At the northwestern border, where the Land of Fire met the Land of Grass.
A desolate wind swept over the sparse woodland, rolling up dry dust and carrying the oppressive heaviness of an approaching mountain storm.
At a concealed outpost on slightly elevated ground, Namikaze Minato stood shoulder to shoulder with Mimura Hamaki, commander of the northwestern shinobi forces. Both stared gravely into the distance.
On the horizon, an earthen-yellow flood was slowly advancing, like a spreading mudslide, carrying a suffocating sense of weight.
"Iwagakure..."
Mimura Hamaki's expression was grim.
The Iwagakure shinobi army had moved swiftly, crossing the Land of Grass that served as a buffer zone. They were now openly encamped beyond the Land of Fire's border, deploying their formation.
The mass of people was dark and dense, disciplined and silent, carrying a rock-like resilience.
At the head stood a burly commander, his eyes beneath his forehead protector as sharp as an eagle's—Higashi Shinin, an Iwagakure jonin.
"So they came after all..."
Mimura Hamaki's voice was slightly hoarse. The pressure of recent days had carved deep exhaustion into his brow.
"They arrived faster than expected, and with greater numbers. Judging by this formation, there are definitely more than three thousand of them, and reinforcements may still be coming."
Minato's eyes narrowed slightly. Sunlight fell across the tips of his golden hair, yet it could not dispel the gravity in his gaze.
He did not answer immediately, carefully observing Iwagakure's deployment.
They had seized favorable terrain and built simple fortifications, advancing steadily and cautiously like an enormous millstone, slowly yet resolutely grinding toward Konohagakure's defensive line.
"They're waiting."
Minato finally spoke. "Ōnoki is a shrewd old fox. He probably intends to wait for Kumogakure to make its move, forcing us to divide our attention, then gradually wear down our