Chapter 58: Rakshasa of the Ninth Team
A week of relentless, self-imposed hell had passed. Ragnar felt the difference in his body and spirit. The Haki wasn't just a tool now; it was an extension of his will, responding with finer control. The Spiral Force compression had inched up to 20%, a significant leap. A casual punch could now generate a concussive blast of air, a ranged threat that could shatter bone before an enemy closed. Combined with Armament Hardening, it was a one-shot knockout—or kill—against anyone at his nominal level.
If he faced Armani now, the fight wouldn't be a desperate, mutual crippling. It would be a contest he could dictate.
Today, however, training was set aside. A terse, encoded summons had arrived via ANBU courier.
He stood in a spare, utilitarian hall deep within the ANBU headquarters. He wasn't wearing his mask. Protocol dictated masks for operations, but within the HQ, especially during administrative briefings, many operatives went bare-faced. Conformity was its own form of camouflage here; standing out drew attention.
He'd expected another training drill for probationers. What he received was a folded parchment and a curt nod from a masked clerk.
It was his formal induction into the ANBU as a full operative.
No ceremony. No oath under the Hokage Monument. No final test. It was as abrupt and unceremonious as a kunai to the ribs. He scanned the room. He wasn't the only one. Several other young faces, all probationers he'd seen in the Crucible or the archives, held similar documents, their expressions a mix of pride, anxiety, and grim acceptance.
The reason was unspoken but hung in the sterile air like the smell of antiseptic and old blood. Casualties. ANBU, the elite of the elite, had taken heavy losses. A dozen operatives gone. The math was cold and clear: the simmering conflict in the Land of Rain had escalated from skirmishes to a meat grinder. They were being fed into the gears to replace the broken cogs. This wasn't the prelude to the Second War anymore. This was the war.
Becoming a full member meant assignment to a squad. And assignment, at this moment, almost certainly meant one thing: deployment to the Rain front.
He didn't have to wait long. Three figures in full ANBU regalia—masked, armored, radiating quiet competence—approached him. The leader stopped before him, placing another, more detailed document on a nearby table.
"By order of the Hokage, you are hereby recruited into the Ninth Tactical Assassination Squad. Your operational codename: Rakshasa."
Rakshasa. The name of his demon mask. Efficient. Soulless. Probably Sakumo's doing, or a clerk's shortcut. It fit the demonic blade at his side and the cold purpose in his gut.
He looked at the trio. "You're Team Nine?"
The lead ninja gave a short nod. "Captain. Moonlight Swiftfire. Kenjutsu specialist, Fire Release affinity. Codename: Great Flame." He reached up, removed his hawk-faced mask for a brief second. The face beneath was unremarkable—sharp features, serious eyes, a faint scar along the jawline. He replaced the mask, the gesture a formality to show trust to a new teammate.
The other two followed suit.
"Aburame Shigeru. Secret Technique: Insects. Codename: Hive."
"Yamanaka Kaiji. Mind-Body Techniques. Requires team coordination for full effect. Codename: Deepmind."
Ragnar's mind cataloged them instantly. Not randoms. The Moonlight clan—competent swordsmen, though he recalled a sickly successor in the vague future. The Aburame, symbionts with deadly insects. The Yamanaka, masters of perception and mental invasion. A team built for reconnaissance, intelligence extraction, and precise strikes. No weak links. And no commoners. This was a squad of clan heirs, likely put together by Sakumo or the Hokage himself. A message, or simply the best of what was left?
He gave his own brief introduction. "Ragnar. Specialization: Enhanced Taijutsu and Strange Power. You have my file."
A beat of silence. They did. They knew of the "prodigy," the boy who fought jonin. His reputation preceded him, a mix of awe and wariness.
"Good," Moonlight Swiftfire said, his voice all business. "Familiarity is established. There is no time for squad drills or bonding exercises. The front is critical."
He turned, his cloak swishing. "Our mission is in the Land of Rain. Objective: intelligence gathering on Iwagakure and Amegakure troop movements, supply lines, and command structure. Secondary objective: high-value target elimination if opportunity presents with minimal risk. Details en route. We depart. Now."
The urgency was a physical slap. Even Aburame Shigeru and Yamanaka Kaiji, seasoned beyond their years, exchanged a glance. This was faster than expected.
"So soon?" Ragnar voiced the thought for all of them.
Swiftfire didn't turn around, his voice dropping lower. "The situation has deteriorated. ANBU attrition is unsustainable. We are part of a stopgap reinforcement. Move."
He looked at the two clan ninja. "Shigeru, Kaiji. Ragnar is green. Watch his flank. Outside the walls, we are one body. Understood?"
"Yes, Captain!" they replied in unison, their professionalism overriding any personal doubt.
Without further ado, the four of them moved as one unit, flowing out of the hall and into the maze of tunnels that led to a hidden exit far from Konoha's main gates. They were ghosts, slipping into the daylight world only to vanish again toward the storm.
High above, on the balcony of the Hokage Tower, two men watched the distant figures blur into the tree line.
Sarutobi Hiruzen exhaled a plume of smoke, his face etched with the weight of a thousand such send-offs. "Sakumo… was it right to send that boy to the Rain? With his growth, he could become a second Tsunade. A pillar of the village in a time of peace."
Hatake Sakumo stood beside him, his posture ramrod straight, his eyes like chips of flint. "This era does not ask for our permission, Hokage-sama. It places burdens. Heavy ones. We all carry them." He paused, his gaze fixed on the point where the Ninth Team had disappeared. "As for Ragnar… I do not believe the battlefield will be his end. I believe it will be his forge."
Hiruzen was silent for a long moment, the smoke from his pipe the only movement. "See that you guide the furnace, then," he finally said, his voice grave. "I am deploying you to the Land of Rain within the week. Take command of the ANBU operations there. This war… we must contain it, or it will consume us all."
Sakumo bowed his head, a sharp, decisive motion. "Understood."
Below them, Konoha breathed, unaware of the pieces being moved on the great board, or of the nine-year-old demon, codename Rakshasa, walking steadily towards the thunder of the guns.
(End of Chapter)
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