Chapter 13: The Vanguard
"Danzo is correct, Monkey," Tobirama stated, his voice cutting through the strategic chatter. "Time is a luxury we do not possess. We must divide our forces to guard against a pincer movement from Iwa and Kiri. Our only hope is a swift, decisive victory on the main front against Kumo."
Sarutobi Hiruzen could only nod, his face grim. The battlefield was a fluid, unpredictable beast.
After another half-day of intense, high-stakes planning, assignments were handed out. My unit, alongside Sarutobi's vanguard, was tasked with being the first line of defense—the shield meant to blunt Kumo's initial assault. We were given one day to prepare.
The next morning, I stood at Konoha's main gate, the weight of my Tang Hengdao a familiar comfort on my back. I'd exchanged 5,000 points for the finely balanced blade after my jonin promotion—a significant investment, but one that had saved my life more than once.
Sarutobi stood at our head. The usual easy-going, sometimes-lecherous man was gone, replaced by a stern, focused commander. The transformation was jarring.
"All troops, move out!"
Amid the somber farewells of the villagers, our vanguard and Danzo's flanking strike force departed. The main army would follow in half a day.
We made excellent time through the friendly territory of the Land of Fire. After a brief rest at the border, we crossed into the Land of Iron.
The change was immediate and brutal. The warm, verdant forests of home gave way to a desolate, frozen wasteland. Snow fell in a perpetual, silent curtain, and a biting wind stole the warmth from our bones. The Iron Country was a neutral nation of samurai, but in the face of two warring shinobi superpowers, neutrality was a fantasy. This long, narrow country was the only land route between the Land of Fire and the Land of Lightning. It had become the battlefield by default.
Our progress slowed to a cautious crawl. Sarutobi deployed Hyuga scouts ahead of us, their Byakugan piercing the white gloom for any sign of the enemy.
That night, we made camp in a sparse forest of snow-laden pines. The cold was so deep that even a small campfire felt like a monumental victory. Sarutobi called a meeting of all squad captains.
"Lord Sarutobi," one captain began, his breath misting in the air. "I propose we send out hunter-nin teams. We need to find and eliminate Kumo's forward scouts and sabotage units hidden in this country. If we can blind them, our main force can engage theirs directly."
"I concur," Hiruzen said, his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. "I'll select ten teams for this mission. I need volunteers."
A chorus of voices rose immediately.
"My team can do it, sir!"
"We'll go!"
"Good. That's the spirit," Hiruzen said, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Ten teams it is. You move out at first light. You have five days. On the sixth day, regardless of your success, you will rendezvous with the main force at the central valley for the coordinated assault. Is that clear?"
It was then, as I watched these brave men and women volunteer for a near-suicidal mission, that the system's cold voice echoed in my mind.
[New Mission: Execute Hiruzen Sarutobi's Hunter-Nin Directive.]
[Reward: Points scaled per elimination. Genin: 250. Chunin: 2000. Jonin: 9000.]
[Bonus Objective: Eliminate 30+ enemy shinobi. Reward: One (1) Sharingan Evolution Opportunity.]
[Failure: N/A (Mission failure implies host death.)]
Points and a chance to evolve my Sharingan? The reward was intoxicating. The final line was its typical, morbid self. You really can't stand to see me comfortable, can you?
As the meeting was about to adjourn, I spoke for the first time. "Lord Sarutobi. I volunteer for the mission."
Hiruzen's head snapped towards me, a strange look on his face. 'Lord Sarutobi'? The brat's being formal.
"Request granted," he said after a moment. "But you go alone. I have no one to spare for you."
Alone is better, I thought. Fewer witnesses, fewer people to slow me down. My motives weren't entirely selfish. If I could thin the enemy's ranks out here, the other teams would have a better chance of survival. It was a brutal calculus, but it was the calculus of war.
The next morning, as the first ten teams prepared to depart, I was the first to vanish into the white haze. I was the strongest here; if I didn't take the heaviest burden, who would?
"That brat... he's finally grown up," Hiruzen muttered to himself, a faint, proud smile touching his lips before being wiped away by the cold. He understood my purpose perfectly.
For over an hour, I pushed through the knee-deep snow, a lone figure in an endless expanse of white. The silence was absolute, broken only by the crunch of my steps and the howl of the wind. Where are you, you Kumo bastards? Show yourselves.
I stopped. A faint tremor in the chakra around me—a sensory technique I'd picked up over the years. Four signatures, moving fast and light. They were close.
Finally. A warm-up.
I melted into the landscape, burying myself in a snowdrift and reducing my chakra signature to a bare whisper. I became part of the frozen stillness.
Minutes later, four figures in Kumo's distinctive armor advanced with practiced caution. One jonin, one chunin, two genin. A standard field team. The jonin was probably giving his students a taste of real combat.
Let me give you a lesson you won't forget. War isn't a training exercise.
I waited until they were parallel to my position. Then I moved.
I erupted from the snow in a silent explosion of white powder. My kunai was a silver flash in the gloom, opening the throat of the first genin before he could even register my presence. In the same motion, I flung the bloody knife, and it sank into the chest of the second genin with a sickening thud.
The chunin and jonin spun, weapons drawn, their eyes wide with shock.
"Who are you?!" the jonin snarled. "A sneak attack?!"
I couldn't help but smirk. "Are you Kumo-nin really this stupid, or are you just pretending? The only people out here besides you are from Konoha. Who do you think I am?"
"Konoha! Shit, he might not be alone!" The two moved back-to-back, scanning the blinding whiteness around us.
I didn't give them time to think. I blurred forward.
The jonin's hands flew through seals. "Lightning Release: Black Panther!"
A beast of crackling, dark electricity formed and lunged at me with a snarl.
"Is that all?" My own hands moved in a single, fluid seal. "Wind Release: Wind Cutter Technique!"
A blade of compressed, howling wind shot forth, shearing the panther in two and continuing its deadly path toward the Kumo ninja. They barely managed to dive in opposite directions to avoid it.
I used the distraction. A quick Body Flicker put me right in front of the chunin. My second kunai was already in my hand. A clean, horizontal slash. His eyes went wide with surprise, then empty. He fell into the snow, adding a new shade of crimson to the landscape.
Only the jonin remained. My Sharingan spun to life, the three tomoe locking onto him.
"Genjutsu: Hell Viewing Technique."
"Sharingan! Damn Uchiha—" he began, but it was too late. His eyes glazed over, his body freezing as the illusion seized his mind. He was trapped in a personal nightmare.
I didn't need anything more elaborate. I stepped forward and drove my kunai deep into his heart.
"Gah... how...?" he gurgled, blood bubbling at his lips as he stared at me in disbelief.
"Say goodbye to this beautiful world," I said softly, twisting the blade before pulling it free. He crumpled beside his students.
I took a moment to search the bodies for any useful intelligence, then covered them with snow—a shallow, frozen grave. There was no time for anything more.
For three days, this was my life. I was a ghost in the snow, a reaper whose only purpose was the system's tally. I moved, I hunted, I killed. By the end of the third day, my count stood at thirty. Ten jonin. The rest, a mix of chunin and genin. Wiping out over thirty enemy shinobi single-handedly was a feat that would be legendary, if anyone was around to see it.
My primary mission was complete. But the war, and the hunt for points, was far from over.