Far from the smoldering battlefield, where the flames of the Third City still clawed at the sky, Tsuchikage Arano, leader of Iwagakure, stood atop a high cliff overlooking an empty valley below. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon—not for armies, not for reinforcements—but for a single man.
The Yellow Flash of Konoha.
The mission had been simple: stop him. Keep him away from the rear of Iwa's campaign. Prevent the same disaster that had befallen other battlefronts, where entire platoons were erased in seconds by his blinding speed. But now, with the benefit of hindsight, it was clear—
They had walked directly into Konoha's trap.
In his absence, Arano had entrusted the campaign to his commanders. He believed Iwa's numbers, tactics, and sheer momentum were enough. But as dawn broke over the scorched remnants of the Third City, the consequences of that decision became clear.
The explosion that leveled the city had taken with it more than a thousand Iwa shinobi—not just rank and file, but hardened veterans, experienced tacticians, and even field captains. Alongside them perished the last of Konoha's defenders, caught willingly in Orochimaru's horrific strategy. For some, it was nothing short of sacrilege—sacrificing one's own troops to cripple the enemy.
But for Orochimaru, it was necessary.
And the results spoke for themselves.
A third of Iwa's remaining force had been annihilated. The rest were exhausted, wounded, or dangerously low on chakra. Their supplies were stretched thin after days of non-stop advancement. Bloodied and battered, the survivors had no time to rest—because Orochimaru's next move had already begun.
Within hours of the Third City's destruction, chaos erupted anew.
Deep inside the First and Second Cities, previously captured by Iwa during their rapid march forward, explosions echoed through the narrow alleys. Konoha sleeper agents, disguised as civilians, activated. Hidden shinobi who had quietly embedded themselves within the population now rose up, attacking from within.
In the shadows of burning homes and shattered markets, blades clashed.
It wasn't an honorable duel of equals. It was guerrilla warfare. Surprise assassinations. Poisoned kunai. Civilian uprisings incited by the shinobi of Konoha. What should've been secure Iwa-occupied cities became blood-soaked war zones once more.
And it was working.
The Iwa garrisons, though numerous, were spread thin—too many battles, too little rest. Konoha's hidden shinobi struck hard, killed quickly, and vanished into smoke. Markets turned into trap-laden death zones. Rooftops became ambush sites. And the element of surprise was always with the Leaf.
In the face of this chaos, Iwa found itself fighting a battle it hadn't prepared for—a war of shadows. Not against an army, but against phantoms.
While the cities burned and civilians rallied behind Konoha, another operation was already underway.
In the Land of Grass, along the vast forest routes Iwa used to ferry supplies and troops, the darkness came alive. Konoha's elite ANBU , bolstered by the chilling precision of Danzō Shimura's Root Division, descended from the trees like wraiths.
Supply lines were severed.
Outposts were overrun.
Entire squads vanished without a trace.
The trees themselves echoed with the sounds of silent death.
Fires flickered across the forest as Iwa defenders scrambled to protect the lifeline of their entire war effort. But Konoha had already accounted for their response. Traps littered the paths. Chakra signatures were cloaked. And Root's cold, surgical tactics gave no room for mercy.
By nightfall, Iwa's entire occupied territory was in crisis.
And still—the bleeding had only begun.
At the command of Orochimaru, as the moon reached its peak, a final order was given:
"Now. Strike them everywhere."
It was the first time since the war began that Konoha went on the offensive.
After weeks of defense, retreats, and sacrifices… now it was their turn to push.
From every forest, every cave, every hidden camp, Konoha's forces emerged like a tide of vengeance. They descended on the weakened Iwa formations with a fury born from loss, from pain, and from Orochimaru's ruthless calculations.
And Iwa… was unprepared.
Their lines broke in several places. Field medics were overwhelmed. Chakra reserves were depleted. What remained of their organized units was forced to hold chokepoints with desperation, not strategy.
At first, disbelief struck the Iwa shinobi.
"Konoha… is attacking us?"
Was the loss of the Third City so devastating? Were their numbers so depleted?
No—on paper, Iwa still had nearly 2,000 shinobi in fighting shape. Even fatigued and injured, they were still one of the most dangerous military forces in the world. If given time to regroup, they could endure. They could hold ground in a defensive war.
But that chance was slipping away.
Inside the provisional Iwa headquarters, chaos reigned. Jōnin leaders—once united under Arano's strict guidance—now debated furiously in a candle-lit war tent. Messages arrived every few minutes:
"Second City breached."
"Outpost in the southern ridge lost contact."
"Konoha troops spotted near supply depot Bravo."
And still, Arano had not returned.
Eventually, the senior commanders convened in an emergency session.
"We've lost a third of our forces," barked one.
"Our troops are tired, wounded, low on chakra," said another. "But we still hold the line. We can still win."
Some called for immediate retreat—to abandon the Land of Fire entirely and preserve the core of Iwa's army. Others demanded a counteroffensive, afraid of appearing weak before Konoha.
But in the end, consensus was forced through clenched teeth.
"It's only the first day since the disaster," a veteran jōnin said grimly. "We don't retreat from a single loss. Not yet. We hold."
And so, Iwa remained.
Bloodied. Leaderless. But unyielding.
For now.