Arano's POV
It's already been a week. Strange how time slips through your fingers when you're standing on the edge of history.
My body—still adjusting—has finally accepted the serum I injected. The pain was unbearable at first. My muscles ached, my chakra fluctuated violently, and for a few days, I thought I might have made a mistake. But now? I feel it in every fiber of my being. Strength. Power. The kind that makes your blood feel like molten stone and your enemies tremble before you even strike.
I was reborn in that moment. Whatever was in that liquid—it worked.
But I couldn't waste time basking in my newfound strength. War waits for no one.
My final meeting with the council took place the night before my departure. It was short and to the point. Onoki, ever the strategist, will act as my regent while I'm away. He's young, yes, but brilliant in his own right—and loyal. We agreed to mobilize a force of 1,000 shinobi from Iwagakure to strengthen our position on the front. It was time to put pressure on Konoha. Real pressure.
The journey to the frontlines began at dawn. I led the march myself—1,000 warriors crossing the jagged, unforgiving terrain of the Land of Earth. Each step was a reminder of what we were fighting for: dominance, survival, and vengeance. By the time we reached the Land of Grass, the scenery shifted. Rocky cliffs gave way to dense, shadow-drenched forests. Silence hung in the air like mist.
And then we arrived.
Our main base camp had already been established deep within the forest. Dozens of Iwa banners fluttered in the wind, and elite ninja stood at attention as we entered. The tension was thick—nobody spoke unless necessary. I could feel their anticipation. The time for talking was almost over.
I dismissed the troops who had traveled with me, giving them time to rest and resupply. War was close. Their bodies needed to be sharp, their minds sharper.
Later that night, I gathered the high-ranking shinobi—my war council. We met under heavy guard, seated around a wide table inside the command tent. There were no formalities. I didn't need praise or flattery. Just warriors who understood what needed to be done.
"Our objective is clear," I began, laying a detailed map across the table. "We will organize our forces and launch a decisive strike against Konoha's front lines. The goal is to force them to retreat, to fall back into their own territory."
I tapped the map, my finger landing on a key location marked in red.
"The Kannabi Bridge. That is our lifeline. If we take it and hold it, our supply lines will remain secure. Without it, we'll bleed resources before we even touch Konoha's walls."
I looked each commander in the eye, making sure the weight of my words settled.
"We will press into enemy territory. Take as much land as we can. Cut them off, isolate their squads, and seize their outposts. The more ground we take, the weaker they become."
There were nods of agreement.
"When Konoha retreats—and they will—we will split into units. Some will pursue. Others will remain behind to hold the ground they've left. You know these lands better than I do. You've been fighting here longer. I trust you to choose the right shinobi to defend our flanks."
A long silence followed.
Then one of the commanders, a scarred veteran named Gajiro, stood. "And you, Lord Tsuchikage?"
"I will lead the main offensive," I said without hesitation. "This war began with my hand—it will end with it as well."
POV End
The commanders around the table stared at Arano, the Second Tsuchikage, with admiration and awe. There was no fear in his voice—only resolve. For many, this war was a chance not only to protect their homeland but to rise in prestige. Glory, honor, wealth—these were the prizes of victory.
As the meeting ended, the camp shifted into motion. Word spread like wildfire. Orders were issued, squads were assigned, and the machinery of war roared to life. Ninja moved swiftly through the camp, restocking gear, preparing jutsu scrolls, and sharpening blades. Supply lines flowed steadily, crates of food, medicine, and tools arriving by the hour.
The forest concealed everything.
Thick with mist and trees that stretched to the sky, the Land of Grass served as a perfect shield for Iwa's preparations. Patrols circled the perimeter, watching for any signs of Konoha scouts. The Iwa shinobi believed they had the element of surprise. They believed no one could see them.
They were wrong.
High in the trees, hidden beneath layers of jutsu and camouflage, masked shadows watched.
Elite ANBU. ROOT operatives.
Konoha's most skilled covert agents had been stationed near the Iwa camp for days—perhaps longer. They moved like ghosts, recording every detail. Every new face. Every crate of supplies. Every shift in formation. Their mission was dangerous—one misstep, one broken twig, and they'd be dead before they could reach the treetops.
But they persisted. For the good of the Leaf.
Though they couldn't see everything, what they could observe was enough: thousands of Iwa shinobi arriving in waves, preparing for full-scale war. The Kannabi Bridge marked on enemy maps. A surge of supplies that only meant one thing—
Iwa was coming.
And soon… blood would flow.