Late summer, Konoha Year 49.
The Third Shinobi World War had been going on for nearly ten months.
Ten months.
Yan crouched in a trench on the northwestern border of the Land of Fire, unfolding a communications scroll soaked through with blood and reading it twice. The handwriting on the scroll was unbelievably scrawled, but he still recognized it—it belonged to a chunin who had shared water with him three days ago.
The message contained only one line:
"B-7 position has fallen. Reinforcements have not arrived. Eleven survivors. Request—"
That was all.
Yan crumpled the scroll into a ball and tossed it into the mud of the trench.
Beside him, a Konoha chunin covered in mud leaned against the trench wall, wrapping bandages around his left hand—that hand was missing two fingers. His face was ashen, but his eyes were still bright.
"Lord Lava, the frontline command just sent word." The chunin's voice was raspy, as if he had shouted himself hoarse days ago. "Your ANBU codename squad has been disbanded."
"Disbanded?"
"Yeah. The ANBU Operations Division said it was a joint order from the Third and Fourth Hokage—they're transferring you out of ANBU and assigning you to the Third Defensive Line on the main battlefield. The Eleventh Tactical Battalion."
Yan clicked his tongue.
"The main battlefield?"
"Yes. Iwagakure has been making major moves lately. They've brought in reinforcements from the north of the Land of Earth, at least three divisions. Frontline Commander Sarutobi Hyuga was severely wounded by an Iwagakure demolition squad yesterday. The Third Defensive Line is leaderless now. The higher-ups mean to—send someone who can hold things together."
Yan said nothing. Tilting his head, he swept the area within two kilometers ahead with Observation Haki.
Chaotic life auras were everywhere. Some were moving rapidly, some were weakening,