"Boom!"
The roar hit like a war god kicking down a mountain. Behind the Hyuga camp, a massive explosion ripped through the air, sending a hurricane of smoke, dust, and chaos rolling over the valley. Even those on the front lines could feel the force, the ground trembling beneath their feet.
Hyuga Okamoto froze mid-step. His eyes widened, anger twisting his features as he stared at the flames licking the supply depot. Then came the roar:
"Abandon the siege of Uchiha Tajima! Everyone, with me—rush to the supply office!"
The thirty remaining Hyuga ninjas panicked. Their supplies—grains, blades, detonating charms, medical bandages, and medicines—were gone, vanished into smoke and fire. No food, no weapons, no healing. Without it, the war couldn't continue.
Tajima watched the chaos with a calmness only a predator could manage. He knew his team had succeeded. The Hyuga supply depot destroyed meant their morale would crumble. No hesitation. No delay. He turned his shadow-like form toward the battlefield, moving with the precision of a man who knew war was both chess and slaughter.
"Rainy!"
Two scarred Uchiha ninjas met him at the edge of the jungle. Tajima's voice was low, sharp. "Now is not the time to rest. We head straight to the battlefield. Spread out, strike the Hyuga forces while their supply is gone. Move."
"Yes, Lord Tajima!" they replied without hesitation, their bodies dissolving into black shadows as they vanished into the hinterlands of Lingshan Gorge.
Meanwhile, the battlefield still raged. The Uchiha vanguard, freed from their siege, bolstered the coalition's forces, but it was a drop in a bleeding ocean. Losses were heavy on both sides, and the momentum of battle remained uncertain. Without supplies and with Hyuga Tennin coordinating a counterattack, the Uchiha coalition still teetered on the edge of defeat.
Chaos spread naturally across the gorge. The battlefield expanded, units splintered, and small skirmishes popped up everywhere—teams of three to five clashing in isolated pockets of combat, each strike a gamble with life.
Amamiya Raizen—Douren as he was known in these moments—pushed into the jungle, desperate for leverage. Three enemy ninjas blocked his path, eyes sharp, chakra coiling like live wires around them.
"This isn't good…" Raizen muttered under his breath, his hands twitching toward his empty arsenal. He had nothing left. His chakra reserves were drained to the last drop. Flying Thunder God was spent. Explosive clay—gone. Even the energy from recent fights had sapped his stamina to the bone.
He gritted his teeth. If he lived through this, he had to rebuild himself from scratch—physique, illusions, ninjutsu, everything. He'd been riding a tide of borrowed power; without it, he was just another Genin-sized cannon fodder.
Steeling himself, Raizen backed toward cover. Survival came first. Every step was measured, every breath counted. In a world that had barely given him a month to prove himself, retreat was not defeat—it was preparation.
Once he survived, he promised himself, he would train harder. He would no longer rely on borrowed miracles. He would become the kind of warrior who could walk through the valley of death and leave it in flames on his terms.