For Gen and the rest of Team 7, the mid- and lower-ranked Iwa shinobi weren't a serious threat. As long as they kept their guard up, they could cut through without risking a bad injury.
In the northwest, Minato Namikaze's leadership turned Konoha's lines into a solid wall. Veteran jonin and chunin held the front, while squads rotated in and out to keep pressure steady. Each wave of Iwa's assault broke against them like surf against rock.
By the time Konoha reinforcements from other directions arrived, the outcome was already clear; a complete collapse for Iwagakure was inevitable.
Yet the Rock ninja fought on. Even with death at their heels, few surrendered.
For them, loyalty to their village was only part of it. Surrender meant poor treatment as prisoners, disgrace to their families back home, and a lifetime of lowered heads.
The fighting dragged on for nearly two hours. When the sun dipped toward the horizon at five o'clock, Konoha finally strangled the last of the resistance.
The cost was staggering. Fewer than a handful had surrendered or been taken alive. The rest, over thirteen hundred corpses, littered the blood-soaked battlefield. Smoke drifted in lazy plumes above the forest, and the air reeked of iron and ash.
Carrion birds circled overhead, their cries echoing over the quiet that follows slaughter.
Konoha's own dead numbered over five hundred genin. In truth, neither side's genin were the polished product of peacetime training, they were war-forged in the fastest, most brutal way possible, and too many died before their skills could mature.
Those who had survived the early years of the Third Shinobi World War had either climbed to chunin or even special Jonin by now. They were hardened survivors, the rare elite who had endured countless battles. And their numbers were dangerously low.
The battle was won, but there was no celebration. Konoha shinobi worked in silence, gathering the dead, stripping the field of weapons, and setting up pyres. Years of constant war had dulled the thrill of victory; now, even survival felt muted.
Perhaps they would only know real joy when the war finally ended.
When the work was done, weary bodies returned to camp. Some collapsed onto bedrolls, while others tended to supplies and wounded.
Gen, as part of Minato's personal squad, had no such luxury. Minato wasn't one to bend rules for his own, so Team 7 stayed, busy patrolling, guarding, and running orders.
Two days later, a messenger hawk arrived with new orders from the Third Hokage. Minato was to lead his remaining forces to the Land of Grass, where Konoha still clashed with Iwagakure's army.
Far away in the Tsuchikage's office, Onoki received a different message; the confirmation that the Iwagakure forces deep in the Land of Fire had been completely annihilated.
He had expected it the moment he'd heard that the Kannabi Bridge was destroyed, but hearing it confirmed still made him sag into his chair.
Why? Why did Konoha always produce so many prodigies? In every generation, someone rose to turn the tide.
In the Warring States Period, there were Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha.
In the First Shinobi World War, Tobirama Senju had led with brilliance until his death, after which Hiruzen Sarutobi and his comrades stabilized the front.
In the Second War, the White Fang and the Three Legendary Sannin carried Konoha through without lasting damage.
And now, in the Third War—Minato Namikaze.
This was the first time the four great villages had pushed into the heart of the Land of Fire, cornering Konoha. And still… they had failed.
Miss this chance, and another might never come. Was Konoha truly fated to remain the strongest?
No. Onoki pushed the thought away. If he gave in to such defeatism, Iwagakure would live forever in Konoha's shadow. He refused to believe their luck would hold forever.
"Call the elders," he ordered.
Fifteen minutes later, in the council chamber, Onoki faced the grim assembly.
"First," he said, floating slightly above the table before bowing, "I will take responsibility. This loss rests on me."
The elders were quick to wave it off. "No, Tsuchikage-sama, the decision was made collectively. Responsibility is shared."
And with shared responsibility came no punishment.
Onoki didn't press it. "Regardless, the battle failed, and our chances against Konoha are gone. I intend to send envoys to request a ceasefire."
One elder hesitated. "Shouldn't we hold out a little longer? Something might happen to Konoha on another front."
Onoki's gaze was sharp. "Dragging this out drains our strength for nothing. Peace now preserves our forces. If an opportunity arises later, we can break the treaty."
The elder's eyes lit with understanding. "As expected of Tsuchikage-sama…"
Discussion shifted to Sunagakure. The verbal pact they'd made at the war's start meant little now. In Onoki's view, a weak Sand was good for Iwa.
"Conduct the talks in secret," he instructed. "Konoha is under heavy strain so they won't demand much. Conclude quickly so their forces can move to pressure Sunagakure. The more Sand weakens, the more we gain, even if the war ends."
The elders murmured their agreement, some feigning realization just to feed his pride.
So it was that by the time Minato reached the Land of Grass, Iwagakure's envoys had already slipped into Konoha's camp to request peace.
Sarutobi Hiruzen welcomed it. He saw the truce as a turning point—remove Iwa from the equation, and Konoha could crush Sunagakure without fear of a second front. Then, with Suna broken, focus could shift to Kumogakure, and finally Kirigakure.
His terms were light, ensuring neither side lost face. On the front, Jiraiya and Minato handled the talks. Both sides wanted out quickly, and within days, the deal was sealed.
True to their word, Iwa pulled most of its forces from the Land of Grass, leaving only a token garrison.
The moment Konoha confirmed their withdrawal, troops shifted to strike Sunagakure's frontline headquarters on the border of the Rain and River Countries—before the Sand could react.