Chapter 68: The White Fang's Shadow
"Lord Danzo," Ragnar said, his voice cutting through the thick tension. "The ANBU is an extension of the Hokage's will. We report directly to him, and in the field, to our direct commander, Captain Hatake. While you hold authority, you do not have the right to issue unexplained, extra-protocol orders to ANBU operatives. If you wish to divert us from our duties, you must provide a valid, documented reason. Otherwise, I cannot comply."
He met Danzo's glare squarely. The power he had cultivated—forged in isolation, honed in battle—now gave him the footing to stand against Konoha's shadow. He had no desire to make an enemy of the village. It was his shelter, the home of Tsunade, Kushina, and the few others who mattered. He owed it for his survival. But if Danzo, representing the village's darkest instincts, forced a choice between submission and freedom, Ragnar would choose freedom. With his current strength, the shinobi world was wide enough. He would not bow his head to a man like this.
"Indeed?" Danzo's voice was a venomous drip. His single eye narrowed to a slit.
"It is as he says, Lord Danzo," Ragnar confirmed, his tone devoid of fear, only factual clarity. "We are ANBU. Our chain of command is clear. Except for Captain Hatake and the Hokage himself, no one has the authority to redirect us without cause."
He was buying time, creating a procedural barrier. Following Danzo into the bowels of Root was tantamount to surrender. He'd seen what happened to those who caught Danzo's eye—Uchiha Shisui, a loyal Hokage supporter, had been driven to despair and death. He would not walk that path willingly.
Danzo let out a cold, dismissive snort. "The Hokage is absent from the front. As his chief advisor and wartime deputy, his authority devolves to me. Are you stating you will disobey a direct order from the acting commander?" He leaned forward, the pressure in the room intensifying, a weight of political and martial authority meant to crush dissent.
But Ragnar had faced down the killing intent of jonin, the primal fury of a summoned Emperor. Danzo's bureaucratic intimidation was a pale shadow. "I require to see the Hokage's written order delegating such specific authority," Ragnar replied, his voice still calm, almost mild. It was a deliberate, infuriating insistence on protocol.
The three other members of Team Nine were statues of cold sweat. They were soldiers, conditioned to obey hierarchy. This open defiance was terrifying.
Danzo's face darkened, the anger he usually kept locked behind a mask of austerity bleeding through. No one had dared to stonewall him so blatantly in years. He had warned Hiruzen about this boy—a foreign-born variable, a tool that needed the harsh shaping only Root could provide. And now the tool was refusing to be used, citing rules to its master.
"Insolent!" Danzo barked.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
More Root operatives melted from the shadows. In moments, over a dozen masked figures filled the periphery of the tent, a silent, encircling wall of implied violence. The air grew thick with the promise of blood.
"Does Lord Danzo intend to use force against Konoha's own ANBU?" Ragnar asked, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Root. His internal assessment was cold and swift. Chunin level, mostly. A few might be special jonin. Disposable enforcers. They are insects.
"I am acting under the Hokage's authority!" Danzo snapped, the lie coming easily, backed by the sheer presence of his personal army.
A faint, derisive smirk touched Ragnar's lips. "You are not the Hokage," he stated, the words simple, stark, and carrying the weight of a lifelong, bitter truth.
Danzo flinched as if struck. The raw, unhealed wound of that perpetual second-place status, of always being the shadow to Hiruzen's sun, was laid bare. Rage, cold and purifying, flooded his veins. How dare this whelp—
"Seize them!" he snarled, the order cracking through the tent.
The Root ninja tensed to move.
Moonlight Swiftfire and the others were paralyzed, caught between loyalty and terror.
Ragnar's eyes flashed. Not with chakra, but with a deeper, more primordial light. A spark of crimson ignited in their depths.
Then, it spilled out.
An invisible, suffocating pressure erupted from him. It was not killing intent in the ninja sense—it was heavier, more fundamental. The Conqueror's Haki, suppressed until now, bloomed for a fraction of a second, a controlled, warning burst.
The temperature in the tent didn't just drop; it was as if the concept of warmth was briefly revoked. A primal chill, the cold of the abyss before creation, seized every heart. The Root operatives, mid-crouch, froze. Their minds screamed of a predator so far above them they were less than prey—they were irrelevant. Danzo's breath hitched, a sliver of genuine, instinctual alarm piercing his fury. What was that?
"HALT!"
The voice that boomed from the tent entrance was like a thunderclap of pure authority, shattering the frozen moment.
Ragnar's Haki vanished, reabsorbed instantly. The oppressive cold was gone, leaving behind only the damp chill of the rain and the confusion of men who had briefly touched the void.
Danzo's head snapped toward the entrance, his face pale with thwarted rage and lingering shock. Hatake Sakumo. He's back already?
The tent flap was swept aside. Hatake Sakumo stood there, his own ANBU mask removed, revealing a face that was calm but carried the grim weight of the battlefield. Behind him were several members of the assault team he'd taken on the rescue mission. His sharp eyes took in the scene in a single, comprehensive glance: the encircled Team Nine, the tense Root operatives, Danzo's furious countenance, and Ragnar, standing with a calm that seemed utterly out of place.
That fleeting, terrifying aura he'd sensed from a distance… it was gone now. But its echo matched perfectly the chilling residue he'd felt on the Iwa-nin corpses. His gaze locked onto the young face beneath the Rakshasa mask. The impossible conclusion solidified in his mind.
"Captain," Ragnar said, along with the other members of Team Nine, offering a respectful nod. The hierarchy was restored.
"Report," Sakumo ordered, his voice quiet but leaving no room for anything but the truth.
Swiftfire, seizing the lifeline, quickly and clearly laid out the sequence: their return, Danzo's summons, the demand to follow, and Ragnar's insistence on protocol. He finished by revealing, once more, the pile of Iwa-nin tokens and attributing the kill to "Rakshasa."
A ripple of stunned silence passed through Sakumo's own ANBU. Then, murmurs of disbelief. Eighteen chunin, two jonin. Single-handedly? Their eyes, wide with shock and awe, turned to Ragnar.
Sakumo himself studied Ragnar, his analytical mind struggling to reconcile the boy he'd sparred with months ago—strong, willful, but raw—with the entity capable of such a feat. The growth curve defied all known shinobi logic. Even with a bloodline, even with genius… this was different.
Under the weight of the collective stare, Ragnar offered his prepared explanation. "The truth is, Captain, I have been training in a certain… forbidden technique. You may have heard of the Eight Gates Released Formation. It allows for a temporary, explosive amplification of physical power." He let the statement hang, knowing it was a flimsy cover for those who knew the technique's true cost and limitations. But for the general audience, it was a plausible, Konoha-associated reason for sudden, overwhelming might. His association with Might Dai made the story stick.
Murmurs of understanding passed through the rank and file. Ah, the Eight Gates. That makes sense. It was a legendary, terrifying technique. It explained the result, if not the chilling aura.
Sakumo's expression remained unreadable. He knew the excuse was tissue-thin. The Eight Gates left the user devastated, often dead. Ragnar showed no such after-effects. The aura he'd sensed was not the raging inferno of the Gates; it was something colder, more dominant. But he also understood Ragnar was providing a narrative, a shield against the dangerous curiosity now burning in Danzo's eye.
Danzo was not satisfied. The Eight Gates? Possibly. But it felt wrong. There was a secret here, a power he needed to understand and control.
Sakumo shifted his gaze from Ragnar to Danzo. The message in his eyes was clear: This ends now. They are under my command.
"Team Nine," Sakumo said, his voice returning to its usual, command tone. "You are dismissed to the AN barracks for rest and recovery. Full written reports on my desk by dawn. Dismissed."
It was a direct countermanding of Danzo's order, delivered with the absolute authority of the battlefield commander.
Ragnar gave a slight nod, replacing his Rakshasa mask. Without another word, he turned, and Team Nine followed him out of the tense tent, leaving the two pillars of Konoha's power in a silent, fraught standoff.
(End of Chapter)
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