Chapter 113: The Promise in Motion
Jiraiya, running stride-for-stride with the masked ANBU, suddenly felt the air grow colder. It wasn't the chill of altitude or weather; it was a palpable drop in temperature that seeped into his bones. A primal unease prickled his skin.
He glanced sideways, his gaze inadvertently meeting the slits of the Rakshasa mask. Behind them, he caught a glimpse of eyes that were not just cold, but held a frozen, abyssal darkness. A shiver ran down his spine, distinct from the physical cold.
This killing intent… it's almost tangible. And that speed earlier… Jiraiya's earlier competitive thoughts were gone, replaced by sober assessment. This guy is the real deal. Strong. Possibly stronger than me right now.
Respect, grudging but genuine, settled in his gut. In the shinobi world, strength was the ultimate currency, and Rakshasa's was being minted right before him.
"Rakshasa," Jiraiya called out, breaking the tense silence as they ran. "Between Fire and Rain Country, there's a forward observation post—a temporary camp. It's our first line of defense against these joint raids. If Orochimaru and the boy are still alive and mobile, that's where they'll try to reach for support."
Ragnar's masked head turned slightly toward him. "Your point?"
"The battlefield's huge, spanning three villages. We only have a general direction. Finding them in this wilderness is like finding a needle in a haystack. That camp has scouts, trackers, ANBU sentries. We go there first, get real-time intel, and then move with purpose."
Ragnar processed this. His Observation Haki had range, but it wasn't infinite. Blundering around in the hope of sensing a specific, possibly weakened chakra signature was inefficient. Time was a factor, but wasted motion was worse. Clear intelligence and coordinated action increased the probability of success.
"Agreed. To the camp first."
Jiraiya let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He'd been half-expecting the infamous lone wolf to ignore him and strike off on his own. The pressure radiating from the masked operative was not something he relished arguing against.
To be honest, while Jiraiya was older and had been on the battlefield longer, if you tallied sheer combat efficiency and confirmed kills in this war, he'd likely come up short against Rakshasa's rumored tally. Jiraiya was an elite jonin, brushing against the quasi-Kage tier, but his path was different—broader, sometimes unfocused. The pressure he felt from Rakshasa wasn't just about power level; it was about purpose. A terrifying, single-minded focus. Without a war, Jiraiya might be a bestselling author of questionable literature. Without a war, what would Rakshasa be? The thought was unsettling.
Konoha Forward Observation Post – Fire/Rain Border
The camp was a hive of tense readiness. Shinobi and ANBU stood at their posts, eyes scanning the misty horizon, ears tuned for the first sign of subterranean movement or an ambush. They were the rapid reaction force, but lately, they'd been reacting to ghosts.
Namikaze Minato was among them, having retreated here after his own ambush. His sharp blue eyes took in everything.
"Jiraiya-sama!"
Several ninja saluted as Jiraiya and the crimson-masked ANBU entered the compound.
Jiraiya gave a curt nod. "Status report. Any word on Orochimaru's unit?"
"None yet, sir," a chunin reported grimly.
Minato's attention, however, was riveted on the ANBU standing silently beside his teacher. The operative hadn't spoken, hadn't moved unnecessarily, yet an aura emanated from him that demanded the attention of every experienced fighter in the clearing. It was cold, dense, and carried the iron scent of recently spilled blood and unshakeable will.
This is the one they call Rakshasa, Minato thought. The new legend. His analytical mind assessed: Strong. Exceptionally so. That presence… it's not just killing intent. It's… dominion.
Ragnar's aura had solidified through relentless combat. It was no longer just the cold efficiency of a survivor or the bloody reek of a butcher. Layers had been added—the scorching potential of the Burn-Burn Fruit, the serene, overwhelming weight of the Buddha, the unyielding will of Conqueror's Haki. It coalesced into something uniquely oppressive and awe-inspiring.
"Jiraiya-sensei," Minato asked, stepping forward. "This ANBU is…?"
"Minato, this is Special ANBU Operative, Rakshasa," Jiraiya introduced. "We're on a joint rescue. And to be clear," he added, glancing at the impassive mask, "on this op, Rakshasa has operational lead."
It really is him. A murmur of awe and heightened respect passed through the assembled shinobi. The name 'Rakshasa' was becoming a talisman, a symbol of Konoha's hidden, devastating answer to enemy aggression.
Minato, however, felt a strange flicker. Looking at that still, masked form, a vague sense of familiarity tugged at the edge of his consciousness. The posture? The way he held his head? He frowned, his mind racing, but the connection remained elusive, obscured by the mask and the overwhelming aura.
The camp descended into a strategy session. Ideas were tossed out—flanking maneuvers, baiting the enemy, setting large-scale traps. The discussion went in circles. The problem was the enemy's elusiveness and the priority of rescue over eradication.
Jiraiya rubbed his temples, frustration mounting. He turned to the silent center of the room. "Rakshasa. You've been quiet. Any thoughts?"
All eyes turned to the blood-red mask.
"It's simple." The voice was flat, cutting through the chatter. "We leave the camp. We locate the targets. We ensure their safety. When the Rock and Sand ninja appear to interfere…" A pause, so brief it was almost imperceptible. "…we kill them all."
Silence.
Jiraiya's mouth opened, then closed. His expression froze somewhere between admiration for the sheer audacity and dismay at the simplistic brutality of it. Kill them all? If it were that easy, Orochimaru would have done it already! But then he remembered: Orochimaru probably could have, if not for the anchor of a child he was protecting. The current Orochimaru was arguably the most lethally effective of the Sannin, ruthless and cunning.
But to just state it so bluntly… Jiraiya was at a loss for words. He couldn't openly contradict the mission lead, but the plan lacked… finesse.
The tense deadlock was shattered by a scout bursting into the command area, gasping for breath.
"Report! Lord Orochimaru's location confirmed! He's approximately two kilometers northeast, moving toward us at high speed! He's being pursued by a significant enemy force!"
The news acted like a lightning rod. The tense energy in the camp snapped into focused urgency. Everyone moved, grabbing weapons, readying jutsu.
The only one who seemed unsurprised was Ragnar. Upon hearing the words "enemy force," the cold, still pool of his aura rippled. A wave of focused, predatory intent washed out from him, so sharp several nearby ninja took an involuntary step back.
Jiraiya didn't hesitate. "Rakshasa, we move! Now!"
He turned to give the order.
The seat beside him was empty. The space where the masked ANBU had been standing was vacant, only a faint disturbance in the air hinting at sudden, violent motion.
Ragnar was already gone.
Two Kilometers Northeast – The Chase
Orochimaru moved through the trees like a pale wraith, Nawaki a bundled weight under his arm. The boy's earlier bravado was tempered by the reality of their flight, but he remained uncomplaining.
Orochimaru himself was a mess. His flak jacket was torn and stained with blood—some his, most not. His breathing, while controlled, had a ragged edge. He'd fought a running battle against two elite forces, protecting a liability. It had taken a toll.
"Teacher, you're amazing!" Nawaki breathed, genuine awe in his voice as they vaulted over a fallen log.
"The Konoha outpost is just ahead," Orochimaru hissed, his eyes scanning the approaching tree line. "Reinforcements will be there. You run straight for it. Don't look back. I'll delay our… pursuers."
Being chased was an offense to his nature. With Nawaki safe, he could turn and show these interlopers why cornering a snake was a fatal mistake.
"Got it, sensei!" Nawaki nodded, his trust absolute.
Orochimaru allowed himself a thin, sinister smile. He set Nawaki down on a thick branch. "Go. Now."
Nawaki didn't hesitate. He turned and launched himself toward the distant glimpse of the camp's perimeter fences.
Orochimaru spun on his perch, facing the direction they'd come from. His chakra, though depleted, coiled like a serpent ready to strike. "You've chased me far enough," he murmured to the empty forest, his voice a venomous promise. "Time to die."
KABOOM!
The explosion wasn't behind him, where the enemy should have been.
It was ahead. From the direction Nawaki had just run.
A geyser of dirt, smoke, and shattered wood erupted from the forest floor between the boy and the camp. The concussive blast wave rattled the trees. A hidden cluster of explosive tags, buried by a digging puppet or an Earth Release specialist lying in wait.
Orochimaru's blood ran cold. His vertical pupils dilated.
Nawaki!
He watched, horror dawning, as his student's small form was swallowed by the debris cloud.
(End of Chapter)
✨If you're enjoying this story, consider supporting me on Patreon —
Patreon.com/TofuChan
💕Patreon members get early access to chapters, bonus content, and voting power on future ideas.💕
Every bit of support helps me write more and faster. Thank you so much for reading! 🥰
Bonus Chapter For Every 100 Power Stones
Lets hit the goal of 200 Patreon Members now for 5 Extra Chapters 💕