The smoke and dust from the explosion, mingled with lingering vapor, rolled across the yard, creating a chaotic barrier that bought Jirōchō a precious moment to breathe.
He had no intention of staying to fight. Using the confusion, the head of the Wasabi House swiftly withdrew into the safety of the inner corridors.
Once under cover, his decisiveness revealed itself. Forcing down the tremor in his chest and the grief of seeing his guards slaughtered, he barked out orders:
"Carry the severely wounded at once! Move them through the secret passage! Everyone still able to stand—prepare for evacuation!"
After issuing commands, Jirōchō steadied himself with a deep breath. He shed his bloodstained clothes for a fresh outer robe, his stride firm though weighed with a quiet heaviness, as he made his way toward the veranda veiled in bamboo shadows deeper within the estate.
There, the golden-haired Senju Princess sat cross-legged, half-shrouded in darkness. Her amber eyes remained closed, her expression tranquil, while Katsuyu on her shoulder streamed chakra steadily inward.
Jirōchō halted respectfully, waiting in silence until Lady Tsunade's eyes finally opened, their gaze falling on him like judgment.
"Lady Tsunade." He bowed deeply, holding the small, pristine Katsuyu in both hands, reverence and gratitude in every gesture. "My thanks for your aid. I return this to its rightful master."
He quickly detailed the guards' injuries, his voice taut with urgency:
"…The wounds fester with unnatural speed, and something alive seems to writhe inside them. Standard salves are useless. Is there any remedy—even a temporary one?"
Tsunade's brow furrowed.
"That isn't water," she said grimly.
"It's insects. Microscopic venomous insects. The battlefield isn't the place for delicate treatment."
She lifted her hand, pointing toward a modest wooden cabinet tucked into the veranda's corner.
"You'll find emergency trauma supplies there. For the black-water wounds…" Her gaze shifted to a sealed clay jar beside the cabinet. "In the left jar is a potent insect-suppressing ointment. Apply it only with a clean cloth or gauze—never touch it or the wound with bare hands."
"Understood! Thank you, Lady Tsunade!" Jirōchō bowed again, his tone solemn. At once he summoned the waiting attendants, relaying her instructions word for word before sending them rushing off with the medicine.
Turning back to her, his voice lowered, tinged with unease.
"Lady Tsunade… given the current situation, must the Wasabi House prepare for the worst?"
Her answer was calm, blunt.
"It depends on whether Roshi returns in time. With only Shizune and those two children, holding this place will be difficult. Even if they stall the enemy, their survival isn't guaranteed."
Jirōchō's jaw tightened. After a heavy silence, his resolve hardened.
"The Wasabi Family does not cling to a manor. I will arrange for everyone to evacuate to the stronghold outside the city at once."
He bowed low, deeply respectful.
"Once again, my gratitude, Lady Tsunade. Please excuse me."
With that, he strode away with urgent purpose.
Finding the elder directing the wounded, Jirōchō's command was iron:
"Begin the evacuation immediately! All wounded, women, and children through the secret passage to the stronghold! Move swiftly!"
The elder's face twisted with reluctance.
"Master, you—"
Jirōchō's hand cut him off, his gaze as sharp as steel.
"I remain here. Select a few volunteers to stay and cover the retreat with me."
The elder's protest was immediate, almost desperate:
"You are the pillar of the Wasabi Family! Leave the sacrifice to me and the guards—you must—"
"Silence!" Jirōchō's voice thundered like a blade striking stone, filled with unshakable authority. His command crashed through the elder's words, brooking no further argument.
Jirōchō fixed the elder with a piercing gaze, his words measured and unyielding.
"This is the duty of the family head! Do you expect me to abandon my men, abandon our guests who came to aid us, and flee first? If I fall, another will rise in my place!"
The elder faltered, crushed by the unshakable determination in Jirōchō's eyes. His lips moved as if to argue, but in the end, only a heavy sigh escaped him. He bowed low.
"…As you command."
Without another word, Jirōchō strode to the weapon rack.
He pulled down a well-kept hard bow, testing the string's tension with practiced hands. Then, from the inner chamber, he brought out a heavy sealed wooden chest. Inside, neatly arranged rows of explosive tags glimmered with sealing runes.
He distributed them personally.
"Follow me," he ordered in a low voice.
With a handful of chosen guards, Jirōchō scaled a watchtower overlooking the battlefield. From here, they could glimpse the front yard below—a choke point that also blocked the path to the inner residence.
Front Yard
With Jirōchō and his guards withdrawn, the courtyard suddenly felt emptier, the pressure easing if only slightly.
Anko gasped for air, her kunai arm still sore despite the warm chakra flowing from Katsuyu. Her earlier clash with Jubei had drained her, but her fighting spirit remained unbroken. She grit her teeth, ready to hurl herself back into the fray.
"Anko, stand down! Let me take over!"
Shizune cut in front of her, her expression grim. She had seen the truth—Anko's weapon and strength were no match for Jubei's. To continue would only mean disaster.
As the senior kunoichi, the burden had to fall on her shoulders.
"Shizune-senpai, I—"
Anko's protest died under Shizune's steady gaze. She swallowed her frustration. This wasn't the moment to be reckless.
"That one with the gourd—he's yours." Shizune's eyes sharpened, flicking to the cloaked figure with the massive brown gourd. His chakra was hidden, his presence obscure. "His jutsu is strange. Be extremely careful."
Jubei, unfazed by their exchange, didn't move. Yet his killing intent pressed down like a mountain, locking simultaneously onto both Shizune at the front and Anko at the flank.
"Gaiku." His voice was ice. His hawk-like gaze cut to the bandaged man at his side. "Don't let the rats escape. Chase them down. Kill them all."
Gaiku's cloudy left eye twitched, lifeless as a dead fish. His gaze shifted toward the retreating guards disappearing into the inner residence. His intact hand slid toward the blood-soaked bandages, ready to call forth that monstrous pale bone blade again.
But just as his focus shifted—
A small figure lunged from the side!
A kunai hissed through the air, aimed precisely at the joint of Gaiku's reaching arm.
The man halted, forced to retract his hand and block.
Itachi's body felt light. The Sharingan no longer drained his chakra as before. He was certain—this opponent, he could handle.
Yet while Itachi's attention was locked on Gaiku, and Shizune and Anko were pinned under Jubei's suffocating aura—
The cloaked figure with the gourd stirred.
He stepped back, as silent as a shadow. The gourd tilted, and from beneath his cloak seeped a thread of black liquid, impossibly thin, blending with dust as it crept into the cracks of the bluestone floor.
At the same time, his true body faded, slipping into the chaos. His form wavered, blurred, and dissolved like smoke carried off by the wind—leaving behind no sound, no chakra, no trace he had ever stood there at all.
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