Shimura Danzō had always believed there was no such thing as hatred or conflict without reason. If there was a clash, it meant someone was trying to take something from someone else.
Just like the previous Great Ninja Wars—on the surface, they were about honor, revenge, justice. But at their core, every war boiled down to dissatisfaction with how the world's resources and power were distributed. Every village wanted more.
So this rumor—this insidious smear campaign—someone must've spread it for a purpose. But who?
Hiruzen Sarutobi?
Unlikely.
Danzō knew his old comrade too well. After stepping down as Hokage and losing Biwako, Sarutobi had aged rapidly. These days, he was focused solely on raising Konoha's next generation, preaching his "Will of Fire" nonsense.
Besides, there was no benefit for Hiruzen. That scandal had already been resolved in his favor—he'd used it to strip Root of authority and suppress Danzō's power. It was a political tradeoff, one Hiruzen had no reason to revisit.
No... and what would he even gain from tarnishing Danzō's name now? The man had retired. What was the point?
Then there was Orochimaru. But unless that snake wanted to force Danzō into becoming a missing-nin, there was no reason for him to sabotage their quiet arrangement. Orochimaru still needed him—needed access to things like the Uchiha's Sharingan.
So Orochimaru was out.
Which left... no one.
Danzō's brows furrowed deeply. As the "most intelligent mind in Konoha" (in his own estimation), he concluded: if all other possibilities were impossible, no matter how absurd the remaining answer seemed—it had to be true.
"Damn it... Has some hidden intelligence organization infiltrated the village?" Danzō's voice was low and dangerous. He was increasingly convinced someone had orchestrated this. A hidden faction embedded in Konoha, and this rumor was just their opening gambit.
He called a Root assembly. His operatives would dig out this underground group, no matter how deep they were hiding.
And if they couldn't find them?
He'd make one up. Inflate the threat. Spin the narrative. Then approach Minato and demand Root's power be restored to protect Konoha.
Victory. Total victory.
Truly, since Danzō had founded Root, the village had been winning nonstop. Win after win. They were addicted to winning.
Meanwhile, Nara Kazuki had no idea Danzō was riding this deranged high. If he had known, he might've nominated the man to run for president of the Land of the Lighthouse—a job perfect for someone obsessed with declaring victory every day.
Kazuki had arrived at the Land of Fire's border.
He stood quietly, eyes scanning the foggy terrain between the Land of Fire and the Land of Wind—buffered by the Land of Rain.
According to his intel, the rogue ninja squad had retreated into Rain after striking border patrol units. But where exactly they'd gone after that, Kazuki wasn't sure.
Once they entered the forests past the border, the trail had gone cold—literally. Rainfall washed away most traces. Unless he ventured in himself, he'd find nothing.
"They're targeting squads without a Jōnin leader. Ruthless attacks. So far: three Chūnin dead, seven Genin. The survivors report wind release users and puppeteers." The border patrol squad leader beside Kazuki wore a grim expression.
They'd tried ambushing the attackers themselves—but it was no use. The enemy operated from the shadows. The patrol squads were outmatched.
And patrols couldn't be suspended. If an enemy village noticed the lapse and invaded, the patrol team leader would be marked a traitor and forced to abandon everything—including his family.
"Wind Release and puppet techniques..." Kazuki's expression grew strange. That combination screamed Sunagakure.
Any half-competent shinobi would think the same. These attackers looked and fought like Sand-nin, and likely didn't have more than one Jōnin among them—if any.
But Kazuki thought deeper.
Was this bait?
Avoiding Jōnin-led patrols—drawing out a solo pursuer to kill them? It smelled like a trap. Eliminate one Jōnin and Konoha would bleed more than from losing ten lower-ranked ninja.
Every village had assassination units for this very purpose. Take out rival elites. Each successful hit drastically weakened the target village's strength and morale.
So yes—this could very well be a Jōnin hunter squad.
"Got it. Thanks for the info." Kazuki nodded, then stepped into the Land of Rain.
Sitting on his ass wouldn't yield results. These enemies clearly knew how to move. After such a kill count, they might scatter or vanish entirely.
Time was short.
Tracking ninja wasn't easy. Kazuki had crammed hard to prep for this mission, but even so, after a certain distance, the trail vanished.
"Damn, they're cautious. And this weather doesn't help..." he muttered, squinting at faint traces under a pile of leaves.
Everything else had been washed away.
What little remained felt... wrong.
Kazuki had assumed this was a team. That's what the survivors said—three attackers, with possibly a fourth overseeing the battle.
Classic squad formation.
But now? He wasn't so sure.
Analyzing the footprints, spacing, and stride patterns, Kazuki reconstructed their escape.
Two ninja up front, sprinting.
Behind them, two more—except their strides were inhuman. Leaps of ten meters. Then fifty. And then... lighter and lighter steps.
Then just one trail remained. The second was faint, halting—off. Kazuki frowned. This didn't feel like a person at all.
A puppet, maybe?
The patrol squad had mentioned puppet users.
"Hm... puppet technique..." Kazuki's gaze sharpened.
The tracks suggested immense confidence. Most ninja, fleeing after a hit, would obscure their path—zigzag, double back, mislead.
This trail ran straight.
Worse, the latter prints grew erratic—almost impossible for a human to make.
Which made Kazuki wonder: what if the enemy wasn't a group, but a single elite puppeteer using multiple constructs?
Could it be... Sasori?
The thought chilled him. Sasori of the Red Sand was infamous for his terrifying puppetry. And this pattern could fit.
But then again, would someone like Sasori waste time attacking low-level squads?
Kazuki shook his head. "Let's just see where this goes."
To be safe, he left a shadow clone behind in case he needed a rapid escape.
More importantly...
A multi-shadow clone stood beside him—expression cold, eyes sharp. Kazuki smiled.
This one had been copying Kakashi.
Before leaving the village, Kazuki had tested something: what would happen if multiple clones focused on mimicking a single ninja?
Progress shot up. Not exponentially, but noticeably. By the time he left, he'd hit 30% mimicry on Kakashi.
That was enough to use Chidori, and other basic jutsu.
So the 100% threshold wasn't required to unlock abilities. Apparently, skills unlocked gradually as mimicry progressed.
That realization had lifted his spirits. If he kept this up, his power would snowball.
The first mimicry upgrade? He planned to unlock it once he got a Rewind Point. Its effectiveness scaled with clone count anyway—meaning the more he killed, the more chakra he'd build, the stronger his clones would become.
Kazuki dashed forward again, using Wind Pulse Sensory Jutsu to trace residual chakra.
It wasn't perfect, but he caught a faint trail—then a strange smell in the rain.
"Maybe I should've brought a ninken," he muttered. Dogs were great for this stuff.
Still, the enemy wasn't hiding their path. That confidence made Kazuki uneasy.
He kept running—until he stopped dead.
A lone ninja sat in a clearing... grilling meat.
Surrounding him were several humanoid figures. When Kazuki appeared, every single one turned its head.
Dark clouds rolled overhead. Rain fell steady.
The "humans" around the fire grinned.
Unblinking.
They were puppets. High-grade puppets.
Not Sasori—but clearly someone dangerous.
The puppets lunged at him, their mouths releasing distorted, unnatural laughter.
The puppeteer never turned around.
He just kept calmly cooking meat—back to Kazuki, as if nothing was happening.
Kazuki twitched.
"You guys... all signed up for the Ninja World Edge-Lord Tournament, huh?" he muttered dryly.
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