CHAPTER 61

The Surprise Attack Ends

Orochimaru's voice cut through the chaos like a blade:

"Retreat."

The order was final.

The Konoha shinobi, bloodied and battle-worn, disengaged from their skirmishes within the borders of Takigakure and began their tactical withdrawal. Step by step, they fell back—covering each other while evading enemy pursuit—until they reached the outskirts of the Hidden Waterfall Village.

Orochimaru surveyed the survivors. His serpentine eyes narrowed, a subtle crease forming on his brow.

They had arrived with just under a hundred men. Now, barely forty stood—many of them injured, some barely able to stand.

This attack on Takigakure had teetered on the brink of success, yet the price was steep. Victory was within grasp—but the indecision of one man, Kuroyama Tatsuji, leader of Takigakure, had stalled their momentum.

Jiraiya, battered and soaked in blood, limped to Orochimaru's side.

"How did the negotiations go? Did the old man bite?"

Orochimaru shook his head slightly. "Unclear. Regardless, we're done here. We can't afford to linger."

Jiraiya nodded solemnly. He knew better than to argue. They were too deep in enemy territory, and any further delay risked a full pincer movement from both Kumogakure and Takigakure.

Still, Orochimaru was confident—Kuroyama would accept the proposal. And if not... then Takigakure would be rendered strategically irrelevant in the next phase of the war.

Orochimaru turned to the survivors.

**"Hold this line for five more minutes. Guard the perimeter. Let any stragglers regroup. After that—we're gone, no matter what."

The shinobi nodded grimly. Time ticked by, the air thick with anticipation and residual chakra.

Orochimaru, Jiraiya, and the rest laid down suppressive fire—Flame Bullets, Earth Walls, and Lightning Nets flared through the forest—buying space against incoming Taki and Kumo reinforcements.

But no one moved more than Minato Namikaze.

Golden hair flashing through the smoke, Minato darted in and out of the battlefield, ferrying wounded allies one by one. Each time he returned, his breath was shorter, his movement a touch slower.

He was running on fumes.

As Minato prepared to charge in again, Jiraiya caught him by the shoulder.

"That's enough, Minato. You've done more than anyone. If you go back out now, you might not come back."

Minato's voice was low, pleading.

"Sensei... there's still time. One more. I can make it."

But Jiraiya shook his head. "Your speed's dropped. You're not fooling anyone. If you fall, we lose more than just a shinobi—we lose our fastest retrieval specialist."

He looked back toward the smoke-filled village.

"And let's be honest. The ones who haven't made it out by now... probably aren't going to."

Minato's fists clenched, his head bowed.

Silence.

Then Orochimaru's voice rang out once more:

"Begin full retreat. Set explosive tags on our rear path. Move!"

With military precision, the remaining Konoha ninjas vanished into the trees, their withdrawal shielded by traps, misdirection, and collapsing terrain.

Surprisingly, the retreat was met with minimal resistance—perhaps the enemy was regrouping, or perhaps they were stunned by the scale of destruction left behind.

By the time the survivors returned to the temporary base camp, the sun was cresting the horizon—it was nearly noon.

Senyu, one of the most promising young shinobi under Orochimaru's command, had already collapsed in his tent from chakra exhaustion.

Others sat in silence or quietly tended their wounds. The medical-nin were overwhelmed. There were no celebrations.

Only survival.

Orochimaru remained standing, flanked by Jiraiya, scanning a hastily-updated status scroll.

"Jiraiya. Casualty report."

Jiraiya rubbed his eyes and reported wearily: "Total remaining shinobi: 43. Combat-effective: 32."

Orochimaru's gaze turned cold. "Request reinforcements from the village. At least sixty."

Jiraiya blinked. "You're planning to advance already? Shouldn't we wait for backup?"

Orochimaru didn't look up from the sand table. "If we wait, they'll fortify. If they fortify, we lose momentum. We need to push forward now—before they realize how thin our numbers are."

He placed Konoha's banner ten kilometers forward on the map.

Jiraiya's jaw dropped. "Ten kilometers? Can we even hold that with thirty fighters?"

"Of course not," Orochimaru replied flatly. "That's the point. We extend forward, then stage a tactical fallback as needed. Every inch we gain forces them to chase us on unfavorable ground. By the time reinforcements arrive, we'll have reshaped the terrain and tempo to our advantage."

Jiraiya sighed. "You always think five moves ahead. I'm more of a 'let's survive today' kind of guy."

Orochimaru didn't look up. "And that's why you almost got us killed in Takigakure."

Jiraiya slumped into a nearby chair. "Tch. You always were a snake, even in strategy."

Orochimaru finally smirked. "Better a snake than prey."

Jiraiya leaned back, eyes distant. "It's only been a few years since the Second Shinobi World War. Can't believe we're at it again. Would've been nice if this era had held on to peace a little longer."

Orochimaru's golden eyes flicked toward him. "You're still clinging to that idealism."

Jiraiya shrugged. "Hope's not a bad thing. You should try it sometime."

Then, more softly: "How's Senyu? Last I saw, he was dragging wounded shinobi to safety—even carried me and Nawaki once, back in the last war."

Orochimaru's expression faltered for a breath at Nawaki's name. His eyes darkened.

"Senyu pushed himself too hard. Mild injuries, severe chakra exhaustion. He'll recover. For now, he sleeps."

Jiraiya gave a rare smile. "Takes after you, that one."

Orochimaru turned back to the map, but something in his posture shifted.

For a moment, just one, he allowed the silence to linger—full of the weight of lives lost, battles fought, and the future yet to be written.

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