Three days later, at dawn, Team Seven finally reached the outpost along the border.
The outpost was extremely well hidden, buried deep underground. Its only entrance on the surface was concealed beneath the branches of a thousand-year-old tree.
The tree's roots tangled together like coiling dragons, cleverly disguising the entrance as a natural hollow.
Without specialized Sensory Ninjutsu, even an elite scout would have had a hard time detecting the secret.
Jiraiya exchanged the password with the guards lurking in the shadows, and only then were the four of them allowed inside.
In the deepest part of the outpost, someone was bent over a mountain of scrolls, brow furrowed as he worked through a stack of documents.
He seemed completely absorbed in his work and didn't notice anyone approaching.
At last, Jiraiya broke the silence. "Orochimaru, it's been a long time. I never expected you to be in charge here."
At the sound of his voice, Orochimaru stopped working and looked up.
Sen took the opportunity to get a good look at one of the future Sannin.
Orochimaru was only in his early twenties. His golden, slit-pupiled eyes hadn't yet acquired the unrestrained wickedness and madness they would later hold. For now, they showed only the lingering fatigue of years of research and work.
"Jiraiya?" Seeing who had arrived, the weary expression on Orochimaru's pale face eased a little. "It's been a long time. I heard you were in the village, working as a Jonin Leader."
Jiraiya stepped aside to stand with Sen and the others, briefly introduced the three of them, then went outside with Orochimaru to catch up.
Sen and the other two could finally wash off the grime and exhaustion they'd accumulated during three straight days on the road.
They'd spent all three days in the forest, and the smell of rotting leaves clung to them from head to toe.
Even though they'd brought medicine to ward off leeches, they'd still been bitten until their skin was red and swollen.
The three of them slept in a daze until evening.
They had just finished dinner when Jiraiya came over carrying a mission scroll, with a huge basket strapped to his back.
The basket looked exactly like the barrel the Sound Ninja had used to carry Sasuke.
Jiraiya checked the supplies inside to make sure everything was in order, then unrolled the scroll and briefly explained the mission.
"This mission isn't complicated. We're mainly delivering supplies. That's a good thing—it means you won't have to come into direct contact with the enemy."
He traced his finger from the first red mark to the last. "This is an island on the border with the Land of Water. The shinobi stationed there haven't sent a message in a week, so the village believes they may have been killed. We also need to confirm what's happening there.
"There's no time to waste. We're leaving now."
The three nodded. The mission wasn't complicated; all they had to do was deliver supplies.
Sen alone felt curious. From the description, the mission sounded urgent, yet they'd been assigned it anyway... It almost seemed as though it had been waiting specifically for them.
Before he could think it over, Jiraiya had already set the heavy basket on his back. "The more capable you are, the more work you get. You're the Squad Leader of Team Seven, after all."
Sen didn't argue. The weight really was nothing to him.
The group set out for the first outpost along the coast.
An hour later, they reached their destination.
The atmosphere here was noticeably tenser than at the rear. After confirming Jiraiya's password, the shinobi on duty even required Sen and the others to verify several additional passwords before lowering their guard and letting them in.
With help from the Anbu stationed there, the supplies were distributed in an orderly fashion.
To their surprise, the shinobi didn't rush to claim food. Instead, they fought over cigarettes and liquor. Some even had enough money to pay a high price for cigarettes. Food and medical supplies came afterward.
Sen noticed that every pack of cigarettes bore the Sarutobi Clan crest.
He sneered inwardly. Looks like people will profit from war wherever they can.
"The report said there were twelve of you here. Why are there only seven now?" Jiraiya asked.
The shinobi who'd just been excited over the cigarettes fell silent. Even the ones on duty turned their faces away.
Only one shinobi, standing closest to Jiraiya, answered in a low voice. "Three... died in action. Two more were seriously injured and sent to the rear. I don't think... they'll ever be able to work as shinobi again."
"Understood. I'll report your situation to the village. They should send you more support."
Kushina's eyes instantly reddened as she listened. "We... we should hurry and deliver the supplies to Lookout Island! The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can support the front lines and... reduce the casualties."
Minato nodded silently.
While the supplies were being handed out, he'd sneaked a glance beyond the fortifications. The blackened ground was covered in traces of jutsu and Explosive Tags, with scattered fragments of bones lying among them.
Even if they'd wanted to bury the dead, it would have been impossible to tell friend from foe.
The three said goodbye to the outpost personnel and quickened their pace. Soon, they arrived at the last outpost—
Lookout Island.
The island wasn't very large, but it stood at a high elevation. For the Land of Fire, it was an excellent lookout post; for the Land of Water, it was a perfect stepping-stone for invading the Land of Fire.
In short, it was a strategically vital location.
At the dock, an Anbu Ninja handed them a boat, his voice as cold as ice. "Here's your boat. The waves aren't bad today. Paddle hard, and you'll make it in forty minutes."
Jiraiya was just about to thank him, but the other man had already turned away, watching the horizon like a statue.
"That's strange..." Jiraiya muttered. "Even Anbu should be glad to see a supply team. These guys are being unusually cold..."
No one answered.
Not long after their little boat left the dock, the Anbu Ninja summoned a seabird, slipped an encrypted message into the tube on its leg, and released it.
The bird beat its wings and flew swiftly in the direction of Lookout Island. It was much faster than Sen and the others' boat, though—it didn't look like it was going to warn them.
Half an hour later, the four of them finally landed on Lookout Island.
The island covered several square kilometers, but it was perpetually shrouded in dense fog. Visibility was extremely poor; they could barely see three or four hundred meters ahead.
Jiraiya warned them, "Be careful not to get separated. Much of this island is still primeval forest, so check your teammates' positions every thirty seconds. We're only here to gather intelligence. We don't need to get involved in a fight."
They nodded and struggled onward across the island.
Minato got to his feet. "There might be someone up ahead, but the fog's too thick to make them out."
Jiraiya nodded, then added, "There's a smell of blood nearby, too. Stay alert." He was studying the drag marks on the ground.
Just then, a Konoha Ninja, drenched in blood, stumbled out of the fog.
One of his eyes seemed to be blind. He clutched his severed right arm with his left hand, breathing with difficulty.
His gaze swept over them. When he saw the group, a smile spread across his cracked lips. His face was deathly pale, making the expression look grotesque.
"Is that a Konoha rescue team?! Thank goodness... Thank goodness! Help me!"
Kushina pulled out medical supplies and instinctively started forward, but Jiraiya, Sen, and Minato all reached out to stop her.
Sen looked at Kushina's confusion and reminded her in a cold voice, "What did they teach us at the Academy? When you meet someone whose identity is uncertain on the battlefield, what's the first thing you do?"
Kushina realized her mistake, but disappointment filled her eyes. She desperately hoped the person before them really was one of their comrades from the village.
She let out a few dejected words. "Confirm... the password."
At that moment, six figures appeared like ghosts among the branches in front of them. One of them sneered.
"Captain Fuguki, looks like you're not much of an actor. The ambush failed. But no matter. We can just kill them instead."
The wounded man's expression changed. His smile stretched from ear to ear.
After a puff of white smoke, his body swelled like a balloon, transforming in an instant into a burly, brown-haired man carrying a giant sword.
"Heh heh. Can't be helped. I thought it'd be beautiful to pretend to be one of them and have Samehada bite into their backs, spraying blood and flesh everywhere."
Before you continue