CHAPTER 133: PRELUDE TO THE GRIND
Ragnar had no intention of indulging Nawaki's chatter any further. The impending battle required focus, preparation. Fighting as himself, as Ragnar, imposed new limitations. He couldn't fight with Rakshasa's trademark, visceral brutality—decapitations, bisections, the terrifying efficiency that left unforgettable scenes. That signature style would raise immediate, dangerous questions. He needed a different approach.
He turned to leave, but Nawaki stuck to him like stubborn tree sap, his stream of consciousness never ceasing.
If he weren't Tsunade's brother… Ragnar thought, a rare flicker of genuine annoyance passing through him. The kid's oblivious enthusiasm was a force of nature.
"Ragnar, seriously, my boss is Rakshasa! You stick with me, I've got connections!"
"Consider it! Having Rakshasa as an indirect superior is a huge advantage!"
"I'm only telling you this, you know. Because we're both geniuses!"
"Geniuses should look out for each other, right?"
Nawaki puffed out his chest, looking immensely pleased with himself.
"Not interested," Ragnar said, his voice flat as a stone.
"..." Nawaki's grin faltered, replaced by a look of profound shock. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. Where was the grateful admiration? The eager camaraderie?
"NAWAKI! What do you think you're doing? Stop bothering him!"
The voice that cut through the air was sharp, familiar, and carried an edge of pure menace. Tsunade stood a dozen yards away, hands planted on her hips, a storm cloud gathering on her brow.
"S-sis!" Nawaki's bravado vanished, replaced by the universal dread of a younger sibling caught red-handed. He tried to sidle away, but Tsunade moved with the speed of a striking serpent. One moment she was distant, the next her hand was clamped firmly on his ear.
"Ow! Sis, that hurts!"
"Hurt? Good!" Tsunade growled, not loosening her grip. "Ragnar is someone you should be learning from, not concocting harebrained schemes with! What were you planning, you little pest?"
"Sis, no! I'm your flesh and blood! You should know I'm harmless!" Nawaki whined, tears of genuine pain welling in his eyes.
Ragnar watched the sibling drama for a moment, then delivered the coup de grâce with deadpan delivery. "Tsunade. Your little brother was offering to take me under his wing. Said he'd protect me from now on, since his boss is Rakshasa."
Tsunade's eyes widened. Nawaki's face went pale.
"Ragnar! Don't you dare slander me! Where's your proof?" Nawaki squeaked, the betrayal stinging worse than his ear.
THWACK! THWACK!
Two precise, love-tapping knuckles connected with the top of Nawaki's skull. "BAKA!" Tsunade roared. "Instead of training, you're out here spouting nonsense and embarrassing yourself! Get lost!"
"Wahhh!" Nawaki clutched his head, the fight gone out of him, and slunk away, shooting a wounded look at Ragnar over his shoulder.
Tsunade turned to Ragnar, her expression softening into one of concern. "So. You've been absent from camp. Another… private assignment?" There was a knowing glint in her eye. She understood the dual layers of his life better than most.
"Nothing official," Ragnar shrugged, his tone casual. "Just… scouting. Getting a feel for the land before the storm hits." He offered no details about Yahiko, Nagato, or Konan. Especially Nagato. The Rinnegan was a secret that needed to stay buried. Not everyone would see it as he did—a curious power belonging to a troubled kid. Others would see a weapon to be seized, or a threat to be excised. Even with Madara's distant oversight, revealing Nagato would paint a target on all three orphans.
"Have you thought about your role in the coming fight?" Tsunade pressed, shifting to practical matters.
"I'll adapt as needed," he replied. It was the truth. His plan was to have no fixed plan, to be an unpredictable variable on the field.
AHEM!
A loud, theatrically cleared throat echoed across the entire camp, momentarily silencing the din of preparation.
"All genin and chunin! Assemble! Rally point, now!"
The voice was booming, unmistakably Jiraiya's. Every genin and chunin in the vicinity stopped what they were doing and began moving toward the source of the sound, a natural amphitheater of packed earth near the command tents.
"That idiot," Tsunade muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He's convinced a 'pep rally' will boost morale. As if shouting can stop a kunai."
"Ragnar! Lord Jiraiya is calling! We have to go!" Nawaki, miraculously recovered from his humiliation, zoomed past them, a blur of renewed enthusiasm heading for the gathering crowd.
"That boy has the resilience of a weed," Tsunade sighed.
"Technically, as a genin, I should probably attend as well," Ragnar noted. His ANBU status was a shadow now, set aside. On the rolls, he was just another early graduate.
"Let's go. He might actually convey some tactical部署… though I give it even odds he makes a complete fool of himself instead." Tsunade gestured for them to follow the flow.
They joined the stream of shinobi converging on the field. It wasn't just the lower ranks. Jonin from various clans were present too, observing from the fringes. He spotted faces from the Hyuuga and Aburame clans, a small contingent from the Inuzuka. And yes, a handful of Uchiha, standing slightly apart, their posture aloof. Their numbers were fewer than the other major clans. Even in a war of this magnitude, the Uchiha operated with a pronounced independence, preferring to fight in their own formations. As long as they followed the broader strategy and contributed to the kill count, the command—Hatake Sakumo, in particular—seemed willing to give them that latitude. It was a fragile, functional détente.
On the raised earthen platform, Jiraiya stood, trying to look commanding. His eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Tsunade near the back. A spark of misguided ambition lit in his eyes. A chance to impress her! He puffed out his chest, adopting what he hoped was a stern, leaderly expression.
"I am Jiraiya! Elite Jonin of Konoha!" he announced, his voice carrying across the field. "You will now receive strategic guidance for the coming frontal engagement!"
To maximize his presence, he began pacing slowly across the platform, his face a mask of grave seriousness. His gaze kept flicking toward Tsunade, his focus entirely on projecting cool authority.
He was so focused on his performance that he failed to notice he had paced right to the very edge of the platform.
PLOP!
One foot met empty air. With a comedic lack of grace, the famed Toad Sage pitched forward and tumbled off the edge of the platform, landing in an undignified heap in the dirt at the feet of the front-row attendees.
A beat of stunned silence followed.
Minato Namikaze, standing proudly in the front, felt his smile strain. He whispered urgently to those around him, "A-an intentional levity maneuver! To ease the tension! Yes, definitely a tactical decision by Lord Jiraiya!"
Tsunade closed her eyes, a long-suffering sigh escaping her. "Complete. Utter. Idiot."
Ragnar gave a single, slow nod. "Accurate assessment."
The gathered genin and chunin broke into hushed, incredulous whispers. Was this some sort of pre-battle comedy skit?
Yet, paradoxically, the sheer absurdity of the moment did something. The suffocating, doom-laden pressure that had been building in the camp cracked. A few nervous giggles escaped, then more. The ice of fear had been chipped, if not broken.
Jiraiya scrambled to his feet, his face the color of a ripe tomato. He dusted himself off with exaggerated care, cleared his throat with a sound like grinding rocks, and marched back onto the platform as if the earth itself had offended him by being there.
He resumed his position, pretending the last thirty seconds had never happened.
Then he launched into his speech.
And as Tsunade predicted, it was a masterpiece of rambling inspiration. He spoke of Konoha's Will of Fire, of protecting comrades, of the glory of defending the village. He used grand gestures, his voice rising and falling with practiced rhythm. He was, after all, a student of the Third Hokage, a man who understood the power of words.
And against all odds, it worked. The young shinobi, their nerves frayed by the looming specter of mass combat, latched onto his passionate, if empty, rhetoric. Their eyes gleamed with renewed determination, their postures straightened. Fear was momentarily burned away by a surge of naive, fiery spirit.
Jiraiya, having accidentally broken the tension with his fall and then deliberately stoked the flames with his speech, looked out at the energized crowd and felt a surge of satisfaction. He glanced again at Tsunade, hoping for a glimmer of approval.
He received only an eye-roll. But the crowd was with him. For now, that was enough.
The prelude was over. The grind was about to begin.
(End of Chapter)
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