Chapter 213 — The Deeper the Care, the Sharper the Rebuke
In the Konoha camp in the Land of Rivers, a figure appeared out of thin air inside a tent—it was Taichi, returning from the Land of Wind.
The moment he arrived, he didn't even pause to catch his breath. He pushed aside the tent flap and headed straight for the command headquarters. Along the way, he ran into Minato coming from the opposite direction.
The two exchanged a brief nod—no words needed—and walked side by side toward the central command tent.
After a quick report, they were granted entry.
Inside, Jiraiya and three advisors were already present. Seeing Taichi and Minato arrive together, all four of them were momentarily puzzled. These two usually operated separately—their missions rarely overlapped.
But almost instantly, their expressions turned serious.
They weren't fools. If both Taichi and Minato had come together, something significant had happened.
And Taichi's torn, battle-worn clothes only made things worse—he had clearly fought hard… and hadn't come out on top.
"Minato, Taichi—what happened?" Jiraiya asked, deliberately keeping his tone light to ease the tension.
Minato gave Taichi a slight nod, signaling him to speak.
Taichi didn't hesitate.
"We discovered that Sunagakure is transferring a jinchūriki to the front lines."
The room froze.
That single sentence hit like a bomb.
A jinchūriki.
Every village's ultimate weapon. A walking catastrophe on the battlefield. A trump card that could decide entire wars.
"And you're sure?" one advisor demanded, all composure gone. "How did you confirm it?"
Taichi remained calm. "I can see his essence. And someone restrained with that level of sealing… isn't a normal person."
He held back details, but Jiraiya understood immediately—the Soul Technique.
He didn't press further.
"That's enough. I believe him. Continue."
The advisor fell silent.
Taichi then explained everything—how he discovered the convoy, realized he couldn't handle it alone, brought Minato in, and how even together they failed to make meaningful progress.
They didn't even mention the few Sand ninja they had killed.
To them, that wasn't worth reporting.
But to Jiraiya—
That wasn't the point.
"You two…" Jiraiya's voice rose sharply. "You two people dared to charge a formation of over a hundred ninja—with the Fourth Kazekage and fifteen jōnin inside?!"
His anger exploded.
"Minato! Taichi might not understand, but you fought in the Second War! You know what a coordinated formation can do! How could you make such a decision?!"
His finger nearly jabbed into Minato's forehead as he spoke.
This wasn't just anger.
This was care.
The deeper the care, the harsher the rebuke.
Taichi couldn't take it anymore.
After all, this had been his idea.
"Jiraiya-sensei… we have Flying Thunder God. Worst case, we could retreat…"
Big mistake.
Jiraiya's anger spiked even higher.
"Flying Thunder God? You dare bring that up?!" he snapped. "How did the Second Hokage die? Didn't he have Flying Thunder God too?! He was still killed by a trap!"
He pointed at both of them.
"Listen carefully—no jutsu is absolute. Never become overconfident in your own power. The moment you do, you become a slave to it!"
"Understood, Jiraiya-sensei."
Both Taichi and Minato accepted the lecture without protest.
This wasn't criticism.
This was experience bought with blood.
After venting, Jiraiya finally calmed down.
"Jiraiya-sama… the jinchūriki," Shikaku reminded quietly.
"Right."
Jiraiya moved to the map, tracing a path before pointing to a spot near the Wind Country border.
"They should be here."
Taichi and Minato stepped closer, examined it, and nodded.
"That means interception is no longer realistic," Shikaku said. "Too few forces won't work. Too many will alert them. A direct confrontation is inevitable."
"Damn… if we'd intercepted them earlier—killing the jinchūriki or forcing a rampage would've crippled Sunagakure," Taichi muttered.
Jiraiya shot him a glare and ignored the comment.
"Shikaku, pull back unnecessary personnel. They won't keep an unstable jinchūriki at the front for long—they'll use it quickly. Monitor closely and don't let them catch us off guard."
"Yes, sir."
Then he turned to Taichi.
"You're not going back to the Wind Country. You'll monitor Sunagakure movements instead. That suits you better."
"Understood!"
"Now get out," Jiraiya waved them off irritably. "You're giving me a headache."
They didn't linger.
Outside the tent, Taichi spoke first.
"Minato-senpai… sorry. I dragged you into that and got you scolded."
Minato shook his head with a faint smile. "No—it's on me too. I should've warned you. Jiraiya-sensei was right… we got a bit overconfident."
Taichi then asked, "What exactly is a 'formation'? I've never heard of it before."
Minato explained patiently:
"Because it's rarely used. Most ninja fight in small squads. People like us rely on individual combat. But in large-scale battles, formations are used—especially by Iwagakure. Their coordinated jutsu are famous."
Taichi finally understood.
What he had faced earlier—
The endless waves of attacks.
Perfect coordination.
Preemptive counters waiting for his every move—
That wasn't something a single person could overcome.
At least—not yet.
The two walked in silence afterward, each lost in thought, until Minato mentioned he would return to observing another supply unit.
They parted ways.
Meanwhile—
In the desert, Rasa watched their disappearance, a faint smirk on his lips.
"Arrogant fools… thinking two people could break my formation."
But before he could savor it—
A shout cut through the air.
"Kazekage-sama! Ryosuke is becoming unstable—he's about to lose control!"
Rasa's expression changed instantly.
He vanished and reappeared at the center of the convoy.
There—
The jinchūriki's eyes had turned into Shukaku's beast-like pupils. Sand began crawling up his body, his face twisted in agony.
The four sealing ninja strained desperately, pumping chakra into their chains.
Rasa didn't hesitate.
Hand seals flashed.
Gold sand surged from all directions, enveloping the jinchūriki in an instant.
Then—
It compressed.
Hardened.
Forming a small pyramid.
Magnet Release: Gold Dust Layered Great Burial Seal.
Under the combined suppression of Rasa and the sealing team—
The trembling stopped.
The jinchūriki calmed.
But Rasa's expression remained grim.
They hadn't been defeated by Taichi and Minato—
Yet even their presence alone had nearly triggered disaster.
And that was far more dangerous.
When Rasa withdrew his jutsu, the golden pyramid slowly crumbled, revealing the figure inside.
Ryosuke.
His face was drained of color, exhaustion etched into every line. He struggled to lift his head, breathing ragged and uneven, whatever vitality he once had now reduced to a flicker.
"Kazekage-sama…" he rasped. "I… can't hold on much longer. Please… arrange it soon. I can only make one last move… for the village."
The words seemed to drain the last of his strength. His head drooped again, as though even speaking had pushed him to the brink.
Rasa's heart sank.
The worst outcome had come to pass—the jinchūriki was losing control.
"Rest," Rasa said quietly, forcing steadiness into his voice. "Leave everything else to me. Your resolve won't be wasted."
He turned to the four sealing specialists nearby, his tone turning grave.
"How long?"
The question was vague, but the meaning was clear.
The eldest among them answered without hesitation, "At most a week. If he's stimulated again… it could be even sooner."
That answer only deepened the weight pressing on Rasa's chest.
Too little time.
Far too little room for maneuver.
He summoned a subordinate and issued orders immediately:
"Head to the front-line camp at once. Inform Chiyo and Ebizo about the jinchūriki's condition. Tell them to prepare in advance."
"Yes, Kazekage-sama!"
The ninja vanished without delay, racing toward the battlefield.
While the situation in the Land of Rivers grew increasingly uncertain, the state of the war beyond it was no less complex.
On the southern front, under Jiraiya's command, Konoha maintained clear superiority over Sunagakure. The advantage had never truly slipped from their grasp.
But the western front told a very different story.
Led by Mimura Yōken (Leaf's western commander), Konoha forces were locked in a grueling struggle against Iwagakure—and losing ground steadily. Not in catastrophic defeats, but in a slow, relentless bleed.
Every day, reports arrived in the village:
More casualties.
More requests for reinforcements.
Hiruzen Sarutobi read them one after another, day after day. If not for the necessity of holding the village together, he would have already taken up his staff and marched to the front himself.
Even so, the situation could have been worse.
Iwagakure was holding back.
They had entered the war early to ease pressure on Sunagakure, but they had no intention of becoming the primary target of Konoha's full might. If they pushed too hard and provoked Konoha into focusing entirely on them, the one who would suffer most would be Onoki.
Self-sacrifice was not a virtue Iwagakure cared to embody.
Meanwhile, on the northern front, tensions simmered between Konoha and Kumogakure. Though full-scale war had yet to erupt, skirmishes were constant. With Orochimaru in command, Konoha held a slight advantage—but deliberately restrained itself to avoid provoking escalation.
And within Konoha itself—
Life, on the surface, went on.
Civilians continued their routines much as before. The war felt distant, almost unreal. The only tangible change was the steady rise in prices—an inconvenience, but still within tolerable limits for most.
People spoke of the war casually, in passing conversations:
The cruelty of battle.
The latest deaths—
"Aso's son died today."
"Yesterday, it was someone from the Fujiwara family."
But for the ninja clans, the war was anything but distant.
With Konoha fighting on three fronts, every clan had answered the call, sending their members into battle.
And once on the battlefield—
Death was inevitable.
Across clan districts, white mourning banners hung outside homes—some here, some there.
And as time went on, those banners would only multiply.
Until perhaps—
Every household bore one.
That was war.
It preserved the strong.
It erased the weak.
And it judged all who stepped onto the battlefield—without exception.