The world blurred into streaks of grey rock, and dust-choked air, as Nara Shiba and Yamanaka Hikaru flickered towards the desolate expanse of No Man's Land. Their speed was punishing, chakra flaring around them like low-burning embers, each leap covering dozens of yards in a heartbeat, leaving only faint afterimages and swirling dust devils in their wake. Shiba's mind, usually a calm ocean of strategic calculus, churned with the frantic energy of a storm. The reports flooding his senses via Hikaru's relayed telepathy painted a picture diverging dangerously from his meticulously laid plans. The Kumo/Suna/Taki force wasn't just entering the killing field; they were exploiting it with terrifying coordination, punching through MBG defences faster than anticipated, isolating units, and threatening to overwhelm the designated rendezvous point before the hammer could fall.
Hikaru's voice, strained but clear, resonated directly into Shiba's consciousness amidst the rush of wind: "Lord Shiba! Priority link: Hokage-sama!"
Shiba didn't slow, his eyes fixed on the dust-choked horizon. He gave the barest nod, a movement lost in their high-speed transit. "Put me on."
Instantly, the familiar, gravelly timbre of Hiruzen Sarutobi filled his mental space, carrying an unusual weight of grim realization.
"Shiba." A pause, heavy with unspoken frustration.
"I know." The Division commander immediately said, and continued,
"The sensor net confirms. It seems... it was not they who underestimated us, but we who fatally underestimated their coordination and the sheer momentum of their combined assault. They've adapted to our lures faster than projected. Their main force is pressing the central MBGs hard near the rendezvous grid, and the flanking units we anticipated diverting are instead reinforcing the push."
A cold knot tightened in Shiba's gut as he finished. Underestimation. The cardinal sin of a strategist, especially a Nara. He'd been so focused on the elegance of the trap, on predicting Kumo's predictable aggression and Suna's opportunism, he hadn't fully accounted for the terrifying synergy forged by desperation and the unifying hatred of Konoha.
The Takigakure betrayal had provided not just numbers, but intimate knowledge of the terrain and Konoha tactics. His voice, projecting again mentally, was stripped bare of its usual dry confidence, replaced by stark accountability. "I apologize Hokage-sama. The failure in the initial threat assessment rests with me. This deviation is unacceptable."
Hiruzen's response held no recrimination, only the weary resolve of a leader facing cascading crises. "Apology noted, but regret is a luxury for later. The battle is now precisely where you and I wanted it, Shiba, albeit burning hotter than planned. Daichi reports success in the Takigakure sector; the enemy push there has fractured, and significant forces are indeed being funneled towards No Man's Land as intended. Fugaku's… demonstration… has sown significant fear. The primary concern now is the contingent besieging our holdout position within the designated rendezvous zone itself. They've pinned down nearly a third of our teams and reserve elements. Intelligence confirms Ayy, the Raikage's son, is leading that spearhead personally. His presence electrifies their troops. Containment there is critical."
"Understood, Hokage-sama," Shiba responded, the gears of his mind whirring furiously, recalculating vectors and resources even as his body hurtled through the barren landscape. "I will rectify this. Your trust is not misplaced."
"See that you do." The mental link severed, leaving a faint psychic echo.
Shiba didn't hesitate. "Hikaru, patch me to Uchiha Daichi." The request was telepathic, swift. He could feel Hikaru focusing beside him, the Yamanaka's chakra flaring subtly as he sought the specific, potent mental signature of the Uchiha clan head amidst the chaotic chakra soup of the battlefield.
Minutes bled past, measured in pounding heartbeats and the relentless rhythm of their flickering steps.
Finally, Daichi's voice cut into Shiba's mind, "Shiba."
"I am sure you already know the situation in the crucible," Shiba began, dispensing with formalities. "We need immediate pressure lifted from the central holdout position in the No man's territory. They're being overwhelmed by Kumo elites led by Ayy. Do you have assets you can redirect to flank that besieging force? Even a disruptive strike would buy critical time."
Daichi's mental reply was swift, devoid of hesitation, but equally devoid of hope. "Negative. Available forces here are fully committed to maintaining the pressure funnel and containing the fractured Taki remnants. Myself and Fugaku are the only significant reserves, and the distance to No Man's territory…" A calculated pause. "A day and a half at forced speed, minimum. By then, things might even be more dire."
Shiba's eyes narrowed fractionally behind his flying hair.
'A lie.'
Or, more precisely, a strategic omission. He knew Daichi possessed a summoning contract – intelligence suggested something large capable of immense speed. A day and a half was the foot-slogging estimate. With such a summon? Significantly faster. But revealing that card, exposing a clan head's ultimate mobility asset on a risky flanking maneuver? Daichi was prioritizing the Uchiha clan's strength and secrets over the immediate, desperate need of the trapped Konoha forces. Shiba couldn't fault the cold calculus, only note it. The Will of Fire sometimes burned colder in certain hearths.
"Understood," Shiba replied, his mental tone neutral, betraying none of his deduction.
"Minato? His mobility is unparalleled." Daichi asked.
"Deployed," Shiba countered immediately. "He has recently handled a significant Kumo incursion attempting to flank our northern push near the Land of Rice Fields border mere hours ago. Three thousand, by preliminary count. His chakra reserves, even with soldier pills, will be critically depleted. He needs recovery, not another high-intensity insertion."
'Three thousand.'
The number landed in Daichi's consciousness with the weight of a falling boulder. Even for the Yellow Flash, that was an immense feat, explaining the exhaustion. It also meant Fugaku was not the only one going to rack up merit in this great war. A flicker of frustration warred with respect. As Daichi was deep in thought, a figure surfaced in Shiba's mind.
"What about Renjiro?" The name was a probe, laced with sudden, sharp curiosity. "Is he available?"
There was a distinct pause on Daichi's end, longer than the communication lag warranted. A beat of silence thick with unspoken considerations.
"Renjiro..." Daichi's voice came back, measured, deliberately formal, "was temporarily reassigned from the First Division immediately following his successful sabotage operations against the initial Kumo and Suna forward outposts prior to the main offensive. His current operational status and location are… compartmentalized."
'Temporarily reassigned. Compartmentalized.'
The phrases clicked together in Shiba's mind with cold, sudden clarity. Daichi hadn't lost track of Renjiro. He'd been deliberately removed from the conventional chain of command.
Temporary reassignment usually meant a deep-cover mission, something requiring absolute deniability. Likely leveraging Renjiro's abilities or his unique fuinjutsu talents in a way Daichi couldn't do. So it was probably the work of the High command. The realization was like ice water. Renjiro wasn't just unavailable; he was operating on a shadow agenda, one that took precedence over the life-or-death struggle unfolding in the other stronghold.
"So," Shiba projected, his mental voice flat, devoid of inflexion, masking the simmering anger at the political manoeuvring costing lives on his battlefield, "Renjiro is also not available."
"Not for this moment," Daichi confirmed, his tone final, offering no further explanation.
"Acknowledged," Shiba replied, the word clipped. "I will manage the situation." He severed the connection sharply, the psychic equivalent of slamming a door.
The barren landscape rushed past. Shiba glanced at Hikaru running beside him, the Yamanaka's face pale but determined. "Hikaru," Shiba commanded, his voice raw from the inhaled dust and suppressed fury, "Maximum speed."
"Fwoomp! Fwoomp!" Their flickers intensified, chakra flaring brighter, eating the distance in desperate gulps. As the cacophony of battle swelled before them, a grim litany echoed in Shiba's mind, drowning out the wind's roar:
'Hold on. Just hold on. Don't let the cost be a mountain of our dead before we even close the trap.' The weight of underestimation had shifted; now it was the crushing burden of hope against encroaching annihilation.
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