Main World.
Summer, Year 30 of Konoha.
Northern Border of the Land of Fire, frontline positions.
After summer arrived, the frozen ground along the Northern Border thawed, exposing the dark brown earth beneath. Rain grew more frequent, leaving shallow pools in the trenches and turning every step into a muddy slog. The wooden palisades had already been replaced three times-not because Kumogakure had destroyed them, but because the rain had rotted them.
Soldiers rolled up their trouser legs and trudged back and forth through the muddy water, transporting supplies, rotating positions, and carrying the wounded. The mud on either side of the walkways had been trampled into a dark, sticky mass. Jiraiya stood on a watchtower, shading his eyes with one hand as he looked toward the outline of the Kumogakure camp beyond the distant ridgeline. Their flags were still there, which meant they had no intention of withdrawing, but there was no sign of an advance today either. Ever since news of the battle in the Golden Forest had spread, the Land of Lightning's offensive had noticeably slowed-not stopped, but changed its rhythm, as though they were reassessing something.
He lowered his hand, turned, and descended the watchtower. A layer of planks covered the ground at the bottom, but muddy water still seeped through the gaps. He took two rice balls from a soldier delivering food. They were still warm, wrapped in dried seaweed. He took a bite, chewed a few times, swallowed, and took another. There was nothing special about the taste, just rice and seaweed, but the portions were generous. Military rations had arrived without interruption over the past few months, and in substantial quantities, completely unlike the ever-tightening shortages of last winter. He had asked the logistics personnel about it, but they had only said, "The