Konan and Shinra's timely arrival finally allowed the Akatsuki members to breathe a sigh of relief.
As they landed, Shinra glanced back. Behind the group, he spotted the red-haired woman trembling with fear, while Nagato his own crimson hair blazing in the torchlight stood with murder in his eyes. From that look alone, Shinra immediately guessed what had happened.
So, Kusagakure had once again proven themselves vile. They had pushed Nagato to the point of murderous intent.
But on the surface, Shinra continued to play his role flawlessly.
Between the release of ninjutsu, he feigned shock and barked, "What's going on here? What happened? Didn't I tell you only to scout the situation? Why has it turned into this?"
Nagato, unaware that this entire chain of events had been orchestrated by Shinra, lowered his head guiltily and admitted, "I'm sorry."
The Akatsuki members quickly rushed to defend him. "This isn't Chief Nagato's fault. We acted rashly. These Kusagakure shinobi are monsters! They've been keeping Nagato's family like cattle treating them as nothing but property!"
Konan's eyes widened in shock. She was the only one here who didn't fully grasp what was happening.
"That woman… she's Nagato's blood relative?"
The Akatsuki members all nodded at once. "Yes!"
Neither Nagato nor Kaoru spoke up to deny it. Nagato had already convinced himself, while Kaoru had no opening to speak the truth.
Konan gave a quiet "oh," before her expression hardened with resolve. "It's not your fault. Protect her well!"
And with that, the misunderstanding was cemented even further.
Shinra spoke at the perfect moment. "Then I won't hold anyone responsible for how this mission turned out. Escort Nagato's kin out of here first! Konan, take the slower ones into the sky and retreat!"
For just a moment, Nagato's eyes softened. Gratitude and even a hint of shame flickered across his face as he looked at Shinra.
Shinra noticed it all. The corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly, though his expression remained carefully neutral.
There was no need for a backup plan after all. Nagato's trust was greater than he had even dared to expect.
Now all that remained was to endure Kusagakure's counterattack. Tonight's scheme was unfolding perfectly.
The deception phase was over. Now it was time for the fun part battle!
One Kusagakure ninja charged first, bursting through the storm of paper shrapnel and falling lightning. He swung a massive sickle straight at Shinra.
Shinra stepped lightly aside, dodging the strike, and countered with a swift backhand slash at the man's exposed ribs.
But something strange happened the enemy didn't defend himself properly. Instead, he lifted the sickle horizontally in front of his forehead, as if warding off a phantom strike that never came.
Shinra's blade slid cleanly into his abdomen. The Grass ninja's eyes went wide as realization hit him. "Genjutsu?!"
Shinra said nothing. He calmly followed with another slash, his blade cutting clean across the man's throat. Only after the body collapsed and the last breath faded did Shinra answer coldly, "Yes. An illusion."
This was his way: answers only came once the enemy was beyond saving.
The technique was one he had only just begun practicing. Recently, in a dream gifted by the system, he had absorbed the Uchiha clan's experience with genjutsu combat.
A pity he lacked the Sharingan. Without it, such illusions could only be laid in advance, good for catching enemies off guard at the start of battle.
There was no time for more preparation. The second and third Kusagakure ninja rushed forward immediately.
One came at him head-on, blade flashing. The other raised his hand and unleashed a storm of weapons kunai, needles, and shuriken slicing through the air.
Shinra vaulted backward, barely avoiding the first deadly wave of steel.
Then Shinra charged forward, short sword flashing in front of him. With quick, fluid movements, he spun his blade into a fan-shaped arc. Clang, clang, clang! Several shuriken ricocheted away in sparks as the steel rang out.
Only when he darted into the tree line and finally escaped the storm of projectiles behind him did he turn and engage the Kusagakure ninja rushing straight toward him.
The man carried himself with authority clearly someone of status in Grass Village. After only a few exchanges of blows, he sneered arrogantly.
"Kid, you're a Rain-nin, aren't you? That old fool Hanzo is losing his mind, and yet you dare stir trouble in the Land of Grass? You think Kusagakure has no one worth fearing?!"
Shinra held back a sigh. So everyone outside already knows Hanzo's reputation is crumbling… the Rain's intelligence work is pathetic.
But he gave no answer. Instead, he swung his blade again, face cold and unreadable.
The first strike was caught on the enemy's kunai, the Grass-nin smiling confidently, as though amused by a cornered prey.
The second strike forced him to adjust its sharp angle unexpected. His smirk faltered.
By the third strike, the short length of his kunai was becoming a problem. The unrelenting blade forced him onto the defensive. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.
The fourth strike slipped through, slicing across his arm. Pain flared, his composure cracked, and desperation rose in his eyes. He stumbled back, trying to gain space to weave signs for ninjutsu.
But Shinra gave no opening. The fifth and sixth slashes rained down immediately, denying him a chance to retreat or form hand seals. He had chakra to spare but no way to use it.
The seventh strike grazed so close that the tip nearly pierced his eye. Instead, it carved a long, bloody gash across his forehead. One eye went red as blood blurred his vision.
Panic devoured the arrogance in his expression. He cursed his teammates for being slow to back him up. He cursed his own reckless decision to charge ahead. Regret sank in heavy, but Shinra's relentless assault gave him no time to think.
The short sword moved like a predator's fangs once clamped down on its prey, it would never let go until either the prey died or its own jaws broke.
With the eighth strike, Shinra's blade knocked the kunai clean out of his hand, shattering three fingers in the process.
The ninth strike slashed across his chest, blood spraying in an arc that splattered back across his own face.
He hadn't even survived ten exchanges. A veteran Kusagakure shinobi, cut down by a boy from the Rain who was at least ten years younger and without a single ninjutsu used against him.
His heart filled with fury and disbelief. To lose to the Five Great Nations was one thing… but to be slain by a Rain-nin? Why?!
With blood filling his mouth, his eyes burned crimson as he summoned the last of his strength to rasp, "What… sword style… is this?"
Shinra, confirming the man's death was certain, gave him the courtesy of an answer.
"This is the swordsmanship of Konoha's White Fang."
Though Shinra's practice was still far from mastery, the style was unmistakable. The system had granted him the personal techniques and experience of Hatake Sakumo the White Fang of the Leaf.
At those words, the Grass ninja's rage melted away. His lips trembled into a broken smile. His chest rose once, then stilled, as if in relief.
"…I see. No wonder… that's no wonder at all."
The one who felled him had carried the legendary blade work of the man once feared across nations.
Whatever the truth, in his final moment, the Grass-nin found comfort enough to convince himself.