The Third Shinobi World War, Outpost Under Attack

The air at the border of the Land of Hot Water was thick with the scent of damp earth and rust.

Uchiha Ryūha stood before Konoha Outpost No. 17, his feet planted on soil soaked a deep, dark red.

The wooden watchtower had snapped in half, its charred remains bristling with kunai of a peculiar design, still flickering with arcs of lightning.

More jarring was the clearing in the center of the camp—over a dozen corpses of Konoha ninja had been deliberately arranged into a twisted symbol.

It was the lightning crest of Kumogakure, pieced together from severed limbs and heads.

"Urgh—!"

Haruno Kazuya spun around abruptly, clutching a scorched wooden post as he retched violently.

Fujiwara Itsuki's face was as pale as paper; he bit his lip so hard his fingernails dug deep into his palms.

Even Matsumoto Ryūichi, who had survived several border skirmishes, felt his throat bob as cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

Only Uchiha Ryūha remained unmoved.

He scanned the slaughterhouse with calm eyes, his gaze sweeping over each mangled corpse as if he were merely taking inventory of goods on a shelf.

The morning breeze whipped through his black hair, revealing eyes that were tranquil to the point of coldness.

His immense Reiatsu granted him unparalleled mental control.

Even though he had never seen such a sight before, he remained completely composed.

"Get used to it."

A clean handkerchief was held out toward Haruno Kazuya.

The boy looked up, dazed, meeting Ryūha's indifferent eyes.

"Or die."

The voice held no inflection, stating the fact as plainly as saying, "It is raining today."

Haruno Kazuya shivered, took the handkerchief to wipe his mouth, and forced himself to stand straight.

"I'm sorry, Ryūha-kun..."

"No need to apologize." Ryūha withdrew his gaze and began to walk slowly toward the center of the "lightning crest."

"The first time you see a slaughterhouse, this is the reaction.

The second time, it gets better. By the third, you won't vomit anymore."

He crouched beside a corpse lying face-up.

It was a very young ninja; his forehead protector was still tilted on his brow, his eyes wide open, staring hollowly at the gray, overcast sky.

The carotid artery had been precisely severed, but the fatal wound was in his chest—a charred hole that had pierced him through.

Traces of carbonized muscle and bone were still visible along the edges.

"Lightning Style: Lariat," Matsumoto Ryūichi said, walking over, his voice dry.

"The signature lightning-based taijutsu of a Kumogakure Jonin. It concentrates lightning-style Chakra into a hand-blade with immense piercing power.

The person who did this... is at least a Special Jonin, perhaps even a Jonin."

"Not just one." Ryūha touched the edge of the wound with his fingertip, picked up a bit of charred debris, and sniffed it.

"Three different types of residual Chakra.

One skilled in lightning-style taijutsu, one who used lightning-style to coat ninja tools for long-range attacks, and another..."

He stood up and looked toward the edge of the camp at a few corpses that were relatively "intact."

They had no obvious external wounds, yet blood leaked from their seven orifices, their expressions twisted in extreme agony.

"Genjutsu.

Or rather, some kind of lightning-style secret technique that disrupts the nervous system," Ryūha concluded.

"A standard elite hunter squad led by a Jonin.

The mission objective was clear: wipe out the outpost, leave no survivors, and sow panic."

"They succeeded," Fujiwara Itsuki said, his voice trembling.

"Not thoroughly enough." Uchiha Ryūha turned and walked toward a half-collapsed warehouse behind the outpost.

"If they wanted to intimidate, they should have let word get back.

But they killed too quickly and didn't leave a 'tongue' behind."

He kicked open the tattered wooden door.

Inside were stacks of supply crates, most of which had been looted.

But in the shadows of the far corner, something moved.

Matsumoto Ryūichi instantly drew his blade to shield Ryūha, while Haruno Kazuya and Fujiwara Itsuki immediately formed hand seals, on high alert.

"Come out..." a voice whispered, so weak it was barely audible.

It was a Konoha Chunin, his abdomen pierced by a kunai, crudely bandaged with torn strips of cloth, yet blood continued to seep through.

He curled up behind a wooden crate, clutching a communication hawk to his chest—the bird was already dead, its neck snapped.

"Is there... anyone else alive?" Matsumoto Ryūichi asked, both shocked and suspicious.

"They left you on purpose." Liuyu walked over to the wounded man and crouched down.

"They need someone to bring the 'tragedy' of this place back to shake the morale of the rear guard. Your wounds aren't fatal, but between the blood loss and the shock, you have at most half an hour left. With the communication hawk dead, you'll have to struggle back to deliver the message yourself—and on the way, driven by blood loss and fear, you'll describe what happened here to every Konoha ninja you encounter, spreading panic like a plague."

The wounded man's eyes widened, tears streaming down through the blood and grime on his face.

"I, I'm useless..."

"No, you're very useful." Liuyu reached out, his fingertips glowing with a faint green light—the most basic of medical ninjutsu, Mystical Palm Technique.

He pressed his hand against the wound on the man's abdomen, temporarily staunching the bleeding.

"Tell me, how many attackers were there, what were their features, and in which direction did they retreat?"

Perhaps out of a primal instinct to survive, or perhaps due to the warmth brought by that small amount of Chakra, the wounded man gasped and described the scene in broken sentences.

"Six, six people... wearing Kumogakure headbands... the leader was bald, had a scar on his face, used Lightning Style hand blades... and there was a woman with red hair. She used senbon laced with electricity... before they left, they said... they said 'next time, Matatabi herself will come'..."

"Matatabi herself?" Matsumoto Ryūichi's expression changed drastically.

"The Jinchūriki of the Two-Tails, Matatabi." Liuyu withdrew his hand, his expression remaining calm. "Kumogakure's war weapon is finally being deployed to the battlefield."

After finishing his report, the wounded man's spirit visibly withered.

Liuyu stood up and said to Fujiwara Itsuki, "Make a makeshift stretcher for him, feed him a Military Ration Pill and some water, and take him to the nearest supply point in the rear."

"Yes!"

"Liuyu-kun, what should we do now?" Matsumoto Ryūichi asked for instructions.

"Pursue." Liuyu looked toward the northeast, the direction the wounded man said the Kumogakure forces had retreated. "They left less than two hours ago, and with the looted supplies, they won't be moving very fast. Besides..."

He paused, a faint, cold curve appearing at the corner of his mouth: "Since they dared to leave a survivor, they should have expected that a survivor might also lead pursuers to them."

Less than five kilometers into the pursuit, the edge of his Reiatsu perception caught an abnormal fluctuation.

Six Chakra signatures were resting in a sparse forest clearing. Three of them were massive and violent, clearly belonging to the bald leader and two main combatants. The other three were relatively weaker, likely the Genin responsible for transporting the supplies.

"Prepare for battle." Liuyu raised a hand to signal the team to stop, his voice very low. "Matsumoto Ryūichi, you take on that red-haired female ninja. Kazuya, Itsuki, you two pin down those two Genin; no need for an all-out attack, just hold them off. The bald leader and the other Jonin are mine."

"Understood."

"Three seconds, then we strike simultaneously."

Liuyu held up three fingers, curling them down one by one.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Move!"