Outside the Hidden Sand camp, despite the pervasive exhaustion, a sense of jubilation filled the air. They had repelled the Hidden Mist against all odds—a victory sweet yet tinged with the bitter grief of lost comrades.
Pakura emerged from the medical tents, her body wrapped in countless layers of bandages. Her gaze grew sharp and cold as she spotted the leaders of the Arakawa and Yamaji clans. "Why were the West Coast defenses redeployed to the Southern Coast?" she demanded, her voice trembling with restrained fury.
Had Shiraishi not returned in time to stop the invasion, the entire Sand army would have been annihilated—including herself, Maki, Shikasa, and Shiraishi's students. The internal betrayal left her incensed. She directed her glare at Akita Arakawa, while Shiraishi stood nearby, silent and contemplative.
"That is a question for the current commanding officer, Moro," Akita replied smoothly, his tone impeccable. "I resigned from that post some time ago. This relief effort was a spontaneous action organized by the Yamaji and Arakawa families."
Pakura found herself speechless; the logic was airtight. Instead of being able to assign blame, she now found the Sand faction technically owing a debt of gratitude to these two clans.
"Where is the Southern Coast defense command center located?"
Shiraishi's sudden question startled Akita, but he didn't withhold the information. He provided the exact coordinates. To the shock of everyone present, Shiraishi commanded his silver sand to form a pair of wings on his back. With a powerful gust, he took to the sky, leaving a cloud of dust and a crowd of bewildered shinobi behind.
Meanwhile, Ryoko sat inside a tent, her mood foul. She particularly loathed the look of "gratitude" she had glimpsed in Shiraishi's eyes earlier.
To think the Yamaji clan has fallen so far that we are currying favor with that brat!Where is our pride!I only did it for the Hidden Sand... to ensure Sector 13 of the Land of Rivers didn't fall to the Mist!
With that rationalization, she finally felt her chest loosen. She straightened her robes and sat with her usual air of cold arrogance. Akita entered shortly after and sighed at his niece's expression. "Why the cold shoulder? Do you really intend to remain his enemy forever?"
Akita struggled to understand Ryoko's thought process. The friction between the Yamaji family and Shiraishi had been negligible when Yamaji Jushin was alive. It was the "Sand Festival" incident that had lit the fuse. Essentially, the Yamaji family had tried to bully Shiraishi, failed miserably, and got their pride crushed, which had left Ryoko mentally strained ever since.
"I just don't like him," Ryoko snapped. "I've felt uncomfortable since the first time I laid eyes on him."
It was a matter of sheer personal distaste—a reason so fundamental that Akita could only shake his head in silence. "Now that you're here, you must fix your attitude. He just flew off toward the Southern Coast. No matter what happens when he returns, you must remain restrained."
Ryoko caught the hint of helplessness in Akita's voice and realized Shiraishi's intent. "He's going after Moro?"
Moro was Rasa's cousin. While only an average Jonin in terms of strength, he—like Baki—was one of the Kazekage's most trusted confidants.
He was the man who had replaced Akita as the commander of the coastal defense and the one who had orchestrated the "misinformed" withdrawal from the West Coast.
"Moro is important," Akita noted, "but he isn't as important as the seat of the Kazekage. I expect Lord Rasa will be making his move soon as well."
Akita had already sent word to Rasa via secret message: Shiraishi had achieved a crushing victory over the Mist and mastered a brand-new silver Magnet Release. The political landscape had shifted; Rasa would have to make a choice.
The Mist had surrounded the Sand from two sides, with one path cutting through the Land of Wind's own territory. The "clumsiness" of the betrayal was too obvious to ignore.
Shiraishi knew he had to deliver a forceful response. Rasa was technically still "comatose," and while Shiraishi knew the Kazekage was faking it, blood still had to be shed. Only a bloodstained blade could silence the internal enemies.
Hours later, at the Southern Coast Defense Base, a group of Chunin was patrolling the perimeter.
"I thought they said the Mist was going to raid the Southern Coast? I don't see a soul," one soldier muttered.
"Who knows what the higher-ups are thinking? Leaving the West to come here... it makes no sense," another replied, shaking his head.
Suddenly, a storm of wind swirled above them. Beneath a pair of massive, shimmering silver wings, Shiraishi descended like a falling star. The patrolling ninjas quickly recognized him. "It's Lord Shiraishi!"
Shiraishi landed, retracting the silver sand into the scabbard of his blade. "Where is your commanding officer?"
"In the command tent, discussing the defense plan with the other officers."
The ninjas looked at him with eyes full of worship. To the common shinobi, "Black Mist" Shiraishi was a living legend. In their eyes, his reliability on the battlefield far surpassed that of the Kazekage.
Shiraishi strode into the camp. Inside the main tent, several high-ranking officers were laughing and playing a game of Shogi. The sound was grating to Shiraishi's ears. He stepped inside, his face a mask of cold indifference.
"Shiraishi...?"
The laughter died instantly. Moro, the lead commander, looked up in shock. He quickly recovered his composure. "Is the situation in the Land of Rivers critical? Do you need reinforcements?"
"If you knew the front lines were in danger, why didn't you move to support us?" Shiraishi asked flatly.
Moro shook his head. "I received specific intelligence that a Mist army led by Raiga Kurosuki was heading for the Southern Coast. I had to prioritize this sector. I couldn't move."
Moro assumed Shiraishi had broken through the enemy lines just to beg for help because the camp was about to fall. The other officers shared the same thought, though the tension in the room kept them silent as they watched the exchange.
"And are you aware," Shiraishi continued, "that the Mist army actually struck the West Coast and circled around to pincer our camp from the rear?"
Moro blinked, his face remaining impassive. He forced a smile. "Then the intelligence was flawed. We will mobilize for support immediately!"
"Who gave you the intelligence? Who gave the order?" Shiraishi ignored the offer of support.
"That information is classified."
"I see... I understand."
The words had barely left Shiraishi's lips when his silver blade flashed. Moro's expression froze. A geyser of blood erupted from his throat, painting the maps on the table a gruesome red.
As the other officers recoiled in horror, Shiraishi stood over the dying man, his expression unchanged.
"Colluding with the Mist," Shiraishi stated, his voice echoing in the silent tent. "Your crime is beyond forgiveness."
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