Six shadows raced swiftly from tree to tree, gliding effortlessly through the canopy of the Land of Fire. Clad in standard Root ANBU black ops gear, their faces hidden behind emotionless masks, they moved in perfect synchrony. Not a branch snapped beneath them. Not a word was exchanged. They were deep within enemy-controlled territory now—Once land of fire—and silence was their shield.
The mission had been a success. Eight Iwa outposts sabotaged. Supply caches reduced to ashes. Enemy movement crippled. And all it had cost them were a few bruises—insignificant damage for the havoc they had inflicted.
Now, they were retreating to a hidden base deep within Konoha's outer perimeter to rest, regroup, and receive further instructions.
But then—
The lead operative came to an abrupt stop, perching on a thick branch and raising two fingers in a silent signal. A gesture that only Root-trained shinobi would recognize.
Enemy ahead.
The rest of the unit froze mid-leap, landing noiselessly in a half-circle formation, awaiting further commands. Another hand signal was made—encircle and observe.
Like phantoms, three of them vanished into the undergrowth, moving to flank the unknown figure.
From his vantage point, the team leader narrowed his eyes.
A lone figure stood in the clearing below, shrouded in a dark cloak that obscured most of his body and face. The only visible detail was the unmistakable glint of a metal headband—Iwa insignia.
"A lone Iwa shinobi, this deep in the forest?" the leader thought. "Unusual. Possibly a scout. Or worse… a special operations operative."
Suspicious, but not alarming. The man was alone—and Root had numbers.
The Root leader quickly assessed his own team's strength. He himself was at jōnin level, the two flanking him were tokubetsu jōnin, and the remaining three were experienced chūnin. Against a lone target, even a high-ranking one, they held overwhelming advantage.
He gave the signal.
All six emerged simultaneously from the shadows, cutting off the figure's retreat on all sides. The air was tense. Leaves rustled as kunai were silently drawn.
But the cloaked man didn't flinch.
Instead, he stopped walking, tilted his head, and exhaled sharply—as if mildly irritated.
Arano. The Second Tsuchikage.
He had no interest in petty skirmishes. His mind was focused on the greater threat—Minato Namikaze. But now, his path was blocked by insects.
"Tch… There goes another precious minute," he muttered under his breath, frowning.
From the opposite side, the Root leader stepped forward and spoke with cold authority.
"Remove your cloak. State your name. Cooperate, and we might let you live."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Arano raised his head just slightly. The edges of his mouth curled into a faint, cruel smile.
"You've asked for this," he said quietly. "Maybe one of you will live long enough to tell me something useful."
He threw off his cloak in a single fluid motion.
Beneath it stood a tall, battle-hardened shinobi . His posture was relaxed, yet terrifyingly confident. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't weave a single hand sign.
He simply stretched his arms with a crack of his knuckles.
"It's been a while since I've had a good taijutsu match," he said, his voice calm—almost amused. "Try to entertain me."
And then he moved.
In a blur.
Before the Root leader could react, Arano closed the distance and drove a fist directly into his gut. The blow was so fast and so powerful that it shattered the jōnin's flak vest, launching him backward into a tree with a sickening crunch.
The rest of the unit scattered, instantly switching to combat formation.
"Engage!"
Three chūnin moved in, weapons drawn. Shuriken rained through the air in a deadly spiral. The tokubetsu jōnin leapt in from opposite angles, coordinating a pincer attack. One unleashed a Wind Release: Wind Spike, while the other began weaving signs for Earth Style: Mud Wall, trying to trap Arano's movement.
But it was pointless.
Arano slid beneath the barrage of shuriken, his body low and coiled like a spring. In one brutal motion, he twisted and caught a chūnin by the ankle mid-leap—then smashed him into the forest floor, bones snapping on impact.
A kunai sliced toward his back, but he turned just slightly, letting the blade scrape against he's back . He didn't flinch , he's regenerative ability where enough to heal him anyway. With a flick of his elbow, he shattered the attacker's jaw.
One of the tokubetsu jōnin finally landed a hit—barely. A shallow cut along Arano's side. But before he could follow up, Arano's palm slammed into his chest, sending him flying into his comrade. Both crashed into the trees and didn't rise.
Now only two remained.
A chūnin trembled as he threw his kunai desperately. Arano dodged it with a lazy lean, stepped forward, and struck with the back of his hand.
Snap.
The chūnin's neck twisted unnaturally as he crumpled.
And just like that, five of them were down.
The remaining operative—the second tokubetsu jōnin—stood his ground, breathing heavily. His weapon trembled slightly in his hand.
Arano stepped toward him, expression unreadable.
"You're the last one," Arano said coolly, brushing dust from his armor with a slow, deliberate motion. "Don't worry… there's a chance I won't kill you."
The final Root operative hesitated. His breath was ragged, his body bruised, and his chakra nearly depleted. Yet behind his blank ANBU mask, his eyes still burned with loyalty. Konoha shinobi didn't break easily. Especially not Root.
Still, he hadn't expected that from an Iwa shinobi—let alone the man who had just annihilated his entire unit without so much as drawing a weapon.
But he said nothing.
"I'm offering you something rare," Arano continued, stepping forward. His boots barely made a sound against the forest floor. "A deal. Say something useful—anything—and I'll let you walk away."
The silence held for a second longer than it should have.
Then the Root ninja straightened slightly, defiant even in the face of overwhelming power.
"I'll die before I betray the Leaf," he spat. "You'll get nothing from me."
Arano's eyes narrowed. The small glint of mercy that had briefly flickered behind them vanished completely.
So be it.
"You're refusing a very generous offer," he said coldly. "I don't make it often. In fact… I never make it."
Without another word, Arano's hand shot forward like a viper. He grabbed the operative by the throat, lifting him effortlessly into the air. The ninja clawed at his grip, but it was like iron.
"Enough time wasted on you."
With a burst of raw strength, Arano hurled the ninja into a nearby tree, the impact echoing through the forest like a thunderclap. Bark exploded outward. The mask cracked. The body slumped to the ground and didn't rise again.
Silence returned to the woods, heavy and absolute.
Arano exhaled softly and turned his gaze east-northward, toward the horizon. Somewhere in that direction, Minato Namikaze was still on the move.
"That detour cost me enough already," he muttered. "No more distractions."
He adjusted his cloak, kicked dust off his boots, and vanished in a flicker of motion—leaving behind the shattered remains of Konoha's elite operatives as the wind whispered through the bloodstained leaves.