Chapter 36

This Sand Village jonin had only recently earned his rank. Not long ago, he was a chunin—just like his three fallen teammates, now lying lifeless around him.

The swiftness and ease with which Akira had dispatched them was terrifying. The rumors of the "Konoha Flash" weren't just empty words. The stories whispered around campfires and over mission briefings did little justice to the chilling efficiency of the man himself.

The jonin quickly realized he wasn't going to defeat Akira—not alone. He had been desperately waiting for an opening to send out a distress signal, to call for reinforcements from other Sand patrols. But the second Konoha ninja—whose name he didn't know—was proving to be a relentless wall, consuming every bit of his focus and stamina just to keep parrying.

There was no escape.

No chance to reach for the signal flare.

Two jonin from Konoha. That was the conclusion he drew. One was the infamous "Konoha Flash," and the other was holding him back with the ease of a predator toying with prey. It was unthinkable. In the Sand Village, some teams didn't even have a jonin, and yet Konoha could afford two in one unit?

He didn't know—he couldn't have known—that the second ninja, Kosuke, was just a genin. That Akira was not even a full jonin, but a special jonin. Their unorthodox team had given him a dangerously inflated perception of Konoha's strength.

And now, his last hope vanished.

His final teammate was cut down by Akira, who turned his attention to the lone survivor, sprinting toward him with deadly purpose. The Sand ninja's composure cracked. Kosuke was stronger than him already, and had he not been trying to capture him alive, the fight might have ended minutes ago. Add in Akira—who was hated and feared like a grim reaper among Sand Village ranks—there was no more illusion of escape.

He made his decision.

Before he could be captured and forced to betray his village, he bit down on the hidden poison sac tucked behind his molars. Venom surged into his throat—a fast-acting neurotoxin, irreversible and lethal within minutes.

Agony followed.

From throat to heart, he felt fire flood his veins. His body convulsed. Foaming at the mouth, he collapsed, trembling as darkness closed in.

Kosuke stumbled back, stunned. The ninja had simply dropped mid-battle. Eyes widening at the sight of the convulsions, he shouted urgently:

"This guy swallowed poison! He's going to die! What do we do?!"

Akira's expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, and he moved in a blur to the fallen Sand ninja's side. The loss of this prisoner meant the potential loss of critical intelligence—and worse, if word of the skirmish reached other Sand forces, they would scatter like smoke, making it impossible to track them.

Kneeling beside the convulsing man, Akira channeled medical chakra through his hands. A scan revealed the poison—it was fast, potent, nearly lethal. But he felt a flicker of relief.

It wasn't hopeless.

In the past, he wouldn't have had a chance. But now, armed with the advanced medical ninjutsu he had painstakingly learned from Lady Tsunade herself, he had tools he didn't before. He couldn't neutralize the poison completely—not yet—but he could suppress it.

His hands glowed faintly with green chakra as he forced the venom to coagulate, locking it within a barrier of chakra. It would buy him a few precious minutes.

Akira leaned down and murmured, "You're not dying until I get what I need."

The Sand ninja, barely conscious, opened his eyes groggily. Confusion clouded his vision. He blinked at his own hands, surprised to still be alive. Weakness gripped every limb.

Before he could speak, a strong hand seized his chin, jerking his head up. He met Akira's gaze—and saw the whirling tomoe of the Sharingan spiral into motion.

The genjutsu wrapped around his mind like a mist.

His resistance faded.

Akira's voice was calm and commanding:

"What's your name?"

"Inoue Hiroki," the Sand ninja answered flatly, his eyes vacant.

"Inoue," Akira continued, "how many teams does Sand Village have operating near our encampments? What's their formation and purpose?"

The answers spilled forth in a monotone. Dozens of scouting teams, most composed of three to five shinobi. Their mission: to map out the exact locations of Konoha's camps and even individual ninja movements.

Sand Village planned a single, decisive strike—a massive, synchronized ambush when Konoha was at its most vulnerable. The goal was total annihilation of Konoha's forces on the Wind Country front.

Akira's expression hardened. So that was it. A final gambit.

In the original course of history, such a plan was attempted. The great battle at Mount Kikyo saw Konoha emerge bloodied but victorious, a narrow win that cost many lives. Clearly, Konoha had uncovered the plot in time.

But now, with this information obtained even earlier, the tide could change.

The genjutsu faded. So did the chakra sealing the venom. Inoue Hiroki slumped lifelessly to the ground. His body twitched once—then stilled.

Even Anko and Hayate, who had watched the scene unfold from nearby, were shaken.

"If they get that intel," Anko said, her voice tight with worry, "we're sitting ducks."

Akira said nothing, still calculating in silence.

Kosuke stepped in, steady as ever. "We report to Lord Orochimaru immediately. This is bigger than us. The village needs to know."

Akira nodded slowly. "Agreed. We move now."

They burned the bodies, erased all trace of battle. The Sand Village must never learn their plan had been exposed—not yet.

By nightfall, they arrived at the Konoha headquarters and met with Orochimaru. The commander of the Wind Country front took in every word with cold precision.

He understood what the four had brought him—not just information, but a potential turning point in the war.

Orochimaru didn't hesitate. He penned a report to the Third Hokage that very hour, requesting the highest-level strategy council convene immediately. They needed reinforcements. They needed to prepare.

War was coming.

But this time, Konoha would be ready.

The Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, read through Orochimaru's report with furrowed brows, his pipe left untouched as smoke curled silently from its bowl. The news was grim: Sand Village had deployed a vast number of covert squads to spy on Konoha's every move in the Wind Country. Their objective was crystal clear—to coordinate a final, crushing assault that would end the war in one swift stroke.

Without delay, Hiruzen summoned the village's highest council—Homura, Koharu, Danzo, and the heads of major clans and divisions. The emergency war council convened in the dim chamber beneath the Hokage Tower, tension simmering in the stale air.

Danzo, as always, was the first to break the silence. "If they seek a decisive battle, we give them one. We are Konoha, the strongest village in the world. They are but a desert-dwelling remnant scraping by on dust and arrogance. Overwhelm them with sheer force. End it swiftly."

Some nodded in approval, moved by the idea of swift dominance. But the Third Hokage remained unmoved.

"Sand may be impoverished, but they are not foolish. If we overextend our forces and fail to break them quickly, the consequences could be devastating. We must not forget the other nations watching us. Should we falter on other fronts, we invite invasion from the sides and behind."

The room stirred uneasily. War was never as clean as strategy scrolls made it seem.

Others, more idealistic, proposed renewed diplomacy. "Perhaps a temporary alliance," suggested one of the elders, his voice calm. "Open talks and trade agreements, even just a truce. Konoha must project wisdom as much as strength."

But such notions were quickly drowned in the sea of cynicism. Too many old scars. Too many broken accords.

"If we let our guard down, Sand Village will exploit it," muttered Koharu. "We must act while our intelligence holds true."

Then, from among the gathered came a voice not weighed down by age but sharpened by brilliance. Nara Shikaku, young yet already respected, stepped forward.

"We don't need to gamble everything in one battle or trust in hollow promises. Let's cut off their eyes before they can strike. Deploy our best trackers and sensor-type ninja to root out their agents. Eliminate their informants. Blind them. Without information, they won't dare act."

He paused, his fingers already forming a mental web of strategic nodes and contingencies.

"Then, without weakening our defenses on other fronts, we quietly increase elite support in the Wind Country. If Sand Village dares strike, we'll already be one step ahead."

There was silence after he spoke. Then a murmur of approval. Even Danzo leaned back, arms crossed, acknowledging the logic.

Hiruzen nodded firmly. "Then it is decided. Shikaku, you will draft a complete operational plan. We proceed at once."

"Yes, Hokage-sama," Shikaku replied, his eyes narrowing with focused resolve.

—

Far to the south, lightning bloomed in the desert like a sudden star.

Crack.

A flash of light pierced the chest of a Sand ninja, his scream swallowed by the storm of chakra that exploded through him. His body dropped, twitching in the dust. As the smoke cleared, Akira emerged from the shadows, his face unreadable.

Before the main support force had even arrived, Akira and his team had already begun their purge. With his Sharingan and formidable sensory skills, locating enemy squads was like watching embers in the dark.

Kosuke, ever the composed warrior, handled those Akira did not reach, while Might Guy, bursting with youthful energy and boundless fire, surged through ambush after ambush like a force of nature. Their team moved like a scalpel—precise, lethal.

But beyond them, the situation was far more complex.

The Sand Village's agents were ghosts—masters of camouflage, seasoned in counter-tracking, and trained to read the desert's every shift. While the Inuzuka clans and Hyuuga used their hounds and Byakugan to great effect, Sand had learned over years of battle how to counter them.

Even when located, many Konoha squads struggled. Their trackers often lacked combat prowess, and their fighters lacked the means to track. Dual-team formations were proposed, but they risked too much exposure. The larger the group, the easier it was to spot—and ambush.

Akira's team was the rare exception. With two Jonin-level combatants, sensory abilities, and speed, they didn't need backup. And Akira himself had become something of a legend among the enemy.

He had considered using shadow clones to multiply their search efforts. But he'd learned from past missions—those clones required careful chakra distribution. Randomized searches with clones were a dangerous gamble. A clone dissipating mid-mission would leave entire sectors vulnerable, their teams exposed.

No. Precision was the only answer.

Instead, they waited. Akira knew the moment more Konoha teams arrived, he would spearhead a coordinated sweep, cutting away Sand's web of eyes before they could finish weaving it.

Akira's hands twitched at his sides, chakra humming beneath his skin. He had nearly mastered all elemental natures, and the forbidden techniques he had studied under Tsunade and gleaned from Orochimaru's vaults were potent beyond measure.

He was on the cusp.

Only one limitation held him back—his body.

Too little chakra. Too young a vessel.

If he had the life force of the First Hokage or the unrelenting reserves of Naruto himself, he wouldn't need a battalion. He would raze the Sand's ambition single-handedly.

But for now…

Akira narrowed his eyes to the horizon. The wind whispered secrets across the dunes. The battle wasn't over.

It was only beginning.