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Chapter 321-Sold Out
🕑 Added 2024-12-16 21:19:06 +0000 UTCA flood of emotions coursed through Renjiro, each vying for dominance over his mind. Shock gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, disbelief churning his gut.
But it was anger—deep, unrelenting rage—that consumed him most. It was not the hot flash of temper that came and went but a seething, volcanic fury that bubbled and brewed deep within his core, threatening to erupt.
His chest heaved with every laboured breath, his body trembling from the sheer intensity of it. The idea that someone from his own village had betrayed him—sold him out to the likes of Kumogakure, no less—was a bitter pill to swallow.
The Sharingan in Renjiro's eyes flared to life, its four tomoe spinning faster than ever before. They blurred, morphing into the intricate, six-pointed star pattern of his Mangekyō Sharingan.
A wave of chakra pulsed outward, rippling through the air like a sudden shift in the atmosphere before green flames began to flicker around him. The ethereal fire grew quickly, spiralling upward and bathing the forest in an eerie emerald glow. The leaves rustled against the sudden heat, the crackle of the flames mingling with the soft hiss of burning wood as the fire licked at the trees nearest to him, or whatever was left of them.
Renjiro hardly noticed the transformation, his mind consumed by his fury. The heat of the flames grew searing, the fiery aura intensifying to a point that made his skin sting and his vision blur.
"Aaargh!"
Only when sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his eyes—a cruel reminder of the toll the Mangekyō Sharingan exacted—did he snap back to reality.
'What the hell happened?' Renjiro wondered as he realized that his Mangekyo was active.
He was reading Kanai's memory then-, his mind was blank. This was the second time, where Renjiro's emotions got the better of him, the first time being when he met the Chinoike shinobi. Once time was a coincidence, but twice?
“Calm down, Renjiro,” he muttered aloud, his voice shaky but firm, as if trying to ground himself. “There are far more important matters.”
He planted his hands on his knees, forcing himself to take deep, measured breaths. Each inhale was slow, and deliberate, and every exhale carried a sliver of his anger away.
The green flames began to wane, flickering weakly before vanishing altogether. Renjiro straightened, the pounding in his head receding. His Sharingan returned to its normal four-tomoe state, the Mangekyō fading from his eyes. He then deactivated his sharingan.
The memories he had extracted from Kanai still lingered in his mind, replaying like fragments of a broken reel. They were valuable, but maddeningly incomplete.
Kanai and his comrades weren’t privy to the intricate details of the plan. All they knew was that Kumogakure’s high command had somehow secured confidential information about Renjiro’s departure from Konoha. They were only aware of the specific day he was set to leave, but even that level of intelligence was alarming. Since Kumo was in no way closer to Konoha, so for them to make it to him in time for when he would leave the village, meant that they knew days prior.
“How the hell could someone give this information to Kumogakure?” Renjiro thought bitterly, his fists clenching again.
The idea gnawed at him, refusing to let go. The mission had been classified, an ANBU operation known only to a handful of individuals. Konoha was no stranger to spies—every shinobi village harboured them, as much a part of the shinobi world as kunai and jutsu. But this… this was something else entirely.
“I didn’t even know exactly when I’d get my mission,” Renjiro muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Jiraiya only gave me a rough timeline. Whoever leaked this information had to be someone important—someone with high-level access.”
He paced back and forth, his mind racing as he tried to piece the puzzle together. Yet no matter how hard he thought, the conclusion evaded him.
It was irksome, infuriating even, to think that someone within Konoha would stoop so low as to betray the village to Kumogakure, of all places. The two villages had been locked in bitter enmity for the last couple of years. It was unthinkable… and yet, here he was, grappling with the evidence.
“But it’s also unexpected,” he murmured to himself, his brows furrowing. “No one would ever suspect betrayal for Kumo. Maybe that’s exactly why it worked.”
Deciding to leave no stone unturned, Renjiro moved toward the bodies of the other four Kumo shinobi. He crouched beside them, one by one, placing his hands on their foreheads as he delved into their minds.
Each attempt brought fragmented glimpses of their orders and the faint threads connecting them to Kumogakure’s higher-ups. Still, the information was incomplete, frustratingly so.
When he was done, he sealed their bodies into a storage scroll with a flick of his wrist, ensuring no evidence would be left behind.
“But putting my info out there like that… it makes this whole mission even more dangerous,” Renjiro muttered under his breath. His jaw tightened as the gravity of the situation settled on his shoulders.
He couldn’t shake the nagging thought that Kumo might already be expecting him. They’d known when he was leaving Konoha, which meant they could easily anticipate his arrival. If they were lying in wait, his mission was already walking a knife’s edge.
“There’s even a chance the village itself could be behind this,” Renjiro considered grimly.
It wasn’t a far-fetched idea.
Hiruzen Sarutobi—the Third Hokage—had made his share of questionable decisions in the past and future. Renjiro’s mind flashed to the time, in the future, when Konoha would hand over Hizashi Hyūga to Kumogakure after their failed attempt to kidnap Hinata.
That situation had never sat right with Renjiro; it reeked of desperation and political manoeuvring. The thought that Konoha might sacrifice him for the sake of diplomacy or leverage left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“But if the village is behind this…” His voice trailed off, the words too heavy to finish.
The idea of turning against Konoha, even if forced to, was anathema to him, at least for now.
This was the village that had taken him in after the fall of Uzushiogakure, a place he had called home for nearly a decade. There was a sentimental attachment he couldn’t ignore. And even if he could, Konoha was a juggernaut—a military machine with the Sannin, among others, still active. Going against such a force was tantamount to suicide.
Renjiro let out a long sigh. “Dwelling on this won’t help right now,” he told himself. “I’ll investigate after I complete my mission.”
He turned his focus back to the task at hand, sweeping the clearing to ensure no traces of his presence remained. He erased every footprint, kunai mark, and disturbance in the underbrush. Satisfied that he had covered his tracks, he hoisted his pack over his shoulder and resumed his journey.
The road ahead was long and treacherous. Every step was a reminder of the stakes he faced. The wilderness gave way to rocky terrain as he drew closer to the border of the Land of Lightning. The air grew colder, the wind sharper, carrying with it the faint tang of salt from distant seas. Renjiro pushed forward, his mind a whirlwind of plans, contingencies, and questions without answers.
By the time he reached the border, a full day had passed. The towering mountains of the Land of Lightning loomed before him, their jagged peaks shrouded in mist.
