Chapter 9: I Will Never Let Lord Rasa Down
Maybe it was because they'd been played with the whole time—
The Iwagakure shinobi were starting to lose it.
They charged at him recklessly, as if they'd gone mad.
As for Rasa…
He calmly continued refining his gold dust—funding his "operation" with every grain—while dodging incoming kunai, shuriken, explosive tags, and jutsu.
Perhaps because he hadn't used a single technique since the pursuit began, the enemy had drawn their own conclusion:
"Does he… not know ninjutsu?"
It was the only reason he could think of for their outrageous confidence—
Charging in with no defense, as if brute force would be enough.
Ridiculous.
After all, sealing Shukaku in the Black Kettle had taken everything the Fourth Kazekage had.
And even now, though he was and wasn't the Rasa they knew—
His power was far from weak.
There's a reason shinobi are called "ninja":
Because in battle, the unknown is the most dangerous thing of all.
Rasa sighed inwardly and glanced at the wild-eyed Iwa-nin barreling toward him, abandoning any semblance of defense.
"Should I… wait a little longer?"
He turned his gaze upward.
The desert sky was dim. The night deepened.
"Looks like I'll be up all night mining gold…" he muttered.
Judging by how frenzied these Iwa-nin were, they weren't about to let this "lunatic" go anytime soon.
---
Meanwhile…
"Kumo-nin?!"
Chiyo's eyes narrowed as she looked down at the body on the ground—
The Cloud Village forehead protector gleamed faintly under the moonlight.
Her weathered face was taut with exhaustion and worry.
"So their vanguard has already made it this deep into the Land of Wind…"
"What do we do now?"
Ebizō's brows furrowed, a hint of helplessness in his voice as he watched the Sand shinobi gathering the corpses.
He shook his head.
"We didn't have many shinobi to begin with. If this keeps up…"
"Doesn't matter," Chiyo interrupted, straightening.
"You forget what I used to specialize in?"
"Puppet arts?"
"Poison."
She shot her brother a glare—he was still too casual for her taste—and turned back to the weary Suna-nin.
Her expression sharpened into something resolute.
"We're pulling back. This place isn't safe anymore."
And her brother was right about one thing—
Sunagakure's puppet techniques were feared across the entire ninja world.
White Secret Technique: The Ten Puppets of Chikamatsu.
She had once used them to take down an entire city by herself.
What a pity…
Her grandson, who should have inherited the White Secret Art, had vanished while defending the village.
Maybe her legacy… would end with her.
"Erase all traces," she ordered.
"We withdraw now. We need to find a new site to regroup."
After all—
The battlefield… is in the Land of Wind.
---
"The battlefield is in the Land of Wind…"
Momu lifted his head, gazing at the pale moon overhead.
The night wind was cold. He sighed, murmuring to himself:
"I wonder how Lord Rasa is doing right now…"
Greenery was rare in the Land of Wind.
So rare, in fact, that even a major village like Sunagakure had only managed to secure a tiny lake for themselves.
The lake used to have fish just a few years ago…
But in recent times, with the sandstorms growing stronger and more frequent, the water level had dwindled drastically.
Most of the shinobi in Sunagakure understood—
If the village didn't find a solution soon, then perhaps… in a few decades, or maybe a few centuries…
Sunagakure would vanish.
Just like the legendary kingdom of Rōran, buried beneath the sands of time.
"Lord Rasa is the disciple of the Kazekage… the only one in the entire village who's mastered the Magnet Release."
A Suna-nin standing nearby looked up at the sky alongside Momu, voice filled with determination.
"He's the hope of all of us. He'll be fine—he has to be."
But even as he said that, a flicker of helplessness crossed his face.
Thinking back on all the wars Sunagakure had fought… yes, they'd lost most of them.
But at least they could still proudly proclaim:
"We dared to challenge the greatest village in the ninja world—can you say the same?"
And now?
Even a minor village like Grass was bold enough to strike at them.
"Do you think… something really happened to the Kazekage?"
"…"
Momu fell silent.
Deep down, everyone knew:
If the Kazekage were still alive, he would never just stand by and let Sunagakure be invaded like this.
Because—
He is our Kage—the shadow that shelters us all.
After a moment, Momu turned to look at the Suna-nin nearby.
They were clearly shaken. The Kazekage was missing, Lord Rasa's fate was unknown, and with no one to lead them, their morale was fading fast.
He took a deep breath.
Then rose to his feet, fire in his eyes.
"We can't go on like this!"
"Lord Rasa lured the Iwa-nin away on his own—to preserve our strength, to prepare for the war ahead, and to protect the village. How can we just sit here and wallow in despair?!"
He shouted at the shinobi around him, voice ringing through the cold desert air.
"Even if we die—we'll make sure these opportunistic vultures know that Sunagakure is not to be trifled with!"
He raised his right fist into the air, eyes burning with resolve.
"We will not let Lord Rasa down!"
"That's right! We won't let Lord Rasa down!"
"We're Suna-nin—we've never feared war! So what if we always lose?!"
"Shut up!"
"…"
The tension broke as laughter and cheers echoed once more.
Seeing the fire return to their eyes, Momu felt a warm surge of pride.
At least… we haven't given up yet.
He looked up again at the glowing moon, high above the desert.
It almost felt like Lord Rasa was watching them, his silent gaze shining down like moonlight—cutting through their doubt and fear.
A soft smile crept onto Momu's face.
"Lord Rasa… we won't disappoint you."
Watch over us from the heavens, will you?
---
"Achoo! …Achoo!"
Night had fallen, and the desert was getting cold again.
Rasa sniffled.
Was it just his imagination, or did it feel like someone had been talking about him nonstop?
"Could it be that Karura is missing me back in the village?"
The thought warmed his heart.
So someone still cares about me, huh…
He tugged his robes tighter.
The desert's day-and-night temperature swings were brutal—especially at the year's end.
Tonight, the Land of Wind was bone-chilling.
The cold wind made his hands tremble as he continued sifting for gold.
Forming hand seals was getting harder by the minute.
Meanwhile, on the Iwa-nin side, things weren't going so great either.
Their attacks were starting to lose force—they were running out of steam.
Still, Rasa had to admit: they'd done damage.
His precious blue potions were all gone. All that remained was the final red vial in his hand.
Sigh… Rasa downed it in one gulp.
"These Iwa advance troops really are something—tough as nails."
No matter how much he defended, the injuries were piling up.
And doing this—fighting while mining gold—was exhausting beyond belief.
Still…
Why haven't the other Suna-nin shown up yet?
Are they really going to let all this go to waste?
---
"We need to retreat."
The Iwa-nin commander's face was grim as he looked at the moonlit desert.
His voice dropped low as he spoke to his men.
"We can't linger in the Land of Wind any longer."
They'd been fighting for so long—surely nearby Suna-nin had already been alerted.
And he had to admit—
This man really might be the direct disciple of the Third Kazekage.
Tough as hell.
Even though his chakra control was clearly struggling—causing delays in casting his jutsu—his timing was impeccable. His defense, near-perfect.
And his endurance…
Despite the many wounds on his body, despite all the blood dried on his skin and armor—
He's still standing?!
The commander looked at Rasa, who stood wounded but defiant, wrapped in a shell of gold dust and congealed blood.
Holding on with sheer willpower?
What a terrifying opponent…
But just as the thought crossed his mind—
His expression changed.
All around them, the sand began to writhe unnaturally.
The other Iwa-nin also froze, disbelief in their eyes.
"Retreat—!!"
The commander shouted at the top of his lungs.
But—
It was too late.
"Magnet Release: Grand Burial of Golden Sand!"
A cold voice rang out across the freezing, moonlit desert—
Followed by a deafening howl of surging sand.