STIN: Chapter 84/86

Chapter 84: Betrayed?

Gray rain poured endlessly, turning the Land of Rain into a swamp.

The Konoha Heavy Transport Unit No. 13 dragged forward through the mud like a dying beast, every step sinking deep. The mule's ribs stood out sharply, groaning as it struggled. The stench of decay filled every breath.

Crates wrapped in oilcloth were piled high on the wagon, the unit's only hope.

The march was silent. Faces numb.

At the front, Tanaka Nobu and Odagiri Toshiya moved like statues, exhaustion dulling their eyes. Four chūnin wiped cold rain from their faces, their fingers stiff as stone. Twelve genin followed behind, mud on their forehead protectors, uniforms soaked, hands shaking on their weapons.

Fear crept over them like invisible frost.

Clack.

Three figures in dark cloaks appeared through the rain, merging silently with the column. Water trickled down their forehead protectors.

"New arrivals?" Tanaka barely looked up, his rough finger almost touching Ryo's nose. "You and you," he pointed at Nawaki, "go behind the third wagon. And you," his tone sharpened as he eyed Nawaki's new blade, "fall back. Cause trouble and I'll flay your skin."

Odagiri's cold voice followed. "Trash sent to die. Don't expect to last long."

Nawaki's anger flared, face red, hand gripping his hilt. Mikoto caught his arm and whispered, "Let it go."

Ryo didn't react.

Their insults were meaningless, like buzzing insects.

He stepped into the mud pit Tanaka pointed out, the deepest and filthiest part. Mud rose to his calves, but he stood steady, rain sliding down his face.

Nawaki followed, his steps heavy, dragging through the muck. Frustration gnawed at him as he forced himself forward.

He looked at Ryo.

For an instant, a faint red light flickered in Ryo's eyes.

Hum.

His perception expanded. The direction of the rain, subtle tremors in the ground, the faintest heartbeats, every detail flooded into his mind. The world sharpened to deadly clarity.

Nawaki's heart seized. The forest was silent. Even the rain seemed to stop.

"Enemy."

His warning was swallowed by the roar of an explosion.

Boom.

Flames burst, mud erupted, and shockwaves ripped through the convoy. Wagons splintered, the mule was torn apart, blood mixing with rain and smoke.

"Scatter!" Odagiri's shout cut off mid-word.

Pff.

A dark blur swept across the ground. A curved blade flashed. A headless body flew into the air, blood painting the rain red.

"Kill them all! Take the supplies!"

A dozen Suna shinobi in dark cloaks leapt from the trees, blades gleaming. The ambush struck like lightning.

"Defend! Fight!" Tanaka roared, hurling kunai, but four elite Suna shinobi surrounded him. Blades clashed, sparks flared. The genin screamed, falling one after another into the mud.

"Damn it!" Nawaki's eyes burned. He drew his sword and lunged forward.

"Don't move."

Ryo's cold voice froze him.

Nawaki turned.

Ryo's eyes were dark and still, like a beast ready to strike.

Hum.

Ryo moved.

Speed beyond sight.

By the time the afterimages faded, he was already before the first Suna shinobi. His kunai flashed once.

A red dot appeared on the man's forehead.

Eight Suna elites surrounding them froze. Each bore the same mark on their brow or throat. None even had time to bleed.

Ryo stood back in place, calm, rain washing his blade clean.

Nawaki stared, speechless. Eight enemies gone in an instant. He hadn't even seen Ryo's hand move.

"Nawaki, right side!" Mikoto's voice broke the silence.

He turned just as the Suna captain, face painted in blue, lunged from where Odagiri's body lay. His poisoned blade sliced through the rain, aimed straight for Nawaki's heart. Too fast to block.

Nawaki froze.

Ryo moved again.

With one step, the air split. The Kusanagi sheath pierced the captain's throat, launching him backward.

Bang. Crack.

The body slammed into a tree, neck half-severed, blood and rain spilling together. The Kusanagi sheath quivered, humming faintly.

Ryo twisted his wrist. The blade slid back into place with a quiet click.

Tick. Tick.

Silence returned. Only the rain remained.

Nawaki trembled, his neck cold with the memory of death brushing past.

The remaining Suna shinobi froze in terror. Their comrades had fallen before they could react. Panic overtook them.

They screamed, threw smoke bombs, and fled into the forest, dropping weapons and armor.

The rain's rhythm returned, steady and heavy.

Mikoto clutched her chest, her heart pounding wildly.

The afterimage of Ryo's movement burned into her mind.

Tanaka stumbled back, bloodied kunai in hand, armor torn. His gaze swept over the corpses, the red marks on their brows, the captain pinned to the tree. His body shook.

That wasn't ninjutsu. It was pure speed and power, terrifyingly real.

He remembered how he had mocked Ryo earlier. His gut turned cold.

Nawaki forced himself to breathe. His anger and pride were gone, crushed by the difference between them.

He finally understood. Ryo's presence wasn't arrogance. It was the quiet confidence of a predator among prey.

The survivors gathered shakily, their eyes filled with fear and awe.

Those who had sneered before couldn't even look at him.

"Tanaka," someone whispered.

"Shut up. Stay back." Tanaka's voice trembled. Despite his wounds, his tone carried something close to reverence.

Ryo ignored them. His eyes swept across the battlefield, then toward the misty horizon.

He stepped forward, boots sinking into blood and mud.

"Let's go." His cold voice cut through the rain.

He walked past a corpse, crushing its empty stare beneath his heel.

Nawaki stumbled after him. Mikoto took a breath, forcing the chaos in her heart down, and followed.

Ryo walked through the rain, calm and unmoved. Blood mixed with water, washing into the ground.

Tanaka watched his back, the white cloak stained with blood, like a faint light in the storm.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 85: Three-Nation Melee!

Rumble!

The sky over the Land of Rain had split open. Endless sheets of water poured down, turning the land into a boiling swamp.

A three-man Konoha squad trudged out of the storm like Shura climbing from a pool of blood, step by step toward the main camp.

At their head walked Ryo. His dark rain cloak clung tightly, outlining a lean, hard frame. His expression was unreadable, his eyes deep as an ancient well. The air around him, heavy with the scent of blood, felt cold enough to freeze the rain. His cloak was stained dark with dried and half-clotted crimson, some of it from their enemies, and some perhaps his own.

Half a step behind came Nawaki, stumbling, legs trembling. His brand-new chūnin vest had lost all color, now caked with mud, blood, and grass. His face was pale, lips bluish, eyes vacant as he muttered to himself, "Six… seven… damn it… they just keep coming…"

A little farther back walked Mikoto. She still tried to carry herself with a trace of composure, but her eyes were hollow, her pride ground down by the weight of reality. She moved silently, knuckles white on the handle of her kunai.

They had just crawled out of a cursed place known as Wailing Gorge. An S-rank escort mission "personally assigned" by Danzō, to deliver a batch of "special antiserum effective against salamander venom," along with strategic scrolls, through a kill zone claimed by both Ame and Suna.

The result: mission accomplished. The price: enough to break any sane mind.

Barely ten kilometers from camp, the first ambush came, three veteran jōnin leading a chūnin platoon from Suna. Their plan was simple, crush the escort and seize the supplies.

What greeted them was Ryo's blade.

A flash of light too fast to follow. Nawaki saw only a cold gleam before heads flew skyward, blood streaking through the rain. The elite of Sunagakure never even finished their grins before terror froze their faces.

Nawaki's blood surged, his hand shooting for his sword, but Ryo's glacial voice stopped him.
"Watch."

Then came three days of nightmare. Traps everywhere, poison mist drifting through the gorge, Rain's puppet squads striking from the shadows, Suna elites attacking in waves. Every victory brought another assault.

How many times did Nawaki think he was dead? He lost count. Mud sucking at his legs as a Suna kunai lunged for his chest, a poisoned blade grazing his throat, three Ame-nin cornering him on a narrow ledge.

And every time, that figure appeared. Swift as a shadow, unshaken by chaos. The Kusanagi would flash, knocking away killing strikes by a hair's breadth, or Ryo would step between blows with impossible precision, ending two lives in the same instant.

Nawaki could only watch, stunned. No wasted motion, no flair, only pure efficiency. Draw, thrust, cut, advance. Movements beyond normal reaction, pure killing instinct refined to perfection. Not ninjutsu, but body and mind honed past human limits.

His worldview shattered. "Jōnin"? "Technique"? All meaningless against Ryo's speed. The Senju blood he'd been proud of, his new rank, all crushed to dust. He finally understood what a real difference in class meant. He wasn't a hero, just a burden Ryo had to keep protecting.

Mikoto fared no better. She clung to her Uchiha pride, activating her Sharingan, weaving signs, reading movement. But every time her eyes caught an enemy's attack, Ryo had already ended it before she could react. Against his speed, even her pupil power felt useless.

The gorge was a purgatory of shredded limbs, mangled bodies, and blood mixing with rain. Each time Ryo stepped past a corpse he had just cut down, the wound still gushing, an eye bursting under his heel, Mikoto's heart twisted between fear, awe, and something darker she couldn't name.

Was this really the quiet boy from the Academy, the one who once seemed invisible?

Three people forced their way through Wailing Gorge.

Mission completion: 100%. Supplies delivered intact.

The cost: Nawaki's spirit fractured, mind on the edge of collapse. Mikoto's pride crushed beneath the weight of war. And Ryo, soaked in blood, unchanged. To him, this was normal.

The main camp loomed ahead, a muddy square lined with broken barricades and stretcher tracks. Sentries straightened when they saw the three figures approach, fear and awe flickering in their eyes.

Their name had already spread through the ranks, the "Shura Squad." Their leader, Ryo, whispered of as "The Blade."

Their tent stood in a cold, damp corner of camp. Nawaki stumbled inside and collapsed onto a cot, half-dead. Mikoto sat down, wordless, wiping her weapons with mechanical precision.

Ryo didn't sit. He pushed back his hood, rain dripping from his red hair, dried blood streaking his face. He stood at the tent flap, gaze fixed on the storm outside, his thoughts elsewhere.

---

Main Command Tent, Camp Center

The air was thick and heavy. Incense smoke drifted through the damp canvas.

By lamplight, Danzō's face was half-buried in shadow. A faint gleam lit his single eye as he studied a map.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue. A masked Root operative appeared and bowed, handing him a blood-stained report.

Danzō read quickly. Two Suna jōnin dead, six chūnin eliminated, four Ame puppet squads destroyed, supplies delivered intact.

"Hmph. As expected." His lips curved faintly, satisfaction mixing with wariness.

Ryo's sharpness had surpassed all estimates. For days, Danzō had worked the team like beasts of burden, sending them on suicidal assignments, deep raids, infiltration strikes, high-risk ambushes. Yet every time, they returned covered in blood but victorious.

Each success added weight to Danzō's calculations. The Kusanagi's power, Ryo's monstrous instincts, his unmatched killing efficiency, all perfect for the battlefield of Ame.

As long as he kept that knife in hand and let it cut down enemies for him, Danzō's ambitions could continue to rise.

The problem was simple. The knife was too sharp, and it refused to obey.

He remembered that "meeting" days ago. His carefully prepared setting, his rhetoric, his authority, all dismissed with a single cold line.

"I'll handle it myself. Anyone who gets in my way, I'll cut."

Even now, Danzō could still feel the chill of that gaze. In that instant, he had known Ryo could kill him without hesitation.

"Genius or monster," he muttered. "Either way, a blade that won't bend is a threat."

Still, not one he could afford to break yet.

He sealed the payout for Ryo's squad without deduction, even marking it A-rank.

Not out of generosity. He knew if he skimmed a single coin, Ryo would storm the tent with his sword to "discuss payment." The boy's greed for mission rewards matched his skill in killing. Best not to provoke him over money. There were subtler ways to control him later.

"Danzō-sama! Front line, urgent!"

A drenched messenger burst in, panting hard. "Emergency! Encrypted Anbu signal from B-7 High Ground! Orochimaru-sama requests immediate support!"

"Explain! Who sent it? What's the situation?" Danzō snapped.

The runner gasped out, "Signal confirmed. Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade, joint distress call! Large-scale Iwa ambush! They're surrounded on three fronts, with massive rock-type summons in play!"

"Iwa-nin?!" a strategist exclaimed. "How did they get through undetected?!"

Danzō's face hardened. So that was it. Iwa had stayed quiet at their border, biding time, shifting elites into Ame. Waiting until Konoha and Suna were exhausted, then stabbing straight for the heart.

This was no longer "Konoha versus Ame" or "Konoha versus Suna." It was a three-way slaughter, Konoha, Suna, and Iwa tearing Ame apart and each other with it.

Hanzō of Amegakure, the so-called "demigod," had long since fallen from his pedestal. His salamander venom and lone power meant nothing now. All he could do was cling to survival and drive the invaders from what was left of his land.

The board was chaos.

Konoha and Suna tore at each other publicly while secretly fighting to control Ame. Suna wanted a path into Fire Country, and Konoha wanted to stop them. Ame, trapped in the middle, fought back with poison, ambush, and desperation.

And now Iwa had entered the field with one goal, kill the Legendary Three and cripple Konoha's morale.

"Useless, all of you!" Danzō slammed his hand on the table, wood creaking. "An Iwa force big enough to trap the Three, and Root didn't see it coming?!"

His mind raced. Orochimaru's unit pinned, the front collapsing. Reinforcements from Fire Country were days away. Camp reserves, too weak.

Then a single name cut through his thoughts like a blade.

His gaze turned toward the camp's edge.

There was only one person who could cut through Iwa's ring and bring the Three back alive.

A monster.

"Orders!" Danzō's voice sliced through the tent. "Level-three emergency protocol!"

His eyes swept across the room, sharp and cold.

"Ryo Squad, to the command tent. Now."

He paused, a crooked smile twisting his lips.

"Main camp, full mobilization. Target: B-7 Cliff. The Three are pinned. Ryo Squad leads the charge. Ten minutes to departure. Bring Tsunade, Orochimaru, and Jiraiya back alive."

The camp erupted.

Back in the outer tents, Nawaki startled at the sudden alarm, nearly falling from his cot. "W-what's happening now…?"

Ryo stood unmoving at the flap. When Danzō's order echoed through the camp, something flickered in his eyes.

B-7. Iwa.

He lowered his head, rain dripping from his bangs. After a long moment, he lifted it again, his expression carved from stone.

His hand tightened on the Kusanagi's hilt.

"Stay here," he said quietly. "I'll go cut."

The last word fell heavy in the air.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 86: The Three in Despair

The rain continued to fall, endless and merciless.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, smoke, and rotting earth.

Ryo's silhouette tore through the storm, a red spear thrown toward the depths of hell.

B-7 High Ground.

Mud, shattered rock, broken weapons, and pools of dark, congealed blood painted the field. The air still tingled with the residue of explosions and the clash of chakra that made the skin crawl.

Behind him, Konoha's reinforcements struggled through the mud, their shouts echoing. But Ryo's inhuman speed left them far behind, only splashes of muddy spray marking his path.

Emergency rescue? No. Ryo trusted only his blade.

Bringing Mikoto and Nawaki would only slow him down. They would be liabilities.

Now, speed meant survival.

Beneath the cliff at B-7, the mouth of a hidden cave exhaled damp, heavy air that pressed down like a weight.

Outside, the rain hammered against stone and earth in an endless roar, smothering the distant battle where death reigned.

Inside, a few weak strands of light seeped through the cracks, revealing three fading figures.

Tsunade knelt on one knee. Her golden hair clung to her blood-drained face, her cloak torn to ribbons that revealed wounds deep enough to show bone. Rain-thinned blood trickled from them in steady lines.

She had nearly burned out her chakra with medical ninjutsu. Each circulation through her meridians stabbed like needles, scraping her soul raw.

Ignoring her own pain, she forced the last of her chakra into her trembling hands, pressing them against Jiraiya's head. His brain beneath her palms was the final line she refused to lose.

The pale green glow of medical chakra flickered weakly, like a candle guttering in the dark, fragile but stubbornly holding on to the last trace of Jiraiya's life.

Jiraiya lay sprawled on the cold, wet stone. His once-white hair was matted with blood and mud. His powerful body had become a broken husk riddled with mortal wounds. The worst was the gaping hole in his side, as if an unseen hand had torn it open, his organs exposed to the air.

Each shallow breath bubbled with blood at his lips. Pain had numbed him, leaving only a faint, exhausted smile.

"Hey… Tsunade… save your strength…" His voice rasped weakly. "Seventeen, eighteen broken bones… lungs… pierced too… what's the point…" He tried to grin, but only managed a twitch.

"Heh… feel a little bad for my student… Minato… told him I'd teach him the Mount Myōboku summoning… guess that's off…"

"Shut up!" Tsunade's voice cracked, raw and shaking. Sweat rolled from her jaw and fell onto Jiraiya's face, mixing with blood. "Save your breath to live! You're not dying here, Jiraiya! You hear me?!"

Jiraiya coughed violently, blood spilling from his mouth and wounds. Tsunade bit her lip hard, forcing one more flicker of chakra from her exhausted body, veins bulging as she pulled him back for another heartbeat from death.

His skin turned gray, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "Let it go… dying in front of you… not the worst way to go…" His eyes moved to the shadow where Orochimaru stood.

Orochimaru was in better shape, but barely. His pale face was smeared with blood and grime, golden slit pupils cold and calculating. His left arm hung limp, but he could still stand.

"Orochi… maru…" Jiraiya's whisper barely carried. "Be… reasonable… don't… be sentimental…"

Orochimaru's throat moved once. His eyes locked on Jiraiya's ruined face, and whatever warmth was left in them died. Only logic remained.

"He's right, Tsunade," Orochimaru said coldly. "Any movement will finish him. Carry him, and we all die. Leave him, and two of us might live."

He stepped forward. A kunai slid silently into his hand, its steel glinting faintly in the darkness.

The light stabbed into Tsunade's eyes.

"Cut clean." Orochimaru's voice didn't waver. "Jiraiya knows what this means. It's his last dignity. And the only one we can give him." The kunai leveled over Jiraiya's heart.

"Dignity, my ass!" Tsunade screamed, voice raw with grief and fury. Her golden eyes burned red with veins, her face contorted in pain and rage. The medical chakra in her hands faltered as her body trembled, the faint light breaking apart.

Orochimaru said flatly. "Which is why you should understand. Stay, and we die. Carry him, three die. End it, and two live." His hand moved, the kunai darting for Jiraiya's chest with a viper's precision.

At the last moment, Tsunade's snarl tore through the cave. "Over my dead body!"

Her broken body moved before thought, driven by pure will. Chakra, long dry, erupted one final time from the depths of her life force, ignited by her instinct to protect.

Her golden hair whipped through the air as she hurled herself between the blade and Jiraiya.

She didn't block it with her body. She guided it, forcing her arm directly into the kunai's path.

Shhk.

The kunai punched through her forearm, through an old, half-healed wound. Blood burst out in a hot spray.

It splattered across Orochimaru's face, freezing him in shock. A few drops hit his eyes, steaming against his skin.

More blood dripped down, striking Jiraiya's pale face below.

For a moment, time stopped.

Outside, shouts broke through the storm. "Movement! Over here, quick!"

Orochimaru's kunai arm trembled. The sight before him, a comrade's blood dripping down his blade, stilled even his cold logic for an instant.

He felt it. The tremor in his arm. The raw, reckless power of Tsunade's choice, burning her life away for one impossible act of defiance.

Drip. Drip.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, Tsunade's ragged growls of pain mixed with Jiraiya's faint, rattling breath. The shouts of Iwa-nin drew closer, their armor clattering, boots squelching in the mud. The vines at the cave's mouth trembled.

Orochimaru's shock hardened into deadly calm.

His eyes darted from the kunai through Tsunade's arm, to Jiraiya beneath her, to the cave mouth about to be torn open. Countless thoughts collided in his mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Tsunade's body shook violently, blood streaming from her arm and dripping onto Jiraiya's cold face. Her hair hung in clumped gold strands, slick with blood and sweat.

Jiraiya's pupils strained to focus. Tsunade's face was only inches from his own, her pain carved into her every line, her blood spilling for him.

He tried to speak, but no words came. Only a broken rattle escaped his throat. A faint smile twisted his lips, half sorrow, half resignation.

Despair filled the cave.

Outside, the vines suddenly tore apart with a sharp rip.

(To be continued.)