Chapter 71: The Cost of a Path
The last of the seven Cloud-nin fell, Kagenori's ninjato sliding free from the man's skull with a sickening, final sound. He flicked the blade, clearing it of gore and matter before sheathing it with a quiet click. The forest on the right flank was silent now, save for the crackle of fading lightning and the scent of scorched earth.
He returned to the main retreat column at a steady jog. The shinobi following his shadow clone visibly relaxed upon his return, their postures losing a fraction of their tension. Their trust wasn't born of camaraderie, but of cold, hard necessity. Following a clone into a potential ambush was a nerve-wracking prospect, even if the clone was his.
A quick scan of the group confirmed his initial observation: Namikaze Minato and his five-man team had not yet returned. Kagenori closed his eyes for a moment, the nascent field of his Observation Haki expanding outward like a ripple on a pond. He sensed them—four Cloud-nin signatures extinguished, two Konoha signatures flickering with the dull ache of injury, and Minato's own bright, frantic chakra trying to shield them from the three remaining enemies. The battle was stalled, mired in the quagmire of protecting the wounded.
A waste. To sacrifice a combat-effective shinobi for two who were now dead weight was sentimentality of the most dangerous kind. Kagenori dismissed the sensory input. Minato's mission was to eliminate the flanking team. The outcome of that specific skirmish was no longer his concern. The tactical goal—breaking the enemy's pincer maneuver—had been achieved.
He focused on leading the thirty-two survivors forward, his pace unrelenting.
Nearly an hour later, Minato's group finally stumbled back into the formation. Only four returned. The two injured shinobi were still alive, being supported by their comrades. The one who had died was one of the unwounded. Dragged down by the weak, he had paid the price for Minato's compassion.
Minato approached, his voice low and thick with fatigue. "The left flank is clear. All seven enemy shinobi have been eliminated."
Kagenori gave a curt nod, his expression unmoved. "Report noted. Return to position."
As Minato turned away, his shoulders slumped with a defeat that had nothing to do with the battle itself, Kagenori allowed a faint, derisive curl of his lip. To sacrifice a capable fighter for two liabilities. He had protected the injured, only to get another killed and now be burdened with two more. It was a net loss by any logical measure.
"Heh," Kagenori muttered under his breath, the sound lost in the rustle of leaves. "So this is the power of bonds. Fortunately, it's a weakness I don't possess."
He pushed the thought aside and pressed on.
The situation, however, was deteriorating faster than anticipated. Though Orochimaru and Jiraiya were masters of delay, using the terrain and their immense power to harry the main pursuit force, the Cloud was mobilizing its local reserves. Through his Observation Haki, Kagenori could feel it—new chakra signatures converging from multiple directions, a net slowly drawing closed around them. They had been retreating for twenty-two hours. The rendezvous point with Konoha reinforcements was still a punishing fourteen hours away.
They would be surrounded long before then.
His mind, cold and analytical, processed the variables. He came to a decision.
"All shinobi, halt!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the weary march. "Disperse all shadow clones and transformation techniques. Now!"
A wave of confusion passed through the group, but it was followed by immediate obedience. Puffs of smoke erupted around the column as the decoys vanished. The number of visible Konoha shinobi instantly halved.
"The enemy is forming an encirclement," Kagenori stated, his red Sharingan eyes sweeping over them, leaving no room for argument. "Maintaining the clones is a waste of chakra they will soon see through. Our only option is to punch through their lines before the net is fully drawn. We break out. Now."
He didn't wait for questions. A small messenger snake slithered from his sleeve, carrying a terse update for Orochimaru. Then, he turned to face the direction of the tightening noose.
"I will clear a path," he announced, his tone flat and absolute. "You will follow that path. Do not stop. Do not turn back. If you fall behind, you hide and you escape on your own. Do not expect a rescue. To expect help in a situation like this is to sentence your comrades to death with you."
His gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on Minato and the two injured shinobi he still shepherded. Minato flinched, looking at the ground. The wounded men could not meet his eyes, their faces masks of shame and fear.
Kagenori turned his back on them. He closed his eyes, taking a long, slow breath. A plume of white mist escaped his lips. His hand settled on the hilt of his ninjato. The air began to hum, and blue-white arcs of lightning sparked to life around his body, coalescing into the roaring, draconic form of his newest technique.
"Thunder Breathing," he whispered, his voice a low thunderclap. "Seventh Form: Honoikazuchi."
He became lightning.
He shot forward, a living bolt of judgment. The world blurred into streaks of green and brown. Trees in his path didn't just fall; they exploded into splinters and sawdust. The earth itself was scorched black in a straight, brutal line. The Cloud-nin who moved to intercept him were not so much defeated as erased, their forms dismembered before their minds could even register the attack.
A charred corridor, ten meters wide, was carved through the forest and the emerging enemy lines.
"GO!" one of the older Chunin roared, and the Konoha force surged forward, pouring into the smoldering breach Kagenori had torn open.
They ran, their boots pounding on the seared earth, the heat from the ground washing over them. For a few hundred meters, it seemed the plan would work. The breakout was succeeding.
Then, at the head of the charge, Kagenori skidded to a sudden halt.
His Observation Haki screamed a warning. A massive concentration of chakra was directly ahead, far larger than the scattered groups they had just bypassed. Roughly eighty signatures. A full battalion, lying in wait, their formation solid and unbroken.
The path he had cleared ended here. Before them stood the main blocking force. The real fight was about to begin.