Chapter 488: Collapse of the Allied Shinobi Forces
"Or are you planning to rely on leading these few thousand battered, defeated troops in a suicidal assault against the Konoha Main Camp, right where Uchiha Akira is stationed?"
The Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki, let the question hang in the heavy air of the command tent. His voice was sharp, cutting through the ambient drumming of rain against the canvas.
Darui opened his mouth to retort. His jaw worked, but the words died in his throat. His fists clenched at his sides until the knuckles turned white.
"You have seen Uchiha Akira with your own eyes," Ōnoki continued, his floating posture lowering slightly to meet the younger man's gaze. "Do you honestly believe that in our current state, we hold even a ten percent chance of victory?"
Darui looked down at the muddy floorboards. The phantom image of Uchiha Akira's overwhelming, suffocating chakra flared in his mind's eye. Ten percent? It was a generous lie. They did not even possess half a percent.
"Charging their lines right now is no different from tying a kunai to your own neck," Ōnoki stated, his tone dripping with cold, hard rationality. "And the most crucial point of all... we have absolutely no idea where the Raikage is being held. Is he suffering in the front-line camp? Or has he already been transported deep into the Land of Fire?"
Ōnoki spread his calloused hands. "We have zero intelligence. Launching a blind attack under these circumstances will not save a single soul. Your forces will be utterly wiped out before you even breach the Konoha Main Camp. also, such a reckless move might only provoke Uchiha Akira into hastening the Raikage's execution."
Those words hit Darui like a bucket of freezing water. The burning rage in his chest extinguished, leaving behind a chilling, sobering reality. How could they mount a rescue mission when they were entirely blind to the target's location?
"Then... are we just going to slink away in disgrace?" Darui asked, his voice thick with bitter unwillingness.
"This is not slinking away." Ōnoki shook his head, a glint of veteran sharpness flashing in his aged eyes. "This is a strategic retreat."
The old Tsuchikage floated over to the tactical table. He dipped his index finger into a spilled cup of cold tea and slowly drew a circle on the wooden surface.
"As long as Kumogakure's core fighting force remains intact, we still hold a chance to turn the tide. If your men are completely annihilated in this valley, Kumogakure will truly be erased from the map of the Ninja World. By then, who will be left to remember the Raikage? Who will be left to rescue him?"
Ōnoki reached out and patted Darui's broad shoulder, his expression turning deadly earnest. "Darui, you are the successor chosen by the Raikage himself. You must learn to lead with your brain, not just your muscles. Enduring this humiliation today is the price we pay to deliver a fatal strike tomorrow."
Darui shuddered. Successor. That single word pressed down on his shoulders like a physical mountain. But deep down, beneath the grief and the anger, he knew the Tsuchikage was right. Acting on blind impulse would not save Kumogakure, nor would it bring the Raikage back.
A long, ragged sigh escaped Darui's lips, expelling the suffocating frustration from his lungs. "I understand, Senior Tsuchikage." He stood up straight and offered a deep, respectful bow to the older man. "I will follow your arrangements."
Ōnoki nodded, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his weathered face. The boy was teachable.
"In that case, let us execute the maneuver immediately." Ōnoki turned his back, his voice hardening into the commanding bark of a Kage as he addressed the high-ranking officials gathered in the shadows of the tent. "Pass down the command. The entire army is to break camp at once."
"Leave a designated portion of shinobi to cover the rear alongside the Iwagakure forces. The remaining troops will splinter into ten separate echelons and withdraw toward the Land of Lightning via the dense mountain forest paths. Remember, speed is absolute!"
"Additionally..." Ōnoki paused, a dangerous, calculating light narrowing his eyes. "Dispatch our best sensory-type shinobi and elite scouts to infiltrate the perimeter of Konoha at all costs. I want to know the Raikage's exact location."
Ōnoki clenched his fist, slamming it into his open palm with a sharp crack. "Once we secure that intelligence, we can launch a surgical, surprise rescue operation when Konoha least expects it!"
"Yes, Lord Tsuchikage!" The high-ranking officials responded in unison, their voices tight with renewed purpose. As long as there was a goal, as long as there was a sliver of hope, the Allied Forces would not break completely.
Outside, the sky bruised a deep, violent purple. The wind howled through the valley, carrying the metallic scent of impending rain. The great retreat commenced.
On the Iwagakure side of the encampment, hoarse cries shook the heavens. The designated rearguard troops, men and women fully aware they were marching to their graves, bid their final farewells to their retreating comrades.
"Take care of my family!"
"You must survive and make it back!"
Rugged, battle-hardened veterans wept openly, clinging to their brothers-in-arms.
Across the camp, the Kumogakure forces operated in a deathly, solemn silence. There were no tears, only the quiet, methodical packing of gear and the grim scraping of whetstones against steel.
Darui stood on a high ridge overlooking the desolate scene, the torrential rain finally beginning to fall. He stared into the distance, his fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.
'Uchiha Akira...'Darui swore silently into the storm.'Kumogakure will remember this blood debt. Sooner or later, I will make you pay it back a hundredfold!'
Thunder rumbled across the horizon, masking the sound of the marching boots.
Meanwhile, miles away at the Konoha Main Camp, the atmosphere was a stark contrast of absolute, terrifying control.
Inside the central command tent, Uchiha Akira sat casually at the head of the table. His posture was relaxed, yet he radiated an oppressive, suffocating gravity that commanded the entire room. Nara Shikaku stood a respectful distance away, a detailed map unrolled before him.
"They retreated?" Akira asked, his voice smooth, betraying a hint of dry amusement.
"Yes, Hokage-sama," Shikaku reported, his tone measured and precise. "The Iwagakure main force is pulling back toward the Land of Earth. Kumogakure has fragmented, breaking through our outer perimeter in scattered, decentralized groups. It appears Ōnoki and that man Darui still possess some tactical sense."
Akira let out a low, quiet laugh. "Severing the tail to save the body? Not a terrible strategy."
He rose from his seat. The sheer weight of his presence expanded, pressing down on the air inside the tent until it felt hard to breathe.
"Unfortunately for them," Akira said, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "When a lizard severs its tail in front of me... the rest of the body still dies."
He raised his hand, a gesture of absolute, unquestionable authority. "Pass the order. Full army, advance!"
At Uchiha Akira's command, the Konoha Main Camp erupted into a frenzy of organized violence. The Konoha shinobi, having waited like coiled vipers, surged out of their trenches with explosive, pent-up killing intent.
At the vanguard of the assault, a monstrous shadow blotted out the stormy sky.
"Kill!" Jiraiya's roar tore across the battlefield. He stood perched atop the massive, warty head of Gamabunta. His wild white mane whipped furiously in the gale. His hands blurred, weaving through hand seals fast enough to leave afterimages.
"Sage Art: Goemon!"
A catastrophic eruption of boiling toad oil blasted from the giant summon's maw. In the same breath, Jiraiya exhaled a massive torrent of Fire Release, instantly igniting the oil, while a secondary Wind Release accelerated the inferno. The sky caught fire. A towering tsunami of liquid flame, dozens of meters high, crashed down upon the fragile defensive lines of the Allied Forces with apocalyptic force.
The heat flash-vaporized the falling rain. Screams of agony pierced the heavens, only to be abruptly silenced by the roaring inferno.
But this was merely the opening strike. Behind Jiraiya, thousands of Konoha shinobi flooded into the valley like a tidal wave of steel and blood.
In stark contrast, the Allied Forces' rearguard camp descended into absolute, primal chaos.
"Where are the Kumogakure troops? Where are the Iwagakure main forces?!" A Jonin from Kusagakure grabbed a fleeing comrade by the collar, shaking him hysterically.
"They ran... they all ran!" The comrade's face was plastered with mud and blood, his eyes wide and vacant, completely broken by terror. "The Tsuchikage ordered a retreat... the main force has been gone for hours! They left us... they left us here as cannon fodder!"
That scream was the final strike that shattered the fragile morale of the rearguard. The shinobi from the smaller, dependent villages, who had clung to a desperate sliver of hope, instantly broke.
They had been sold out. The great nations they had bled for had ruthlessly abandoned them to buy time for their own survival.
"Run for your lives!"
Panic spread faster than the flames. No one cared about holding the line. No one cared about the grand illusion of peace in the Ninja World. Survival was the only instinct left. Thousands of shinobi from the minor villages discarded their heavy armor, threw away their weapons, and scattered into the burning forest like headless flies.
But their desperation was destined to end in blood.
"Trying to run?"
A voice, cold as the grave, drifted through the thick smoke.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Dozens of silhouettes materialized from the shadows, their dark battle attire emblazoned with the iconic red-and-white fan crest of the Uchiha clan. They moved like phantoms along the flanks of the routing army, cutting off every avenue of escape.
At the forefront stood Uchiha Shunichi. His eyes burned with the crimson light of the Sharingan, a bloodthirsty gleam reflecting off the edge of his short sword as lightning fractured the sky above. He was the tip of the spear, leading the clan's absolute elite in a merciless harvest.
"Uchiha Style: Sword Blaze!"
Shunichi's figure blurred into nothingness. A heartbeat later, a searing arc of fire cleaved through the chaotic mob. Over a dozen Takigakure shinobi, desperately scrambling for the tree line, did not even have the chance to scream. Their throats were opened in a single, fluid motion, their vocal cords severed before they hit the mud. The intense flames attached to the blade instantly charred their collapsing bodies into blackened husks.
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