Chapter 55 – Who are you?

  Ryouka presented the Hokage’s seal with practiced authority, her posture betraying nothing as the samurai officials meticulously examined every document. Their scrutiny was thorough—each seal, signature, and watermark was verified under watchful eyes before they finally nodded and granted passage into the central trading post. The team underwent a brief inspection, the guards’ hands moving with practiced efficiency over their equipment and supplies.

  The heavy iron door creaked open, revealing a cavernous warehouse. As they stepped inside, the temperature dropped several degrees. Dust motes danced in narrow shafts of light that pierced through high, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The faint scent of metal, dust, and something vaguely chemical filled Raijin’s nostrils—the unmistakable aroma of a military storage facility. Crates were stacked in perfect formation against the far wall, just as the informant had promised. The shipment was modest—a few sturdy boxes embzoned with Konohagakure’s spiral leaf emblem, containing just enough supplies to justify the mission and confirm the delivery.

  Ryouka approached the crates with fluid grace, her sharp gaze dissecting each one for signs of tampering. The soft tap of her sandals against stone echoed in the cavernous space as she lifted the lid of the nearest crate, her nimble fingers sifting through scrolls, medical supplies, and dried herbs with professional detachment.

  A shadow detached itself from the gloom near the main entry, materializing into a representative from the Land of Iron. His formal demeanour was softened by a courteous nod, armour ptes clinking softly with each measured step. The polished metal gleamed dully in the half-light as he raised a hand in greeting.

  “We’ve been expecting you,” he announced, voice carrying the distinct clipped accent of the northern provinces. “These are the crates for delivery. I trust your journey wasn’t too exhausting?”

  “No, it certainly wasn’t,” Ryouka replied with an uncharacteristically cheery smile.

  Raijin, Izumi, and Sora exchanged quick gnces. That smile—too bright, too sudden—felt truly uncomfortable. But there was no time to dwell on it.

  The representative gave a wry smile and spoke in a voice just loud enough for the team to hear. “Be careful on the border.”

  The word hung in the air like smoke. Ryouka didn’t acknowledge his words, maintaining her silence as she returned to managing the crates, but the subtle stiffening of her shoulders spoke volumes.

  Pushing aside their growing disquiet, Raijin and Sora moved efficiently to secure the cargo. Their hands worked in perfect tandem, rope sliding through calloused fingers as they shed down the crates. Izumi crouched beside them, her Sharingan flickering to crimson life, those penetrating eyes scanning each seal for microscopic evidence of interference.

  Pushing aside their unease, Raijin and Sora moved efficiently to secure the crates, their hands deftly tying down the cargo. Izumi double-checked the seals on the packages, her Sharingan briefly flickering to life, searching for any signs of tampering.

  [Some are hiding,] Raizu’s voice whispered through Raijin’s consciousness.

  Raijin’s muscles tensed, his hand freezing mid-knot as adrenaline surged through his system. He kept his face carefully neutral though his heart hammered against his ribcage.

  “Are we expecting company?” he asked, pitching his voice low and steady despite the dread pooling in his stomach.

  Ryouka remained motionless for several heartbeats. Then, with deliberate casualness, her fingers inched toward her kunai pouch—a movement so subtle that only her team would recognize its significance.

  “Just focus on your task,” she murmured, her voice barely disturbing the air between them. “We leave in five minutes.”

  That was the only warning they received.

  Ryouka finalized the necessary formalities with mechanical precision, exchanging documents and confirming seals with the Land of Iron representative. His smile never reached his eyes as papers exchanged hands, official stamps marking the completion of their transaction. Everything about the interaction was textbook perfect.

  A single gnce from Ryouka was all the signal they needed. Without missing a beat, she accelerated, guiding the team away from the main path and into the dense forest bordering the trading post. Pine needles crunched beneath their feet as they melted into the shadows of ancient trees, sap-scented air filling their lungs with each controlled breath.

  The narrow trail forced them into tighter formation—ideal for defence but disastrous if ambushed. Branches cwed at their clothes, roots threatened to trip unwary feet, and the canopy overhead grew thicker, filtering sunlight into dappled patterns that danced across their faces.

  As they moved deeper into the wilderness, the sensation of being watched intensified. The forest had grown unnaturally quiet—no birdsong, no rustling of small animals, just the whisper of wind through leaves and the sound of their own measured breathing. Raijin’s neck prickled with awareness as his gaze met Ryouka’s. Without a word, she increased their tempo, pushing them to maximum speed while maintaining absolute silence.

  “Ambush?” Izumi whispered, her voice barely audible.

  “Possibly,” Ryouka replied, her hand now resting with practiced nonchance on her kunai, though her knuckles had whitened with tension. “We’ll confirm soon enough.”

  The forest seemed to close in around them, shadows deepening despite the midday sun. The presence trailing them grew more pronounced with each passing moment—no longer bothering to conceal its intent. Then, with the suddenness of a thundercp, masked shinobi materialized from the trees, their appearances accompanied by the soft dispcement of air.

  “Great,” Sora muttered through clenched teeth, his normally cheerful features hardening into combat readiness. “Of course, someone wants to fight in the middle of nowhere.”

  Raijin shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, muscles coiling with potential energy as his fingers tightened around a kunai. The cold metal bit into his palm, grounding him as Raizu’s voice crackled through his mind. [There are more, observing.]

  Before Raijin could alert his team, a soft, metallic click punctured the silence behind them—so faint that it might have been imagination. But then it came again, closer this time, unmistakable in its mechanical precision.

  Ryouka’s battle instincts screamed to life. Her hand fshed to her kunai pouch as she signalled the team to freeze, her eyes scanning the forest with predatory intensity, cataloguing every shadow and movement.

  Izumi’s heartbeat stuttered as darkness shifted at the periphery of her vision—too solid to be a trick of light, too purposeful to be wildlife.

  “Defensive formation,” Ryouka commanded, her voice sharp as a bde. “We’ll handle this calmly. Get ready. Stay together. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary.”

  From the darkness emerged a figure—another samurai, but unlike any they had encountered before. He wore no traditional armour, only a simple cloak that seemed to absorb the scattered light. His eyes remained hidden behind a bck mask that revealed nothing but cold determination. He moved with preternatural silence, his presence ghostlike in its lethal grace.

  “Who are you?” Ryouka demanded, her voice steady despite the tension thickening in the air. Her hand hovered near her weapons, muscles coiled and ready.

  The samurai approached with measured steps, his gaze sweeping over the crates of goods with clinical interest.

  “I’m just a messenger,” he finally answered, his voice smooth as polished stone yet edged with menace. “You are not welcome here, Konoha ninja.”

  Sora’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  The samurai’s lips curled into a smile that never touched his eyes—a mocking gesture that sent ice through Sora’s veins.

  “You think neutrality will protect you?” The man’s voice dropped lower, charged with contempt. “The Land of Iron is no pce for your kind. And neither is this shipment.”

  Ryouka’s mind whirled through possibilities, discarding and analyzing information with lightning speed. “We’ve been cleared for this delivery,” she said evenly, though her eyes had hardened to flint. “No one said anything about interference.”

  The figure’s smile faded, repced by an unreadable expression. He took another step forward, his hand twitching as if readying for a confrontation.

  The tension in the room grew thick, the air almost crackling with the potential for violence. The samurai tilted his head, almost as if sizing them up.

  And then, without warning, he lunged forward with blinding speed.

  “Get back!” Ryouka’s command shattered the moment as she intercepted the attack, her kunai meeting the samurai’s bde with a shower of sparks that illuminated her fierce expression. The impact reverberated through her arm, but she held firm, muscles straining against inhuman strength.

  Izumi drew her sword in a single fluid motion, the metal singing as it cleaved the air. Her Sharingan bzed to life, tracking every minute movement with inhuman precision. “Sensei, don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

  Two more figures materialized from the shadows, converging on the Genin team with coordinated precision.

  Raijin clenched his fists, signaling Sora and Izumi with a thumbs-up. “I didn’t sign up for a lecture about ‘neutrality,’” he growled, positioning himself as a human barrier between the advancing samurai and his teammates. Chakra rushed through his network like wildfire, causing crackling arcs of lightning to dance along his forearm, illuminating his face with an eerie blue glow.

  Izumi cast him a sharp gnce, recognizing the dangerous intensity building in his stance. “Raijin, wait until we know what we’re dealing with!”

  Her warning came too te. Raijin unched himself forward, covering the distance in a heartbeat. His lightning-enhanced strike aimed directly at the samurai’s midsection—a powerful blow that seemed lethal and dangerous.

  But this was no ordinary opponent.

  The samurai twisted with serpentine grace, evading the attack with a fluidity that stunned them. What should have been a direct hit connected with nothing but empty air, throwing Raijin off bance.

  Nearby, Sora executed a perfect sidestep, the enemy’s sword whispering past his cheek close enough to stir his hair. The bde missed him by millimetres, leaving a thin line of red across his skin.

  “He’s too fast for you, Sora,” Izumi called, her analytical mind already formuting counter-strategies. “We need to get him on the defensive. Let’s finish this first and then help Raijin.”

  Ryouka’s voice cut through the chaos like a beacon. “Izumi’s right! Don’t let them control the pace!”

  With practiced efficiency, Ryouka completed a complex sequence of hand signs, her fingers moving with blinding speed. “Hang on a second,” she muttered before unleashing a devastating barrage of Wind Jutsu. Razor-sharp currents of air screamed toward the samurai, powerful enough to slice through solid wood.

  The masked figure remained unnervingly calm. With impossible precision, he twirled his bde into a defensive pattern, creating a shield of steel that dispersed the wind Jutsu harmlessly around him. The dispy of skill was breathtaking—and terrifying.

  Sora’s confident expression faltered. “Okay, maybe I underestimated pretty-boy samurai.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Ryouka admitted grimly, lunging forward to intercept the samurai’s retaliatory strike. Her kunai deflected a blow aimed at her head, the impact jarring her to the bone. Every muscle in her arm screamed in protest, but her face revealed nothing.

  “Stay calm. Assess the situation and don’t die!” she commanded, her voice steady despite the urgency coursing through her. As she engaged her opponent, her mind processed and discarded theories. This wasn’t just any samurai—there was something different, something that signaled deeper trouble for the Land of Iron. Rebels? she considered briefly before dismissing the thought. Given Mifune’s influence and the overwhelming loyalty of his forces, such a theory seemed impusible.

  While Ryouka battled her opponent, Izumi and Sora focused their combined efforts on the second samurai, moving in perfect synchronization honed through countless training sessions.

  “Izumi, now!” Sora shouted, feinting backwards to draw the samurai’s attention.

  Seizing the momentary opening, Izumi closed the distance with lightning speed, her bde whistling through the air toward the samurai’s exposed fnk. The samurai pivoted with an inhuman reflex, parrying her strike with a controlled economy of movement. But Izumi was already adapting, her Sharingan predicting his counter before it began, allowing her to shift her stance for another assault.

  Despite her advanced techniques, frustration etched itself across Izumi’s features as she withdrew to reassess. “I can’t even nd a hit on him,” she hissed, her pride wounded. “What’s his deal?”

  Sora’s calcuting gaze bounced between Izumi and their opponent, analyzing patterns with tactical precision. “It’s not just his skill—it’s his strategy. He’s reading our movements and countering instantly. If we don’t change our approach, he’ll continue to outmaneuver us.”

  A tight-lipped smile curved Izumi’s mouth, determination hardening her features. “Just follow my lead.”

  In perfect synchrony, the Izumi and Sora split their positions, moving fluidly to surround the samurai. They darted left and right, forcing the samurai to divide his attention. At the same time, Sora positioned himself further behind, weaving hand signs for Earth-type Jutsu, but this time, he’d aimed for the ground exactly beneath the samurai’s feet—an attack that would destabilize him hoping to disrupt his concentration.

  The samurai faltered for a crucial fraction of a second, his bance compromised as solid ground betrayed him.

  Izumi was on him instantly, moving in with precise strikes aimed at his torso, but the samurai anticipated her and parried with a well-timed swipe of his bde. Still, it was enough to throw him off bance just slightly.

  Seeing the opening, Sora thrust his fist forward, nding a blow to the samurai’s side. The force of the strike sent the samurai stumbling back, but it wasn’t enough to take him down.

  “Not bad, Sora,” Izumi said, a hint of approval in her voice.

  Sora shot her with an exasperated look, sweat beading his brow. “I don’t need compliments, I just need him to stay down.”

  The samurai, his mask cracked slightly from the blow, straightened and wiped the blood from his mouth. He was visibly rattled, but he wasn’t giving up.

  “You kids should’ve stayed out of this,” the samurai growled, his voice colder than before. “You’re making a mistake by drawing attention to yourselves.”

  The samurai’s tone was no longer just a threat. It was a warning. And something in his voice made Izumi’s stomach drop. She knew they had to finish this quickly, or things would spiral out of control.

  Sora’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the situation. “We’re not in a position to keep trading blows with him. We need to pressure him from both sides. We need Raijin.”

  Izumi’s Sharingan scanned their surroundings, cataloguing every detail of the battlefield. The forest echoed with the cacophony of combat—metal striking metal, the distinctive whoosh of ninjutsu, and the occasional thunderous explosion of chakra techniques. Through the chaos, she spotted Ryouka-sensei fending off two samurai simultaneously, her movements a blur of lethal precision.

  Four opponents total, Izumi’s tactical mind calcuted—two engaging Ryouka-sensei. One fighting us. And the fourth...

  Her blood ran cold as she realized—the fourth was battling Raijin. Alone.

  Without warning, a blinding fsh of white-blue light erupted from Raijin’s position, so intense it turned night into day. The explosive discharge of raw power was accompanied by a deafening thundercp that shook the earth beneath their feet. The air vibrated with electric potential, charged particles raising goosebumps across exposed skin.

  The sudden brilliance forced Sora to stagger backwards, one arm raised to shield his watering eyes. “What the hell?” he gasped, momentarily disoriented by the sensory overload.

  Izumi’s heart hammered against her ribs, not from fear but raw, primal awe. Her Sharingan activated instinctively, struggling to process the overwhelming chakra signature that had momentarily eclipsed everything else in the forest. The residual energy hummed in the air, causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand at attention.

  “What was that?” she whispered, slowly lowering her arm as the afterimage of the lightning fsh burned behind her eyelids.

  Sora stared in the direction of the explosion, his usual composure shattered. “That... that was Raijin. No doubt about it.” His voice carried equal disbelief and admiration, tinged with growing concern. He could feel the forest floor still trembling beneath his feet as if the earth itself recoiled from the dispy of power they had just witnessed.

  Izumi swallowed hard, her mind racing. She had always known Raijin was strong—exceptionally so—but witnessing such an overwhelming dispy of power was something else entirely. “I’ve never felt chakra like that before,” she whispered, more to herself than Sora.

  “We need to get to him,” Sora said urgently, his determination reignited. “If he’s using that much power, something serious is happening.”

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