Field Hospital

Western front of the Land of Fire, rear camp.

Before the curtain was even lifted, the smell hit his nose.

The stench of blood mixed with the sour bitterness of overboiled herbs, so thick it would not dissipate.

Just as Kitahara Kaede reached out, the curtain was shoved open from within.

Two medical ninja rushed out carrying a stretcher, nearly slamming it into his face.

A chunin lay on it, his entire right arm swollen and glossy, blackish-purple veins crawling from his wrist all the way to his shoulder.

His mouth hung open, but he could no longer make a sound.

"Move, move, move—!"

They rushed away.

Kitahara Kaede remained where he was, watching the stretcher for two seconds.

The field hospital was far larger than he had expected.

Tent after tent stretched across several hundred meters of the rear position, all of them full.

People lay in the walkways, while straw mats had been spread over every patch of open ground, packed side by side.

Those still able to walk sat outside the tents and waited.

Most of them bore those same blackish-purple veins.

Those whose symptoms spread slowly could still exchange a few words with the people beside them. Those whose symptoms spread quickly had already stopped moving.

White cloth covered their faces.

Kitahara Kaede did not linger and headed straight for the largest tent.

Forty or fifty wounded were crammed inside. Three teams of medical ninja worked separately, but even in their frantic rush, it was not enough.

A small space had been cleared in the center.

Tsunade was crouching there.

Her sleeves were rolled above her elbows. Green chakra light covered both hands as she pressed them against an unconscious wounded man's forearm.

The blackish-purple veins on his arm writhed faintly beneath her palms, as if resisting something.

She did not look well, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead.

"Where are the samples?" Without looking up, Tsunade called out to someone nearby.

A medical ninja hurried over and handed her three sealed bottles.

Tsunade took them one-handed and held them up for a glance.

"The base is Weathered Scorpion Poison, but Chiyo altered the formula. All conventional antidote methods are useless."

She set the bottles on the medicine cabinet beside her. Her mouth never stopped moving as her hand pulled out silver needles and drove them into the wounded man's arm at several acupoints.

Chakra poured through the needle tips, forcing a small clump of black fluid out through the puncture marks.

Tsunade picked up the substance with tweezers and placed it in a culture dish.

"Send it for testing. I'll handle the rest."

She stood and rolled her wrists.

Then she moved to the corner of the tent, bit her thumb, and formed a hand seal—

Before slamming her palm onto the ground.

White smoke exploded.

Katsuyu's enormous form appeared behind the tent.

Then, the massive main body began to split apart.

Small Katsuyu peeled away one after another, swiftly crawling toward the wounded around them and attaching themselves to the most severely poisoned areas.

The entire tent seemed to be covered by a living net.

Kitahara Kaede's gaze did not follow Katsuyu. It remained fixed on Tsunade.

Maintaining a Summoning Technique and so many clones at once would consume a terrifying amount of chakra.

She had not yet developed the Strength of a Hundred Seal.

Without the ability to store chakra, every bit of the expenditure had to be supplied by her body in real time.

She could hold on for half a day, but this was a battlefield, not something that would end in half a day.

"Prioritize those with heart rates below forty." Tsunade had already crouched before the next wounded man.

Kitahara Kaede stood at the entrance for a while.

There was nothing he could do to help with treatment.

What he could do was on the front line.

After passing through three defensive lines in the rear camp, he entered the frontline command post.

A map of the war zone hung inside the tent. Several jonin stood around a sand table, discussing matters in low voices, their expressions grim.

Kitahara Kaede swept his gaze around before it settled on the corner.

Silver-white hair was combed back from a broad forehead.

Lean and sharp, not especially tall, he resembled a blade still sheathed.

A short sword hung diagonally at his lower back, its hilt wrapped in white cloth.

He stood there silently, without joining the discussion.

Yet everyone around him had naturally left a circle of space around him.

Hatake Sakumo.

At this point, he had yet to earn the title of White Fang of the Leaf.

But Kitahara Kaede knew what this man would accomplish in the future.

On the battlefields of the Second Shinobi World War, Sakumo would personally kill the parents of Sasori of the Red Sands, Sunagakure's Puppet Master. With the White Fang short sword, he would sweep across the battlefield and make his name known throughout the Shinobi World.

For a time, the fame of the White Fang of the Leaf would surpass even that of the Sannin.

And the deaths of Sasori's parents on the battlefield would drive the young Sasori into complete collapse.

Years later, Sasori would kill the Third Kazekage, leaving Sunagakure leaderless. The chain reaction would ultimately ignite the Third Shinobi World War.

The cycle of cause and effect had never made sense.

But that was all in the future.

For now, Sakumo was merely a young jonin, sent to the western front to chew through this tough bone alongside everyone else.

Sakumo noticed the gaze and turned his head.

Their eyes met for an instant.

Then he walked over.

"Senior Hagoromo Kaede."

His tone was calm, and the word "senior" came naturally.

Seniority and strength determined forms of address. Sakumo did not equivocate on that point.

"Hatake Sakumo." Kitahara Kaede nodded.

"Did Senior arrive together with Lady Tsunade?"

"Yes. She's treating poisoned wounded in the rear."

Sakumo did not ask further and went straight to the point.

"The situation on the front line is bad."

He walked to the sand table and pointed at the river valley marker to the southwest.

"Sunagakure has set up three defensive lines in this river valley. The Puppet Corps takes turns harassing us, and every wave carries poison. Contact poison. A scrape is enough to get infected. Our people do not even dare touch them. That's where all these casualties came from."

His finger shifted farther back.

"The most troublesome part is Chiyo. She never shows herself and hides in the rear, controlling the puppets from a distance. Her chakra threads have a much longer range than those of ordinary Puppet Masters. We can't even find her."

Kitahara Kaede studied the terrain on the sand table.

"You have an idea."

Sakumo's hand traced a line from the river valley to the mountain ridge on the flank.

"Go around. Push in from here and sever the chakra threads between her and the frontline puppets."

He paused.

"But there's a condition—we need someone to hold the front."

He looked at Kitahara Kaede.

"While the puppet horde attacks, Chiyo will continuously poison people with hidden weapons. Whoever holds the front cannot retreat, and cannot be poisoned."

None of the other jonin in the tent spoke. They all knew their own limits.

Kitahara Kaede stared at the River Valley Line on the sand table.

Holding against a puppet horde head-on while defending against poisoned hidden weapons.

Shadow Clones could spread out the incoming fire. Chidori Sharp Spear could dismantle puppets at range. Fire Release could clear the field over a wide area.

The pressure would not be light.

"Fine." Kitahara Kaede nodded. "We'll discuss the specifics tomorrow. Bring me the reconnaissance reports from the other end of the ridge."

Sakumo showed no unnecessary reaction. He nodded, turned, and left.

Kitahara Kaede watched his retreating back.

This man's swordsmanship would one day make the entire Shinobi World tremble.

But in the end, the ones who killed him would not be enemies, but the spittle of his own people.

Night fell.

By the time he returned to the rear camp from the frontline command post, it was already past midnight.

Most tents had gone dark. Only the row belonging to the field hospital remained lit.

Kitahara Kaede lifted the curtain.

The lights inside were dimmed, and most of the wounded were asleep.

Every now and then, someone groaned dully and turned over.

Several medical ninja dozed in a corner, leaning against medicine chests, their heads drooping lower and lower.

Tsunade was beside the medicine cabinet.

She sat on a low stool, her head tilted against the cabinet's edge, eyes closed.

Culture dishes were spread across the table, the toxins separated into fluids of several different colors.

Beside them lay half a page of notes. The handwriting grew messier from top to bottom, until the last few lines had merged into one streak.

Katsuyu had long since been recalled.

She had probably only stopped when her body could no longer endure it.

Kitahara Kaede stood at the tent entrance for a while.

The lighting was dim. Her face was hidden in shadow, leaving only the outline of her profile visible.

Her brow was furrowed, still not relaxed.

He walked over.

He took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

Tsunade's shoulder twitched, her breathing shallow.

Kitahara Kaede moved an empty campaign stool to the inside of the tent entrance and sat down.

Outside, the night wind slipped through the gap in the curtain, carrying the smoky scent of distant bonfires nearing their end.

The patrol's footsteps crossed the gravel path, fading away before drawing near again.

The tent was very quiet.