Hundred-Percent Blade-Catch!

At four in the morning, the darkest hour before dawn.

Entrance to Underground Explosive Tag Warehouse No. 7, Land of Earth.

Hatake Sakumo crouched atop a rocky ledge, holding the White Fang Short Sword upside down in his right hand, its spine pressed tightly against his forearm.

Behind him, three Konoha jonin stood in a triangular formation, their breathing suppressed to the absolute minimum.

They had made their way here undetected, and the outer defenses had been absurdly lax.

Sakumo's brows knitted tightly.

This was a strategic-material hub, yet there was not even a single sentry?

But he had no choice but to press on.

If this batch of Explosive Tags was transported out, the Land of Fire's defensive line would suffer carpet bombing, and the casualties would be incalculable.

Sakumo gave a tactical hand signal.

Two fingers silently pushed forward.

Four afterimages raced down along the rock wall.

Two guards at the entrance were dozing against the doorposts.

A flash of white.

Before they could even mobilize their Chakra, the two slumped soundlessly, their throats already cut.

The passage was cramped, and the air was thick with the acrid nitrate scent unique to Explosive Tags.

The stone steps descended deeper and deeper until a massive underground chamber opened before them.

Countless sealed wooden crates were piled into small mountains.

Sakumo's pupils contracted.

The stockpile was thirty percent greater than intelligence estimates.

The yield of any one crate was enough to plow through half a frontline position three times.

Just as he gave the signal to detonate them.

The airflow changed.

Six black shadows suddenly sprang out from behind the enormous stalactites hanging overhead.

They dropped from the blind spot above, six poison-coated kunai stabbing straight for the four men's throats.

Killing intent descended.

Sakumo did not even raise his