as a barrier, trapping moisture on one side and leaving the other arid and parched.

At dawn, the camp was quieter than usual. With the decisive battle drawing near, the ninja chose to rest a little longer, preparing themselves for the grueling fight ahead.

Stepping out of the tent, Hayama inhaled deeply, the cool morning air sharpening his senses. As he gazed at the sun, still timidly peeking over the horizon, a faint smile crossed his face.

Another beautiful day, he thought, one that would begin—of course—with more fighting.

He called out to Minato, who was still rubbing sleep from his eyes, and the two walked shoulder to shoulder toward the mess hall. Along the way, fellow ninja greeted them with nods and small waves. Hayama returned each gesture with a polite smile. By the time they reached the mess hall, however, his face felt stiff from all the pleasantries.

Pre-battle protocol dictated a hearty meal. Inside the mess hall, rows of perfectly roasted lamb greeted them, their golden skin glistening with savory juices. It was a rare treat. Hayama, a veteran of countless battles, had never seen such extravagant fare on the front lines. The sight made his mouth water.

But the roasted lamb was only the centerpiece. Other dishes, from grilled meats to fresh sushi rolls, ramen, and colorful rice balls, completed the spread. Hayama wandered through the mess hall, taking in the array of food. For a moment, it felt as though he had been transported back to the bustling streets of Konoha, where local delicacies abounded. A sense of warmth filled his chest, briefly reminding him of home.

After eating just enough to feel satisfied—aware that overeating might hinder him in the battle to come—Hayama set down his plate. He knew the importance of maintaining his energy, but also of not weighing himself down.

As the meal ended, the festive atmosphere vanished. The ninja, now standing in formation, replaced their smiles with solemn expressions. Their armored vests gleamed in the morning light, a sea of green that brought a rare vibrancy to the desolate desert landscape.

Hiruzen Sarutobi, flanked by Sakumo Hatake, stepped forward to address the gathered forces. Following a brief speech extolling the ideals of the Will of Fire, he gave the signal to begin. The final major engagement of the Second Shinobi World War was now underway.

The battle's location lay between the two opposing camps, an unassuming stretch of terrain that would soon become a blood-soaked field. Though its purpose wasn't annihilation, the confrontation would determine which side could claim a strategic advantage.

As the Third Hokage and his forces moved into position, the sight of Sarutobi himself standing at the front caused a ripple of unease among Suna's ranks. His reputation as the strongest shinobi of the current age preceded him. The mere sight of him, alongside Sakumo Hatake, unsettled the Suna forces.

Caught off guard, the Suna leadership was forced to unveil their own trump card. The Third Kazekage rose into the air, the iron sand at his command swirling behind him like a pair of dark wings. His presence steadied the Suna forces, giving them a renewed sense of purpose.

It was a rare spectacle: two Kage leading their respective armies into battle. The last time something of this magnitude occurred was when the Second Mizukage and Second Tsuchikage fought to a mutual death. Now, two of the most powerful figures in the ninja world would clash once more, their armies following close behind.

No matter the internal doubts some held about Sarutobi's leadership, his presence alone galvanized the Konoha forces. For a fleeting moment, every ninja on the battlefield felt a surge of pride and courage, ready to fight under the banner of their strongest warrior.

If Hayama could hover above the battlefield and take in the full view, he would marvel at the sight: Konoha's green-clad ranks facing off against Suna's gray-uniformed troops, the stark contrast transforming the terrain into a vivid mosaic. It was a spectacle both inspiring and sobering—a reminder of the cost of conflict.

As the specter of death descended once again, few dared to hope for survival. The battlefield was no place for idealism; only the living could ponder the morality of their actions. The fallen were left to be mourned, their names etched on memorial stones for those who remained.

In this brutal world, only the living could afford to contemplate the value of compassion. For those who walked the blood-stained path of the shinobi, survival came first. The rest would have to wait.