Chapter 54: Grave Misunderstandings and the White Fang
The Second Shinobi World War was no longer a looming shadow; it was a ravenous beast beginning to feed. Across the continent, the great villages—Konoha, Suna, Iwa—were not idle. Under banners of "pacification" or "resource security," they absorbed, subjugated, or obliterated the smaller ninja villages in their orbits. Konoha, for all its talk of the Will of Fire, was no saint. Its methods were perhaps more velvet-gloved than Iwa's iron fist or Suna's scorching cruelty, but the iron was still there beneath. The weak were plundered, made vassals, or turned to dust. It was the oldest law: the strong consumed, the weak were consumed. Ideals were luxuries paid for in the blood of the conquered.
This brutal calculus was playing out now in the nascent battleground of the Land of Rain, where Konoha shinobi were already filtering in, clashing with rivals in a silent, prelude war for position and resources.
But for Ragnar, trudging through the forests on the Fire Country's border, the grand machinations of nations were a distant abstraction. His world had shrunk to the pounding agony in his ribs, the leaden weight of his limbs, and the need to get the girl behind him home.
He moved with a steady, ground-eating lope, chakra adhering his feet to bark and branch. Kushina followed a pace behind, her own movements less graceful but determined.
Her gaze was fixed on his back, her face flushed with a mixture of residual terror and a new, confusing warmth. Her mind kept replaying the mortifying scene from a few hours ago—finding him utterly still, convinced in her panic that he was dead, and dissolving into hysterical sobs only to have him wake up with an exasperated groan. She'd wanted the earth to swallow her whole. Yet, the overwhelming relief that he was alive… it was a feeling she didn't have a name for. It was tangled up with things her grandmother, Mito Uzumaki, had said in passing about bonds and the heart. Her young mind fumbled with concepts too large for it.
Wahhhh—! WAAAAHHH!
A sudden, loud, and utterly desolate wailing shattered the forest's morning calm. It was a familiar sound, one of unchecked, dramatic grief.
Ragnar stopped, dropping to the forest floor. He moved towards the sound, Kushina close behind.
They found the source in a small clearing. It was a scene of profound, if absurd, sorrow.
Might Dai knelt before a freshly mounded grave, his face a tragic mask of snot and tears. He was weeping as if his soul had been torn out, pounding the dirt with his fist.
"Lord Ragnar! My dearest comrade! My brother in youth! You died so cruelly!" he bawled, his voice raw. "Do you know? After you left, the fire of my youth was extinguished! My passion turned to ash! I'm filled with regret! I blame my own weakness! Why wasn't I stronger? Why did I let you face danger alone?! WAAAHHHHH—!"
Kushina stared, her mouth slightly agape. She looked from the sobbing giant to Ragnar standing very much alive beside her. "Ragnar… is he… talking about you?"
Ragnar felt a profound, weary sense of the ridiculous. To be actively mourned while still breathing was a new experience. He watched for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Dai."
Might Dai's wailing hitched. He turned, his movements ponderous with grief. He saw Ragnar. His tear-streaked face cycled through shock, disbelief, and dawning horror. He scrambled to his feet.
"Lord Ragnar! You're back!" Then his eyes went wide. "No… this is a miraculous return from the brink! You must be a vengeful spirit!" His expression became one of grim, theatrical resolve. "I understand! You've come to charge me with your final wish! To demand vengeance! Do not fear! I, Might Dai, swear on my life and my burning youth, I will avenge you! I will—"
"I'm not dead, Dai," Ragnar interrupted, his flat tone cutting through the melodrama. "This is Kushina. The Jinchuriki the Kumo ninja took."
Dai blinked. He looked at Kushina, then back at Ragnar. He reached out a trembling hand and poked Ragnar's shoulder. Solid. He touched his own forehead. "No fever… Not an illusion…"
The transformation was instantaneous. The tragic mask shattered, replaced by pure, unadulterated joy. "HAHAHA! LORD RAGNAR! YOU'RE ALIVE! THIS IS THE GREATEST MIRACLE OF YOUTH!" He leaped into the air, whooping, then promptly burst into a fresh wave of tears, this time of happiness. "WAAAH! I'M SO HAPPY!"
"What a strange man," Kushina whispered, a giggle escaping despite herself.
Ragnar gave Dai a brief, sanitized account of the night's events—the pursuit, the fight with the Kumo jonin, the arrival of a "helpful stranger" who drove off a "late-coming threat." He omitted Shanks, the Uchiha, and the true extent of his injuries.
Dai listened with rapt, horrified attention, his fists clenching at the description of the Kumo jonin. "The danger… I should have been there! My youth failed you!"
"Dai," Ragnar said, changing the subject as he eyed the neat grave with his name implicitly on it. "Why did you… prepare this?"
Dai had the decency to look sheepish. "Well, Lord Ragnar, after I buried those ANBU with honor… I thought, better to be prepared. Just in case. So I dug an extra plot. When you didn't return by midday… I assumed the worst. Facing the empty grave, thinking of our fellowship… my emotions overwhelmed me!" He gestured grandly at the mound of dirt.
"…" Ragnar was silent.
Kushina snorted, trying to stifle a laugh behind her hand.
"Seeing you alive and well is the ultimate victory of youth!" Dai declared. Then, as if the grave now offended him by its uselessness, he spun and delivered a powerful kick, scattering the carefully piled earth and the makeshift wooden marker. "Begone, symbol of false tragedy!"
Ragnar could only watch, a deep sense of surrealism settling over him.
After a short rest where Dai force-fed them some of his "Field Rations of Passion" (stale rice balls), the trio set off for Konoha. They hadn't gone half a mile when Ragnar's Observation Haki, even in its fatigued state, pinged. Multiple presences. Skilled. Hidden with professional expertise.
Before he could voice a warning, the forest around them erupted.
Poof. Poof. Poof.
Bursts of white smoke. Five, then six figures in uniform black attire and featureless animal masks solidified from the trees, surrounding them in a loose, perfect ring. Their stance was neutral, but their readiness was absolute.
Konoha ANBU.
"Who—?!" Dai instantly fell into a defensive stance, placing himself between the masked figures and Ragnar and Kushina.
"Stand down, Dai," Ragnar said, his voice low. "They're ANBU."
The masked operatives didn't move. Then, a calm, authoritative voice cut through the tension.
"Stand down."
At the command, the ring of ANBU relaxed minutely, stepping back a precise pace, creating a channel. From the deeper shadows of the forest, a final figure emerged. He walked with the effortless, lethal grace of a apex predator. A green flak vest over standard blues. Konoha forehead protector. A head of distinctive silver hair that seemed to catch the dappled sunlight even in the shade. The famous short sword, the White Fang, strapped across his back.
The ANBU Captain. Konoha's White Fang. Hatake Sakumo.
"White Fang!" Dai breathed, recognition and relief warring on his face. He knew Sakumo, not as the shadowy ANBU commander, but as the legendary jonin who had once, unlike every other ninja in the village, encouraged his dedication to taijutsu.
Ragnar gave a slight, respectful bow of his head. "Hatake-sama." He used the formal, neutral address. Here, in front of Dai and Kushina, he was not 'Captain.' He was just Ragnar, a genin.
Hatake Sakumo's sharp eyes swept over the group, lingering on Ragnar. A flicker of something—approval? surprise?—passed through them. The boy looked like death warmed over, but the aura around him… it was sharper, denser. Tempered in a hotter fire. He had grown stronger, again.
His gaze then found Kushina. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. The primary objective was secure.
"You've done well," Sakumo said, his voice carrying a quiet weight that commanded attention. "We will take over the escort of this young lady from here."
"Hatake, what are you doing all the way out here?" Dai asked, his confusion genuine. He saw a friendly, powerful comrade, not the village's hidden dagger.
Ragnar watched the exchange, piecing it together. Dai doesn't know. He thinks Sakumo is just another elite Jonin on a special mission.
Sakumo offered Dai one of his rare, brief smiles. "This young lady's safety is of paramount importance to Konoha. The Hokage deemed it a matter requiring… my personal attention."
"Ah! Of course!" Dai exclaimed, his face brightening with understanding. "With you here, any enemy would be meaningless! The Hokage's foresight is truly magnificent!"
Sakumo's smile didn't reach his eyes, which were already scanning the tree line, assessing threats, planning extraction routes. The mission was not over. He had retrieved the asset. Now he had to get her home, and ascertain what, exactly, this battered, eight-year-old ANBU probationer had been through in the process.
(End of Chapter)
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