Field Hospital

Western front of the Land of Fire, rear camp.

Before the curtain was even lifted, the smell drilled into his nose.

The scent of blood, wrapped in the sour, bitter stench of boiled-down herbs, was thick and impossible to dissipate.

Kitahara Kaede had just reached out his hand when the curtain was shoved open from the inside.

Two medical ninja rushed out carrying a stretcher, nearly colliding with his face.

A chunin lay on the stretcher, his entire right arm swollen and glistening, with black-purple veins crawling from his wrist all the way to the base of his shoulder.

The man's mouth was agape, no longer able to make a sound.

"Make way, make way!"

They ran off into the distance.

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

The scale of the field hospital exceeded his estimates.

Tent after tent stretched for hundreds of meters along the rear position, and they were all full.

People lay in the aisles, and straw mats were spread across the open ground, one right next to the other.

Those still able to walk sat outside the tents waiting.

Most of them had those same black-purple veins on their bodies.

Those with slow-spreading venom could still exchange a few words with their neighbors, while those with fast-spreading venom were already still.

Their faces were covered with white cloths.

Kitahara Kaede did not linger, heading straight for the largest tent.

Inside, forty or fifty wounded were packed together. Three teams of medical ninja were busy in separate sections, flustered and overwhelmed.

A small space was cleared in the very center.

Tsunade was squatting there.

Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her hands covered in green chakra light, pressing down on the forearm of a comatose patient.

The black-purple veins on the man's arm squirmed slightly beneath her palms, as if resisting something.

Her complexion was poor, and a thin layer of sweat coated her forehead.

"Where are the samples?" Tsunade shouted to the side without lifting her head.

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

Tsunade took them with one hand and held them up to her eyes for a glance.

"The base is Weathered Scorpion Poison, but Chiyo has modified the formula. All standard detoxification protocols are useless."

She set the vials on the medicine cabinet beside her, her mouth not stopping, while her hand already pulled out a silver needle and pierced an acupuncture point on the patient's arm.

Chakra poured down the tip of the needle, and a small glob of black liquid was forced out from the needle hole.

Tsunade used tweezers to pick up the substance and placed it into a petri dish.

"Send this for analysis. I'll handle the rest."

She stood up and stretched her wrists.

Turning to the corner of the tent, she bit her thumb and pressed her hands together in a seal—

She slammed them onto the ground.

White smoke exploded.

The massive figure of Katsuyu appeared behind the tent.

Immediately after, the gargantuan body began to divide.

Small slugs peeled off from her body, crawling rapidly toward the surrounding wounded and attaching themselves to the areas where the poisoning was most severe.

The entire tent looked as if it had been covered by a living net.

Kitahara Kaede's gaze did not follow the slugs, but remained on Tsunade.

Maintaining a summoning technique along with so many clones simultaneously consumed a terrifying amount of chakra.

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

Without the ability to store chakra, all consumption relied on her body's real-time supply.

She could hold out for half a day, but this was a battlefield; it wasn't a matter of just half a day.

"Prioritize those with a heart rate below forty." Tsunade was already squatting in front of the next patient.

Kitahara Kaede stood at the entrance for a while.

He couldn't help with the medical treatment.

What he could do was on the front lines.

Passing through the three defensive lines of the rear camp, he entered the front-line command post.

A map of the war zone hung inside the tent, and several jonin were huddled around a sand table discussing in low voices, their expressions grim.

Kitahara Kaede scanned the room, his gaze landing in the corner.

Silver-white hair was combed back, his forehead broad.

His build was lean and tough, not particularly tall, like a blade kept in its sheath, yet to be drawn.

A short blade was slung diagonally across his lower back, the hilt wrapped in white cloth.

He stood there, saying nothing, nor joining the discussion.

Yet, the people around him naturally left a circle of distance.

Hatake Sakumo.

At this moment, he did not yet hold the title of "White Fang of the Leaf."

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

On the battlefields of the Second Great Ninja War, Sakumo would personally kill the parents of the Sunagakure puppeteer Sasori of the Red Sand, sweeping across the battlefield with his White Fang short blade and shaking the ninja world.

The fame of the "White Fang of the Leaf" would at one point eclipse that of the Sannin.

And the fact that Sasori's parents died on the battlefield would cause the young Sasori to completely collapse.

Years later, Sasori would kill the Third Kazekage, leaving Sunagakure leaderless, a chain reaction that would eventually ignite the Third Great Ninja War.

Cause and effect, they never cared for reason.

But that was for the future.

For now, Sakumo was just a young jonin, sent to the western front to chew on the same hard bones as everyone else.

Sakumo sensed the gaze and turned his head.

The two locked eyes for a moment.

Then he walked over.

"Senior Hagoromo Kaede."

His tone was flat, the word "senior" spoken naturally.

Seniority and strength determined the address; Sakumo was not one to be ambiguous about such things.

"Hatake Sakumo." Kitahara Kaede nodded.

"Did you arrive with Lady Tsunade, Senior?"

"Yes. She is in the rear dealing with the poisoned wounded."

Sakumo didn't ask further, cutting straight to the point.

"The situation on the front line is not good."

He walked to the sand table, his finger pointing at the river valley marker to the southwest.

"Sunagakure has set up three defensive lines in this river valley, with puppet troops harassing us in turns, each wave carrying poison. It's contact-based; you get poisoned the moment your skin is scratched. Our men don't even dare to touch them, and that's how all our casualties are happening."

His finger moved a section toward the rear.

"The most troublesome one is Chiyo. She doesn't show herself, hiding in the rear to control the puppets remotely. Her chakra thread control range is much further than a standard puppeteer; we can't find where she is."

Kitahara Kaede looked at the terrain on the sand table.

"You have an idea."

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

"Flank them. Insert from here and cut off the chakra threads between her and the front-line puppets."

He paused.

"But there is a prerequisite—someone has to hold the front."

He looked at Kitahara Kaede.

"While the puppets attack in groups, Chiyo will continue to use hidden weapons to apply poison. The person holding the front cannot retreat, and they cannot get poisoned."

No other jonin in the tent spoke; they all knew their own capabilities.

Kitahara Kaede stared at that river valley line on the sand table.

Holding the front against puppet swarms while defending against hidden weapon toxins.

Shadow clones to share the firepower, Chidori Sharp Spear to dismantle puppets from a distance, and Fire Release for large-scale clearing.

The pressure would be immense.

"Fine." Kitahara Kaede nodded. "We'll discuss the specific plan tomorrow. Bring me the reconnaissance report from the ridge end."

Sakumo had no extra reaction. He nodded, turned, and left.

Kitahara Kaede watched his back.

This man's swordsmanship would one day make the entire ninja world tremble.

But in the end, it wasn't the enemy who killed him; it was the spittle of his own people.

Night fell.

It was past midnight by the time he returned to the rear camp from the front-line command post.

Most of the tents had their lights out. Only the row for the field hospital remained lit.

Kitahara Kaede lifted the curtain.

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

Occasionally, someone would groan or roll over.

A few medical ninja were dozing in the corner, leaning against medicine chests, their heads bobbing.

Tsunade was beside the medicine cabinet.

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

A petri dish was spread out on the table, the toxin separated into liquids of several different colors.

Beside it lay half a page of notes, the handwriting becoming increasingly sloppy from top to bottom, the last few lines having merged into a single streak.

Katsuyu had long since been recalled.

She must have held on until her body couldn't take it anymore before stopping.

Kitahara Kaede stood at the tent entrance for a while.

The light was very dim, her face hidden in the shadows, only the outline of her profile visible.

Her brows were furrowed, not yet relaxed.

He walked over.

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

Tsunade's shoulder moved slightly, her breathing shallow.

Kitahara Kaede moved an empty field stool, placed it inside the tent entrance, and sat down.

The night wind from outside drilled through the gap in the curtain, carrying the smell of smoke from the distant, dying campfires.

The footsteps of the patrol team trod across the gravel road, fading away, then drawing near again.

It was very quiet inside the tent.