Logically, men of these two worlds should never have crossed paths — one the shadow ruler of Konoha, the other three, renegades of the Hidden Mist.
And yet, here they were, standing in the same valley, their fates now entwined.
Perhaps those two Mist-nin hadn't truly defected.
Perhaps their betrayal had been nothing more than an illusion, a clever ruse to infiltrate Konoha, uncover Danzō's movements, set a trap along his path, and finally… kill him.
The more Danzō thought about it, the more sense it made.
He, the so-called "Darkness of Konoha," had long been a target of other nations' hatred. Ambushes and assassination attempts were nothing new — countless enemies had tried before, and all had failed.
This, however, was different.
This lineup, two S-rank rogues and an ANBU captain of the Mist, was the most formidable threat he'd faced in years.
Even so, Danzō's confidence did not falter.
He had survived far worse.
He would survive this too.
But one question gnawed at him.
How did they know his route?
The travel path had been known to no one but himself before leaving Konoha.
His three Root subordinates only learned of it after they had departed.
Along the way, they had shown no sign of betrayal, no flicker of deceit.
Had he missed something?
He clenched his teeth. I must be more careful.
The idea of being tracked he dismissed outright. One of his men was a sensory-type ninja, and according to intelligence, the tracking skills of these three Mist-nin weren't refined enough to tail him unnoticed.
Still, Danzō turned slowly, his single visible eye narrowing as the three assassins approached, the corners of their lips twisting in faint, confident smiles.
"How," he asked coldly, "did you learn my route?"
But Suikazan Fuguki and his comrades had no interest in conversation. They knew too well, every wasted second meant giving Danzō more time to prepare.
They attacked immediately.
Fuguki hefted Samehada, the massive, living sword Kisame had tossed to him, and charged alongside Biwa Jūzō. Despite Fuguki's heavy build, his speed was astonishing; the water rippled and hissed beneath each of his steps.
Kisame, meanwhile, stayed behind, his hands forming seals in rapid succession.
He was shaping the battlefield.
"I'll make you talk," Danzō muttered, his voice void of emotion.
His lids lowered, and his fingers blurred through a familiar sequence of hand signs.
His three Root operatives drew their weapons and surged forward, splitting into attack formation.
Three against two.
Elite against elite.
The clash was brutal and brief — blades and chakra colliding in ringing flashes — before both sides disengaged, circling warily.
Then came the storm.
"Wind Release: Vacuum Sphere!"
"Water Release: Great Exploding Water Colliding Wave!"
Kisame didn't hesitate to pour his chakra into the jutsu. Combined with the techniques he'd inherited from the Second Hokage's legacy, the power of his Water Release was overwhelming — not inferior to Tobirama's own mastery.
A torrent erupted from Kisame's mouth, an unending flood that devoured the valley. Waves rose like towering beasts, surging toward Danzō and his men, then curling back behind Kisame, filling the gorge entirely.
Danzō unleashed volleys of compressed air bullets, each packed with deadly wind chakra. They struck the water — and vanished, swallowed whole, leaving not even a ripple.
His composure wavered.
This was no ordinary Water Release. For the first time in the battle, Danzō felt a flicker of unease.
He leapt back, avoiding the waves, while his Root subordinates scrambled to shield him, placing their own bodies in harm's way. The current swept two of them off their feet.
Fuguki and Jūzō didn't dodge, they dove straight into the rising flood, moving like predators returning to their element.
They could afford to as they were masters of Water Release, veterans of combat in aquatic terrain.
And Kisame had intentionally created this environment for them.
Within moments, the entire Gourd Valley was nearly filled with water. If not for the containment barrier, the deluge would have flooded the surrounding forests.
Danzō stood upon the surface, chakra steady beneath his sandals. His face was grim, his eye darting across the shifting water. Two Root ninja remained at his side, soaked and tense.
Then, from the mouth of the valley, another Root operative, codenamed Dog, burst from the water, sprinting toward him.
"Dog," came a calm, telepathic voice in his mind — the sensory-type Root ninja linked through their network —
"Twelve meters to your rear right. Be careful. The enemy's true body and ten Water Clones are shifting constantly. I can't lock on."
Without hesitation, Dog's fingers formed seals.
His shadow spread over the water, thin and dark then split into four, then five, shifting into spear-like forms that plunged beneath the surface.
They pierced through the heads of several Water Clones, bursting them into puddles.
But there were too many.
To cover Jūzō's movements, Fuguki had created Water Clones of his own as decoys to blur the enemy's senses.
No resistance and no sensation of flesh pierced.
Not the real one! Dog realized, and instantly leapt aside.
Too late.
A mass of figures erupted from below, Jūzō's true body among them.
Blades flashed: the executioner's sword Kubikiribōchō and Samehada's spined scales. The water exploded in a frenzy of steel and blood.
Dog fought fiercely, managing to dispel two clones, but Jūzō's heavy blade carved across his back, deep enough to expose bone.
"Ah—!"
Blood arced through the air, staining Jūzō's face and the waves beneath them crimson. The Root agent's scream tore through the valley before being drowned by the rushing water.
Jūzō grabbed him by the throat and twisted.
Crack!
The sound echoed like snapping wood. The man went limp.
This time, Jūzō did not hold back. Uchiha Gen's orders had been clear: leave no survivors.
Unlike the guards of Rasa, these Root operatives were to be erased completely.
They were men of darkness, broken, conditioned, denied even their own will. Killing them was a mercy compared to what their lives had been.
As long as their bodies were destroyed, no trace would remain.
Even if someone used Edo Tensei later, these men had seen nothing of value to reveal.
And Danzō… Danzō hadn't even looked back.
He was too busy trying to stay alive.
Fuguki unleashed a barrage of Water Release attacks from beneath the surface.
High-pressure water jets shot upward like spears, slicing through the flood. They weren't quite as deadly as Tobirama's techniques that could pierce stone like tofu but they were enough to shred flesh.
Kisame remained at a distance, hands weaving more seals. Dozens of chakra sharks formed within the water, circling like hunters scenting blood, ready to strike at Danzō and his men from every direction.
Danzō's mood darkened. His mind raced not in fear, but in anger.
Every move the enemy made seemed designed to counter him.
One opponent created water clones to confuse his formation.
Another attacked unseen from below.
A third struck from range with crushing force.
It was as though they knew his entire squad composition — as though they understood that the Root trio accompanying him were modeled after the Ino–Shika–Chō trio: a sensory specialist, a shadow user, and a fighter.
They knew their limits, knew exactly how far their jutsu could reach.
Only Danzō himself had range with Wind Release… but surrounded by water, his own element's advantage was muted. Using large-scale jutsu now would only waste chakra.
He could feel it — the irritation crawling beneath his skin.
The enemy had read him like an open book.
They're toying with me.
"Create an opening," he commanded coldly. "At all costs. Even if it means death."
There was no hesitation.
The remaining two Root operatives responded instantly, as if the order had been carved into their very souls.
The Nara-clan operative swallowed a vial of dark liquid — a Root secret medicine designed to amplify chakra and reaction speed at a terrible cost.
The Akimichi operative bit down on a crimson pill, the clan's legendary Red Chili Pill, trading life for explosive power.
Both of them trembled as chakra roared through their bodies, the water around them rippling from the sheer pressure.
They would obey.
They would die if needed.
Because that was what Root was and Danzō Shimura demanded nothing less.