Chapter 67: Phantom March
Kagenori received the information through the psychic serpents coiling around his arms: a three-man scout team was probing their position, about forty meters out.
He moved like a ghost through the dense foliage, his presence erased by years of training and a natural affinity for stealth. He found them quickly. One, a sensor ninja, sat with his eyes closed, his chakra feeling out the environment. The other two stood guard, their eyes scanning the trees, kunai held ready.
"Iijima, what's the situation?" one of the guards whispered, his voice tense.
"The rough count is over two hundred Konoha shinobi," the sensor, Iijima, replied, his eyes still shut in concentration. "But... something's wrong. More than a hundred of them feel... strange. Their chakra signatures are faint, almost hollow."
"Over two hundred? How many did Konoha send to the Hot Springs?" the second guard hissed, a note of panic in his voice. "With another Sannin here... they must be planning a counter-offensive!"
"Should we retreat and report?" the first guard asked.
"Wait," Iijima said, his brow furrowed. "Let me sense it again. Those hundred are just... wrong."
Suddenly, Iijima's eyes snapped open wide with terror. "Be careful! Someone's here!"
A cold voice spoke from directly behind them. "You didn't sense me until I was this close? You're not a very good sensor."
Kagenori had already completed his hand seals. "Sensatsu Suishō!" (Hidden Shadow Snake Hands).
Several snakes shot forth from his sleeves, moving with blinding speed. Their fangs sank deep into the necks of the three Cloud ninja before they could even turn around. A potent, fast-acting neurotoxin flooded their systems, locking their muscles in place, paralyzing them where they stood.
Kagenori didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he drew a kunai and cleanly slit their throats. It was efficient, brutal, and left no room for error. He felt nothing as he watched the light fade from their eyes; they were obstacles to the mission, nothing more.
The phantom army of Konoha continued its advance. They faced sporadic attacks, but Orochimaru's and Jiraiya's summoned beasts—Manda's lesser kin and giant toads—formed a living bulwark, crushing any scouts who came too close. Any who slipped past the summons were personally dispatched by the Sannin themselves before they could report the deception.
Kagenori remained the silent blade on the perimeter, a constant flow of information passing from his serpents to Orochimaru's. The Snake Sannin, in turn, used this intelligence to steer the massive formation away from concentrated Cloud forces, navigating the forest like a serpent avoiding a larger predator.
Orochimaru even intentionally allowed a few Cloud scouts to escape, wanting them to carry back the terrifying news of a 200-strong Konoha force on the move.
As they pushed deeper, the Cloud's reconnaissance grew more frequent, but their tactics remained cautious. A force of over two hundred was a significant threat. To engage it head-on would require mustering at least three hundred of their own, escalating a border skirmish into a full-scale battle for which they were not prepared. Their strategy was one of observation and harassment, probing for weakness, confident that the Konoha force would eventually have to disperse—and that would be their moment to strike.
The advance was methodical but slow, the weight of the deception taxing the chakra reserves of the thirty-two real shinobi. Dusk began to paint the sky in shades of orange and purple.
Just after Kagenori dispatched another scout team with the same cold efficiency, a small black snake from Ryūchi Cave slithered up to him.
"Kagenori-sama," it hissed. "Lord Orochimaru commands you to rejoin the main force."
"Understood."
The snake vanished in a puff of smoke. Kagenori wiped his bloodied ninjato clean on the tunic of one of his victims and sheathed it. The order to return could only mean one thing: they had reached the ten-kilometer mark.
He flickered through the trees, returning to the heart of the formation. Orochimaru gave him a slight, approving nod. The boy's efforts had been instrumental; his forward scouting had allowed Orochimaru to guide the entire operation like a master puppeteer, avoiding conflict and maintaining the illusion.
Orochimaru addressed the gathered shinobi, his voice cutting through the evening air. "Half of you will maintain your clones. The other half, dispel them. Rest and recover your chakra. We will rotate in two hours. Those who have dispelled their clones will receive a summoning scroll from myself or Jiraiya. They contain wire and explosive tags. You are to set perimeter traps immediately!"
The formation dissolved in a series of soft pops as half the shadow and illusion clones vanished. The exhausted shinobi who had maintained them staggered slightly before collecting the scrolls and moving to secure the new frontline.
Kagenori collected a scroll as well, though he had no intention of setting traps. His solo mission had involved constant combat; this manual labor was beneath his current assignment. He took the scrolls simply to replenish his own depleted supply of explosives. Orochimaru, recognizing his disciple's contribution, provided him with three scrolls, each containing a hundred explosive tags.
After issuing orders, Orochimaru approached Kagenori. "You've performed well."
"It was not difficult," Kagenori replied, his voice flat. "Their scouts were weak. The plan proceeded smoothly."
Orochimaru nodded. "It will be easier from here. The Cloud will eventually deduce our ruse and gather their strength, but they will hesitate to commit to a full assault until they are certain of our true numbers. Our focus now is on fortification, traps, and a fighting retreat until Konoha's reinforcements arrive. Stay with the main force and rest."
"I understand, Sensei."
"Get what sleep you can. We may be here for several days."
As Orochimaru left to confer with Jiraiya, the Konoha shinobi began erecting a small forest of tents, a necessary part of the charade for a force of "over two hundred." Kagenori claimed one for himself, sitting on the ground with his back against the central pole. He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to meditate, to conserve every ounce of his strength. The advance was over. The defense was about to begin.