Thirty miles south of the Land of Wind's border.
This was a true no-man's-land. Only the howling of wind scraping across the rocks echoed through the wasteland, like mourners weeping at a funeral. The sun baked the sand until it was scorching hot, and even through their shoes, they could feel the heat threatening to cook the soles of their feet.
Sunagakure jonin Baki lay behind a sand dune, his cheek pressed against the burning grains. His lips were cracked like old bark, and the slightest movement brought the rusty tang of blood to his mouth.
He was lying in wait.
Intelligence said that a Konoha caravan would be passing through here today.
"Captain, they're here," the chunin beside him whispered, his throat sounding as though it were full of sand, terribly hoarse.
Baki narrowed his eyes.
A black dot appeared amid the distant heat haze.
It was neither a carriage nor a camel caravan.
It was just one person.
A Konoha ninja who looked no older than fourteen or fifteen, wearing a slightly oversized green flak jacket and carrying an enormous wooden crate on his back, nearly twice his height.
"Just one chunin?" Baki frowned.
Konoha's green flak jackets were issued only to chunin, and a ninja that young was unlikely to be a jonin.
But why would a chunin be selling goods?
Though Baki was puzzled, he still prepared to go over and take a look.
He gave a hand signal.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Twelve Sand Ninja sprang from behind the dunes in an instant, surrounding the Konoha ninja before he could react.
Kunai, shuriken, and even poison-coated senbon were all aimed at the Konoha ninja's throat and heart.
"Stop." Baki spoke coldly, his hands rapidly forming seals as a wind blade took shape in his palm, giving