It took several days to transfer personnel from various battlefields, and during that time, the fighting across the Wind Country front raged on. The allied Konoha forces were successful in many encounters, eliminating enemy combatants from Sunagakure with growing momentum—but not without losses of their own.
Among the most successful units was the one led by Akira. While he had initially rejected the suggestion of creating a large number of shadow clones to assist Konoha in rooting out spies, a new idea came to him, one that was as efficient as it was strategic. Instead of overextending his chakra reserves, Akira would create only a few clones to widen his search radius. These clones, though limited in number, would be capable of eliminating weaker enemy squads on sight.
In the case of encountering Jonin or stronger units, the clones would mark the area using the Flying Thunder God Technique before dispelling themselves. Akira, upon receiving the memory and location from the dispelled clone, could teleport instantly to the site and neutralize the threat. It was a seamless fusion of reconnaissance and rapid-response tactics—efficient, surgical, and highly effective.
There was one drawback: the strategy was a chakra guzzler. Between shadow clones and teleportation, Akira's already-average chakra pool was strained. He could not afford to overextend. Calculating his limits, Akira decided to create only five clones, balancing combat endurance with his need for strategic mobility.
He presented the idea to his team. Ko Jie, calm and analytical, quickly evaluated the plan. "Akira is strong—strong enough to deal with almost anything that comes his way," he said. "And with Flying Thunder God at his disposal, even an ambush wouldn't pin him down. It's a sound plan."
With his team's trust secured, Akira left one shadow clone to continue patrolling with Ko Jie and the others. The remaining four clones dispersed in separate directions. Given Ko Jie's own strength and the presence of a clone, Akira was confident that his team could handle any crisis that arose in his absence.
The idea of teleporting his comrades along with him using the Flying Thunder God was dismissed outright—not even someone as skilled as Minato could perform such feats without enormous chakra cost. For now, Akira would have to act alone.
Acting solo, Akira's efficiency surged. When moving with his teammates Hongdou and Jifeng, he had been forced to slow down and operate cautiously due to their less refined stealth skills. Now, unburdened, he could push his limits.
Akira's natural tracking instincts—enhanced by skills learned from Ko Jie and refined by his Sharingan—allowed him to hunt like a Jonin-level tracker. Most enemy units he encountered were composed of Chunin. Against such opponents, Akira was a phantom of death—silent, sudden, and unstoppable.
Often, he didn't need to worry about stealth at all. Once he identified an enemy squad, he would blitz them with overwhelming speed. The terrified cries of "Konoha Lightning Flash!" often marked their last moments.
One clone reported a Sunagakure squad with a Jonin—too powerful for a clone alone. The clone laid a Flying Thunder God mark and dispelled itself. Moments later, the memory transferred. Akira instantly teleported to the area and, after briefly sensing their unchanged movement path, set an ambush.
The Sunagakure squad moved carelessly through the dense terrain. They were loud, arrogant, and oblivious to the danger that stalked them. This squad was different—the Jonin leading them wasn't a fresh promotion but a battle-hardened veteran. His presence had given the green Genin under his command a false sense of invincibility.
As Akira watched them, contempt curled his lips.
"Arrogant fools," he muttered under his breath. "You're deep in enemy territory, acting like it's a festival. Guess it's my job to teach you humility."
With a fluid series of hand signs, Akira launched his ambush.
"Water Style: Water Dragon Bullet Technique!"
A colossal torrent spiraled forth, roaring through the air. The Jonin reacted quickly, leaping clear with impressive agility. But his Genin teammates weren't so fortunate. The sudden onslaught of water overwhelmed them—one moment, they were laughing; the next, screaming and tumbling beneath the surge.
Even the veteran Jonin, airborne and momentarily safe, was unprepared for what came next. The water dragon, under Akira's refined control, twisted mid-flight—something few water-style users could manage. It turned like a living serpent and slammed into the Jonin before he could react.
As all four enemies lay sprawled and soaked, Akira moved again.
"Lightning Release: Earth Run!"
Lightning danced across the standing water. The surge of electricity lit up the battlefield like a storm. Screams echoed as the current jolted through the downed shinobi. Their bodies spasmed violently.
Then came the final blow.
"Konoha Super Strength Whirlwind: Four-Hit Combo!"
Akira struck with punishing precision—each kick like a cannon blast. Bones shattered. Breath left bodies. One by one, they fell. When the dust settled, four motionless corpses remained.
Akira gazed at them, the tension fading from his face.
"In your next life," he said softly, "try being humble."
Moments later, Konoha support units arrived. Their response had been swift—Sunagakure hadn't anticipated the sudden increase in coordination and speed. Their spies had no time to retreat. One by one, they were hunted down. The pressure on Sunagakure's high command intensified.
They were in disarray. Their intelligence-gathering efforts had failed, their elite squads were destroyed, and the initiative had swung violently in Konoha's favor.
Desperate, Sunagakure's leadership gathered to strategize. Confusion and fear simmered just below the surface. If this trend continued, the war would be lost—not on the battlefield, but in their inability to act.
That's when a voice of calm rose: Ebizo.
While not a fearsome fighter like his sister Chiyo, Ebizo was a brilliant strategist. He stepped forward, eyes gleaming with cold clarity.
"If we cannot attack, then let us be attacked," he said.
He proposed a ruse: Sunagakure forces would feign a weakened retreat, giving Konoha the illusion of victory. In reality, they would prepare a trap—a deadly ambush at Kikyo Mountain, one of the most defensible and treacherous locations en route to the Wind Country's heartland.
"We'll leak false intelligence to Konoha," Ebizo explained. "Make them think we're on the run. Their pride will push them to pursue us. And when they do—"
He raised a hand and clenched it into a fist. "—we strike, and we break them."
The high command of Sunagakure stood in uneasy silence, their nerves frayed by the reports pouring in from the Wind Country frontlines. The losses were mounting. Strategic positioning had faltered. The brilliance of Konoha's tactical countermeasures was unexpected, and morale within the Sand ranks had begun to fracture.
Then, Ebizo spoke.
A veteran of countless wars and the last elder still standing tall beside the Kazekage, Ebizo's voice cut through the despair. His suggestion, tempered by age and experience, offered the glimmer of salvation the faltering council desperately craved. It was a bold strategy, and in their desperation, the commanders seized upon it like drowning men clutching a lifeline.
Orders were issued swiftly, and across the Sand's war camps, new strategic maneuvers took form.
Meanwhile, Team Akira had just wrapped up their latest sweep through Konoha's encampments, purging hidden Sand scouts. Their return to camp should have been met with rest. But the war cared little for exhaustion.
Akira and his team—comprising the seasoned Jonin Kosuke, the sharp-eyed Hayate, and the ever-perceptive Kurenai—were different from ordinary shinobi units. Their missions were not limited to frontal combat or covert sabotage. Akira himself was a rare convergence of devastating battlefield strength and exceptional medical prowess. Because of this, his team functioned as an elite rapid-response unit, rushing to assist endangered squads and reinforce vulnerable positions.
The moment they returned, breath barely caught, a distress signal flared.
A forward sentinel outpost was under siege. Dozens of Sand shinobi had descended upon it like a storm, and the defenders—outnumbered and exhausted—were clinging to the last vestiges of their strength.
The team didn't hesitate.
With Akira and Kosuke leading the charge, the squad darted through the dunes, the desert winds howling around them like distant wails of the fallen. Kurenai and Hayate moved lightly but efficiently, conserving energy. They knew their roles; they knew the urgency.
At the outpost, the situation was dire. The walls were scorched from fire techniques, and bodies—both Sand and Leaf—littered the periphery. Within the defense line, a lone Konoha shinobi gasped for breath, wounded and too slow to evade the incoming threat.
A puppet emerged from the smoke.
Its mouth opened like a serpent baring fangs, unleashing a storm of poisoned senbon. There was no time to scream, no time to run.
But just before death could claim him—
Lightning.
A crackling hum split the air, and a flicker of blue erupted into view. Akira. Calm as the eye of a storm. With a flash of chakra, he activated his newest creation.
From his forearms, two arm guards snapped open with a mechanical hiss, releasing luminous shields made of densely packed chakra. The Machine Light Shield Seal, salvaged from the puppet of a Sand shinobi he had felled months ago and repurposed with surgical precision.
The senbon clattered against the shields harmlessly.
The Sharingan in Akira's eyes spun, catching every angle of attack. He adjusted his stance with perfect clarity, sheltering the injured ninja behind him with surgical precision. When the barrage ceased, he stood unscathed, lightning dancing along his arms, his presence as unyielding as steel.
A murmur rippled through the Sand ranks.
"Konoha's Lightning!" the commander gasped, his eyes wide.
The name had spread like wildfire through the Wind Country.
Akira—the storm that annihilated entire squads single-handedly. The medic who could stop a heart and restart it in the same breath. The shadow who healed and destroyed in equal measure. His reputation had become myth, and now, myth had descended upon their battlefield.
Panic swept through the Sand ranks.
Akira's team arrived moments later, and the enemy didn't wait to engage. Their commander, dread overwhelming strategy, called for a retreat.
Within seconds, twenty or more Sand shinobi vanished into the dunes.
Akira stood still, his brow furrowed. He had prepared for war, but the enemy had crumbled at the mere sight of him. Not once, but now repeatedly.
It wasn't cowardice. It was fear. Deep, bone-gnawing fear.
Konoha's forces had noted similar encounters. Sand squads ambushing lone teams would vanish the moment reinforcements approached. It was too consistent to ignore. The intensity of the Sand's initial retaliation had dwindled into a strange, calculated retreat.
Theories emerged. Perhaps Sunagakure had suffered deeper losses than Konoha imagined. Perhaps this show of aggression was just that—a bluff to mask an orchestrated withdrawal.
The Hyuga clan's Byakugan confirmed the suspicions. From afar, their gaze penetrated the Sand's main camp. Supplies were being moved. Tents dismantled. Soldiers funneled into retreat formations.
Sunagakure was pulling back.
Back in the Hokage's chambers, tension brewed. The intelligence was undeniable.
Danzo, ever the hawk, seized the opportunity.
"Now is the time," he pressed, voice sharp, eyes gleaming. "Crush them. While they retreat. While they bleed. This is our moment to carve into the bones of the Sand Village and extract what Konoha is owed."
The room filled with murmurs. Shikaku, calm and calculating, raised concerns of a trap. Was this real? Or just a baited ploy to lure Konoha into overextending?
But the Third Hokage knew. Konoha had reached a crossroads. The war could drag on and sap their strength across multiple fronts. Or they could press now, gamble on victory, and force a peace from a position of strength.
His voice was quiet but firm.
"Assemble the elite units. Pursue the retreating Sand forces."
Danzo smiled behind his mask of restraint. A victory here would belong to him, to his advice. And if it failed, the Hokage would bear the blame.
Akira, unaware of the politics brewing in the heart of the village, stood atop the outpost walls that evening, watching the desert horizon.
He could feel it.
A shift in the wind.
The final chapter of this war was drawing near.