Jinghang stared at the casualty reports and wanted to scream.
What the hell is wrong with these people?
Two-thirds losses. Two-thirds. Moon Lake, Lishi Fortress, half a dozen skirmishes—Konoha had bled itself white. And still, still, they wouldn't negotiate.
"Just surrender already," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "It's not like I'm asking for your firstborn. We've made our money. You've learned your lesson. Let everyone go home, run their businesses, take their missions. Why are we still doing this?"
The Third Raikage glanced over from the strategy table. "Problem?"
"The wheat." Jinghang gestured vaguely toward the window. "Moon Lake New District. Harvest season. And I'm stuck here because Konoha has a death wish."
In the original timeline—the one Jinghang had studied obsessively before his reincarnation—the Third Shinobi War ended cleanly. Hiruzen and Minato crushed their enemies, then stopped. No excessive demands. Hell, they even paid reparations to smooth things over.
Sure, it got Hiruzen ousted by Danzō's hawks. But at least the war ended.
Here? They'd gone from the Hiruzen era straight into the Danzō era, and the bastards still wouldn't quit.
"No choice then." Jinghang straightened. "We beat them until they beg."
"Speaking of which—" The Raikage tapped the map. "—any word from your sleepers?"
"Zhanmeng and Zheyong?" Jinghang shook his head. "Radio silence since Lishi. Could be compromised. Could be sidelined. Either way, I ordered them dormant. Not worth the risk."
"So we're blind?"
"Not quite." Jinghang's smile was sharp. "Zhaoyang came through. Full march plan. Troop disposition. Everything."
He slid the decoded intelligence across the table.
The Raikage read. Whistled low. "Damn. This is thorough. Step-by-step advance. Mutual support. Whoever designed this knew what they were doing."
"So how do we break it?"
Jinghang's finger stabbed down on the map. "Here."
"Service Area Number Five?" The Raikage leaned in. "What's there?"
"Nothing. That's the point." Jinghang's grin widened. "Old Tang-Yue Highway rest stop. Destroyed years ago. It's deep enough in the desert that they'll think they're safe—but still a hundred li from Yuexi. Close enough to taste victory. Far enough that retreat is suicide."
"Exactly." Jinghang's eyes gleamed. "They march in, we hit them with everything. Sand ships, full force, no warning. They'll be exhausted, low on water, thinking they've almost made it. And then—" He mimed an explosion with his hands.
The Raikage laughed. "You're a vicious bastard, you know that?"
"I've been called worse." Jinghang straightened. "They want a fight to the death? Fine. We'll give them one. And when it's over—" His voice hardened. "—there won't be enough left of Konoha to threaten anyone."
"Bold words." The Raikage's smile was all teeth. "I started taking missions at twelve. Killed my first man at thirteen. Spent decades crawling through blood and steel. You think I'm scared of a little slaughter?"
"Not even a little." Jinghang raised his cup. "To victory, then. And to leaving our descendants a world without Konoha."
"No worries for future generations," the Raikage agreed, clinking cups.
Jinghang drank. Set the cup down.
And if this goes wrong, he thought, the Tongda Road contingency activates. Either way, Konoha burns.
Konoha-Taki Allied Camp - Service Area #5
The sun was murder.
Amemiya squinted up at it, hand shading his eyes, and cursed internally. The air was so dry his skin felt like leather. Every breath tasted like dust.
This is hell. Actual hell.
"My lord." Jūri's voice was carefully neutral. "We're approaching the camp."
"Finally." Amemiya gestured to his bearers. "Put the sedan away."
It wasn't the proper sedan—the forty-eight-man ceremonial palanquin he used in Takigakure. That would've been absurd in the desert. This was a modest two-man chair, and even that had required arguing with Danzō.
"Commanders share hardships with their troops," the bastard had said. "Riding in luxury sends the wrong message."
Luxury. Two men carrying a chair was luxury now.
Amemiya had wanted to punch him.
Instead, he'd smiled. Nodded. And quietly arranged for the sedan anyway, positioned at the rear of the column where Danzō's spies couldn't see.
Now, approaching the main camp, he dismounted. Let his attendants strap sand-socks over his boots—without them, every step filled your shoes with grit.
The command tent was already set up when he arrived. Danzō sat at the head of the table, surrounded by Konoha's senior staff. And behind him—
A figure in a black robe. Face hidden. Presence... heavy.
Amemiya's instincts screamed danger, but he forced himself to sit.
"Everyone." Danzō's voice cut through the tent's murmur. "We're a hundred li from Yuexi Peninsula. The real battle is about to begin."
Amemiya frowned. "Real battle? We're still two days out—"
The alarm tore through the camp like a blade.
Danzō was on his feet before the sound faded, eye blazing with sudden intensity. "They're here!"
Here? Amemiya's mind raced. The Yuexi garrison? They're attacking us? With three thousand second-rate—
Then he saw the sky.
Sand ships. Dozens of them. Massive war-barges riding wind and chakra, blotting out the sun as they surged toward the camp.
Amemiya's blood went cold.
That's not three thousand ninja.
"SHIKAKU NARA!" Danzō's voice cracked like thunder. "FUGAKU UCHIHA! CHŌZA AKIMICHI! IROHA HYŪGA!"
Commanders exploded into motion.
"DEPLOY DEFENSIVE PERIMETER! ALL UNITS TO BATTLE STATIONS!"
Shinobi scattered. Scrolls unrolled in long lines around the camp's edge—dozens of them, forming a massive circle.
Shikaku stood at the center, eyes tracking the approaching fleet. Calculating distance. Speed. Time.
The sand ships closed. Five hundred meters. Four hundred.
The scrolls erupted.
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