A/N: this chapter is 5k+ words, beware...
[ A week later….]
[ JINICHI WATARU ]
The harsh, biting winds of the Land of Iron slammed into us immediately upon our arrival. We had successfully escorted Taro, the master blacksmith from Konoha, across the frozen border to fulfill his commission.
Thick sheets of pristine white snow blanketed every single visible surface in this mountainous, neutral region. I pulled my heavy winter cloak tighter around my shoulders, attempting to conserve my body heat against the chill. This nation operated entirely outside the jurisdiction of the hidden ninja villages, governed by samurai.
Our breath formed thick clouds of white vapor in the freezing, unforgiving morning. The sudden drop in temperature was a brutal shock to our normally temperate biological systems. Aoi stomped her boots aggressively into the deep snow, trying to keep her blood circulating properly in the cold.
Kisuke remained perfectly silent, though his pale face betrayed his intense discomfort with the brutal environment. Our Jonin sensei, led us toward the pre-arranged meeting point to finalize the mission.
We reached the designated meeting site, a fortified waystation operated by Lord Genji's official representatives. Taro Yamamoto, our client, clutched the heavy, sealed wooden crate containing his masterpiece close to his chest. His hands were shaking, not just from the cold, but from the immense pressure of the delivery.
We were tasked by the Hokage to ensure he reached this point safely and that the sword was properly transferred. I glanced around, my eyes lingering on the various samurai guards patrolling the high walls. We passed through the gates after Sensei had communicated with the guards which made our entry rather easy.
A tall, thin man in ornate, slightly arrogant robes stepped out to greet us at the heavy iron gates.
his fashion sense was rather eccentric to say the least.
This was the emissary sent by Lord Genji to collect the ceremonial blade and expedite the transaction. He looked down his nose at Taro, his eyes flickering with a cold, detached sense of superiority. He barely spared our Team a glance, viewing us as nothing more than glorified, lowly hired muscle. Taro bowed deeply, presenting the wooden crate with a trembling, nervous sort of reverence.
The emissary snatched the crate away, not even bothering to verify the contents before signalling his own guards to take it. He muttered something about Lord Genji's impatience and the inconvenience of the delay, his tone dripping with disdain.
" ….You can barely hire good delivery men these days, but no matter! I suppose your job is done, I will have my men deliver the sword to Lord Genji, I am sure he will be very pleased. So your services are no longer needed."
He essentially ordered us to leave immediately, claiming he would handle the final transport to the estate himself. Taro looked relieved, believing his part of the arduous, dangerous journey had finally reached a successful conclusion.
We turned to depart, intending to rest at a nearby inn before making the return trip to Konoha.
BOOM!
PSHHHHHH—!
CLANG!
CLASH!
Before we could get a hundred yards away, the sound of a violent, coordinated ambush shattered the quiet. Smoke bombs detonated, and the clash of steel on steel rang out from the emissary's convoy.
We sprinted back, arriving just in time to see the emissary's guards slaughtered by a group of highly professional mercenaries. The wooden crate was seized, and the attackers vanished into the blizzard before we could intervene.
The emissary scrambled out from behind a wagon, covered in slush but completely physically unhurt. Upon seeing us, his face twisted into a mask of pure, calculated, and malicious opportunism.
"YOU! You planned this didn't you!! It's you and your ilk that planned this ambush!!"
He pointed his finger directly at Taro, claiming that the blacksmith had clearly conspired with the thieves to steal the blade.
He loudly declared that Taro would be held responsible for the "theft" and delivered to Lord Genji for execution. Taro collapsed into the snow, his face pale and eyes wide with the terror of his impending death.
"You know what's next, you pathetic Konoha rat? For stealing the property of Lord Genji and putting my life in danger, Lord Genji will have your head!" the emissary hissed, his voice filled with venomous, manufactured rage. He clearly intended to blame the blacksmith to avoid facing the Lord's wrath for his own utter incompetence.
'This bloody idiot. There's no way he's this shameless!'
I felt a cold surge of anger, recognizing the blatant injustice of the situation unfolding before us. We could not allow our client, an innocent man, to be hung for the emissary's failure.
Sensei stepped forward, his lazy demeanour replaced by a sharp, lethal, and authoritative presence.
"I am sure we can reach a compromise we will recover the sword and we will return it as if it was never stolen in the first place. Taro you stay with them for the time being." Sensei said to the terrified, posturing emissary. The man sputtered, but the pressure exuded by Shohei's sensei forced him into a fearful, trembling silence.
And so we began investigating the scene, looking for a hint or clue to aid us in our pursuit of the thieves.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kisuke walking towards something, He moved to a bunch of crates and saw a cloth.
"I found something Sensei." Kisuke says, his eyes darting across the fabric and noticing a slight blood stain on it. Sensei nodded in approval before signalling us to follow him.
Woosh
We had to act fast, knowing the news of the sword's loss would travel to Lord Genji's estate quickly. We retreated into the city, using the chaos of the snowy streets to hide our movements and reorganize.
We gathered in a secluded alley, the heavy footsteps of a samurai patrol echoed past the mouth of the secluded alley. We pressed our backs against the cold stone walls, holding our breath until the torchlight faded.
Sensei dropped to one knee, letting a blood-soaked scrap of fabric fall from his fingers. His hands flew into a rapid sequence of signs. Beneath him, his shadow rippled and warped, stretching upward as a massive, obsidian hunting dog materialized from the darkness. The beast's emerald-green eyes flashed, mirroring the glowing jade armor protecting its chest and paws. The spectral hound eyes glowed with an eerie light, sniffing the air aggressively.
"Listen closely, we don't have time to start digging around," Shohei whispered, his voice tense as he pointed at the beast.
"The mercenaries who snatched the crate are already moving it. Shiro has their scent, but it's fading fast."
We nodded, ready for his command. Shiro's body froze for an instant before beginning to move, we followed Shiro, wasting no time as the clock for Taros life was going shorter and shorter.
Shiro led us to a cavern a few miles east, away from the emissary's outpost, the cavern was located at the base of a mountain, the snow may have covered it well but if one were to look well enough, they would be able to see light of flames licking against the inner walls of the cave.
"Theres two guards near the front of the caves. They are currently camouflaged among the rocks near the front of the cave, most likely to prevent entry by intruders." Kisuke said his voice barely travelling over the harsh weather. But it was loud enough for me to hear.
"Okay then, remember, our mission is to recover the sword, so infiltration and extraction is our goal. Once that is done, we will regroup with the emissary to prevent the client's death. Stealth is key here. Is that understood?"
Sensei said, his tone serious.
"Understood," Kisuke, Aoi and I whispered in unison, our voices swallowed by the howling wind. I adjusted the grip on my weapon, my knuckles white from both the freezing cold and the rising adrenaline. The stakes were too high for mistakes; Taro's execution clock was ticking with every snowflake that hit the ground.
Sensei gave a sharp nod; his eyes locked on the cavern entrance. With a silent mental command, he dismissed Shiro. The obsidian hound dissolved back into the dark pool of Sensei's shadow, leaving no trace behind. Sensei then pointed two fingers toward the rock formations where the camouflaged guards were hiding. No words were needed.
We moved like ghosts through the blizzard, using the blinding flurries as a natural screen. Kisuke slipped to the left flank, blending seamlessly into the snowy crags, while I crept toward the right. Through the heavy snowfall, the faint, irregular breathing of the guards finally gave away their positions. They were wrapped in pale, rocky cloaks, completely oblivious to the shadows closing in on them.
I reached my target just as Kisuke positioned himself behind his. We waited for the next heavy gust of wind to howl through the mountain pass. The moment the sound peaked, we struck simultaneously.
I lunged forward, covering the guard's mouth with one hand to muffle his scream while driving the pommel of my blade into the back of his neck. He went limp instantly. To my left, Kisuke executed a flawless, silent takedown, lowering his guard to the frozen earth without making a sound.
We dragged the unconscious mercenaries behind the boulders, stripping them of their cloaks to conceal their bodies. Sensei materialized beside us at the cave's mouth, the warm glow of the internal torches dancing across his stoic face.
After dragging the unconscious guards into the shadows, we clustered tightly near the cave's entrance.
"We need to blend in completely," Shohei whispered, his hands forming a familiar seal. "Hide your shinobi headbands. Transformation Jutsu."
[ *POOF* ] [ *POOF* ] [ *POOF* ] [ *POOF* ]
A collective hiss of smoke erupted and vanished into the wind. In place of three young Leaf Genin and their Jonin leader stood four rough-looking rogue mercenaries, their foreheads bare and their gear looking worn and battle-scarred. Satisfied with our disguises, we slipped past the threshold and followed the flickering torchlight deeper into the subterranean tunnels.
The narrow tunnel suddenly expanded into a massive, sprawling underground cavern, and the sheer scale of the hit us all at once. The air was thick, heavy with the stinging scent of cheap sake, roasting meats, and the metallic tang of blood. Hundreds of shady figures packed the cavern floor.
Rogue ninja, wealthy but corrupt merchants, black-alley information brokers, and scarred bounty hunters mingled under the dim, eerie glow of red and purple paper lanterns. The mood was tense and chaotic, vibrating with a lawless energy where a blade could be drawn over a single misplaced word.
As we walked down the central makeshift walkway, heavy, suspicious eyes darted toward our squad. Killers and thieves sized us up, their hands resting lazily on the hilts of their swords or concealed weapon pouches. We kept our heads down, mimicking the cold, aloof swagger of veteran mercenaries to avoid drawing an immediate challenge.
We split up slightly within arm's reach, roaming the crowded stalls and listening intently to the murmurs of the crowd. We checked weapons dealers and shady fences, hunting for any whisper of Lord Genji's stolen blade. Finally, our scouting led us to a greasy, heavily tattooed broker sitting in the back of a dim gambling den.
Sensei stepped forward, slamming a heavy pouch of ryō onto the table.
"We heard a high-quality sword passed through your hands today. Where is it?"
The broker's eyes gleamed with greed as he swiped the pouch.
"You're too late, pal," he chuckled, leaning back.
"I already sold it off to the Boss of this joint. Gang lord Kurogane. But....if you want it, you're in luck. Rumours say, the Boss is using that very weapon as the grand prize for a massive tournament happening right here tonight. The whole cavern is betting on it."
We retreated back into a darker corner of the market to huddle up.
"Okay, change of plans," Sensei muttered, his eyes scanning the cavern structure.
"The Boss's private vault will be heavily guarded right now but once the main event starts, everyone—including his top security—will be distracted by the arena. We are going to use that to our advantage."
He looked at the three of us, his expression deadly serious.
"One of you needs to officially enter this tournament. Whoever goes out there has to fight loud, fight flashily, and completely capture the crowd's attention. While the Genin are causing a scene in the arena and scouting the crowds for backup, I will infiltrate the Boss's vault and extract the sword. So …..Who's stepping into the pit?"
"I will enter the pits," I stated, my voice steady despite the high-stakes pressure of the situation. I needed to ensure the eyes of every guard were fixed on the ring, not the vault. Aoi and Kisuke looked worried, but they understood that I had the highest durability for the brawl. Sensei nodded.
...…
...….
...….
After writing my stage name I made my way to the waiting room for contestants, pushing through a heavy iron door that groaned on its hinges. The air inside was thick with the stench of sweat, stale blood, and cheap liniment oil. Dozens of terrifying fighters filled the cramped space, each waiting for their turn to spill blood in the arena.
Some were sharpening massive, jagged blades, while others silently focused their chakra, generating low, intimidating hums that vibrated through the stone floor. I found an empty patch of wall, leaned my back against the cold stone, and quietly observed my potential opponent.
The tournament floor was a massive, circular pit surrounded by tiers of roaring, bloodthirsty spectators. I saw the stolen crate sitting on a pedestal in the VIP box, unguarded but under constant observation.
Sensei vanished into the shadows of the rafters, moving with the silence of a ghost. I stepped into the center of the pit, feeling the cold sand shift under my boots. My heart rate levelled out into a cool, precise rhythm as the announcer's booming voice cut through the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd.
"Scum of the earth and wretches of the land, welcome to the third match of tonight's tournament!" the announcer bellowed, standing on a raised wooden platform overlooking the pit.
"In the left corner, representing the wandering mercenaries of the northern wastes, give it up for KAGE! And in the right corner, the brutal skull-crusher of the underground... GOUZO!"
"AND REMEMBER! THE WINNER HAS TO DEFEAT ALL HIS OPPONENTS, TO WIN THE PRIZE!!! SO NO REST BREAKS!!!!"
'You have got to be kidding me'
My first opponent was a massive, scarred ronin wielding a heavy, spiked kanabo club. He grinned at me, showing a mouth full of missing teeth and absolute, predatory malice. I didn't say a word, simply shifting into a fighting stance, relying entirely on raw taijutsu to hide my identity.
Gouzo roared, swinging the massive iron club horizontally with bone-shattering force. I dipped low under the weapon, the spiked metal whistling just inches above my hair. The sheer momentum of his swing left his flank exposed for a split second.
I lunged forward, driving a fierce elbow strike directly into his exposed ribs, followed by a swift sweeping kick to the back of his knee. Gouzo grunted as the joint buckled, but his massive frame barely wavered. He snarled, dropping the club and lunging to crush me in a bear hug.
Using his immense weight against him, I grabbed his extended wrist, pivoted sharply, and threw him over my shoulder using a flawless kinetic redirection. The giant smashed into the sand, knocking the wind from his lungs as the arena crowd erupted into cheers.
I scanned the stands, looking for any sign that Shohei had successfully reached the vault. The distraction was working perfectly; every single guard was fixated on the unexpected spectacle in the pit.
I prepared for my next match, knowing that every second I stayed in the ring was a second for Sensei. I would fight until the bitter end, ensuring that innocent blacksmith lived to see another day. This wasn't just a mission anymore; it was a race against the emissary's lies.
The announcer screamed for the next contender, and a new fighter vaulted into the pit.
"Scum of the earth and wretches of the land, your bloodlust has only just begun!" the announcer's voice boomed over the deafening roars of the gambling crowds. "In the left corner, the phantom of the north wastes, the rising shadow... KAGE! And in the right corner, the silent viper of the underground, the dealer of swift deaths... REN!"
This one was faster than the previous opponent, wielding dual daggers and moving with the grace of a trained assassin.
Ren didn't waste time with theatrical boasts or malicious grins. The moment the announcer's hand dropped, he blurred forward. The dual daggers in his hands caught the dim, crimson glare of the paper lanterns, carving wicked arcs through the air.
I kept my hands open, relying on pure reflex and footing. He drove a lightning-fast thrust toward my throat, which I parried with the back of my forearm, only to immediately lean my torso back as his second blade swept horizontally, close enough to shave the peach fuzz off my chin.
He was incredibly agile, dancing around the shifting sands of the pit like a gale of wind. Every strike was precise, aimed at my vitals. I couldn't use hand signs or manifest chakra elements without blowing our cover as ordinary wandering mercenaries, so I had to beat him at his own game. I feigned a heavy, desperate left hook, intentionally leaving my right ribcage exposed. Ren's eyes flashed with predatory instinct; he took the bait, lunging forward to plant a dagger deep into my side.
As his blade thrust forward, I pivoted on my heel, letting the cold steel slice through nothing but the fabric of my transformed cloak. Before he could recover his balance, I clamped my left hand down on his wrist, locking his arm in place. With a explosive burst of raw physical strength, I drove the palm of my free hand directly upward into his chin. His jaw cracked under the impact, sending his head snapping back as his vision went dark. I followed through with a spinning back kick to his chest, launching his limp body across the ring where he rolled into the dirt, unconscious.
The crowd went absolutely berserk, throwing ryō coins and screaming for more blood. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Kisuke and Aoi in the front rows of the stands, loudly shouting my stage name and aggressively riling up the bookies to draw even more eyes away from the rafters. The distraction was working perfectly. Now, all I could do was wait for the next challenger, silently praying that Sensei was already cracking open the Boss's vault.
...…..
....
The tournament progressed rapidly, and after two more matches, the roar of the underground crowd had devolved into a thrumming haze in my ears.
I flexed my aching fingers, feeling the heavy strain on my muscles after consecutive victories. The blood-stained sand of the pit was churned up, littered with broken weapons and discarded armor. Stepping back into the center of the arena, I was officially entering the semi-final match.
The announcer stepped up to his amplification seal, his voice booming across the cavernous arena. From the opposing dark archway, a figure sauntered out onto the sand with an incredibly relaxed, almost comical swagger.
He wore a bright orange sash over light leather armor, his face obscured by a crude, painted wooden mask. He carried a single, finely forged katana casually rested over his shoulder like a wooden toy stick.
"Alright then, let's see what you've got!" my opponent chirped, his tone entirely too cheerful for an illegal underground death match. He bounced lightly on his toes, shifting his weight in an unpredictable rhythm that defied standard martial forms.
There was no formal stance, no tactical guard, and zero visible hesitation. My mental combat logic struggled to pull a matching baseline profile for his strange, hyper-kinetic footwork.
The bell rang, and the orange-sashed fighter moved with terrifying, erratic speed. He didn't charge in a straight line; he flipped forward, vaulting off a fallen iron shield and spinning through the air with effortless grace. His katana flashed like a streak of amber lightning, slicing toward my neck from a completely bizarre, inverted angle.
Relying on raw reflexes, I barely managed to tilt my head back, feeling the edge whisper past my skin and sever a few strands of hair.
He landed on one hand, spun mid-air, and swept his leg toward my ankles while launching a sudden, low-angle sword thrust with his other hand. His style was absolute chaos—wild, playful, and relentlessly creative, yet executed with lethal physical precision.
It was like fighting a hyperactive whirlwind that wielded a razor-sharp blade with master-level instinct. Without the luxury of using any jutsu to defend myself, my frantic physical blocks and desperate parries barely kept me alive. My guard was completely exposed as he hacked and thrust from impossible, inverted angles that no sane fighter would ever attempt.
I planted my feet, relying on raw reflex and desperate parries to take the bruising brunt of his strikes. My bone and muscle jarred with every impact as his blade angled around my defense, my frantic physical blocks barely keeping me alive against a fighting style no sane samurai would ever attempt. Every time I tried to launch a physical counter-attack or predict his trajectory, he bounced off the terrain or used the momentum of his own spin to reverse direction instantly.
He was laughing softly under his wooden mask, clearly treating this high-stakes duel like an entertaining afternoon game. I gritted my teeth frustrated that I was struggling against his sheer, unfiltered unpredictability.
We clashed in the center of the pit, sparks flying as his steel katana grated against the metal guards on my arms.
"You're pretty tough! But can you dodge this?" he shouted playfully, spinning his blade behind his back to switch hands mid-strike.
Before he could execute the acrobatic flourish, the ambient air pressure in the entire underground cavern violently plummeted.
BOOM!
A heavy, suffocating aura descended upon the arena, instantly crushing the deafening noise of the crowd into dead silence.
The heavy iron doors at the top of the viewing arena were blown off their hinges with a single, massive kinetic impact. A tall, formidable man stepped into the torchlight, his cold blue eyes scanning the entire pit before the settle on the visage of my opponent. His dark hair was pulled in a pony tail.
He wore the traditional navy-blue robes and heavy armor. He didn't bother wearing a mask; the locals in the tournament recognized him instantly.
"A-A Sword Saint...! The Blue Sword Saint is here!" someone screamed from the VIP boxes.
'I don't know what that is but that sounds bad!'
A wave of absolute panic swept through the underground black market. A Sword Saint personally raiding an illegal fighting ring meant immediate, summary execution or lifetime imprisonment for everyone involved.
The spectators, criminals, and mercenaries abandoned all order, trampling one another in a frantic stampede toward the exit tunnels. Gang lord Kurogane sprinted out of his VIP booth, leaving his expensive silks and entire security detail behind in sheer terror.
Yet, the Blue Sword Saint didn't spare a single glance for the fleeing mob of criminals. His sharp, furious gaze locked directly onto the masked, orange-sashed fighter standing in the middle of the pit. He strode down the stone steps with heavy, deliberate footsteps, his hand resting calmly on the pommel of his blade.
"I leave the estate for three hours, and I find you down in a filthy, illegal gambling pit playing games with criminals," the Blue Sword Saint barked, his deep voice echoing over the chaotic screams of the crowd.
The orange-sashed fighter instantly froze, his previous confident swagger vanishing into pure, comedic terror. He quickly yanked off his wooden mask, revealing a youthful, sweating face with wide, panicked eyes—the Orange Sword Saint of the Land of Iron.
"Big brother! Wait! I can explain! I was just... testing the local competition!" the Orange Sword Saint stammered, backing away slowly while holding his hands up defensively.
"Silence, you idiot!" the Blue Sword Saint yelled, grabbing his younger brother by the collar of his orange sash and physically lifting him off his feet.
"You are a Sword Saint of the Land of Iron, not a performing monkey for black market scum! Do you have any idea how much paperwork this is going to cause me?"
As the two brothers began violently arguing in the center of the pit, I backed away slowly into the dark shadows of the arena. The entire tournament had completely broken down, providing the ultimate cover for our primary mission. I looked up toward the high rafters, catching a brief, distinct flicker of chakra signalling from the roof structures.
Shohei-sensei had successfully reached the vault during the chaos, secured the real hakra metal sword, and left a convincing replica on the pedestal. He flashed our designated Konoha retreat code using rapid chakra pulses against the dark stone ceiling. I immediately regrouped with Aoi and Kisuke, who were waiting near the ruined mouth of the primary fighter holding area.
"We need to move now before the Blue Sword Saint decides to clean up the rest of the arena," Kisuke whispered urgently, his hand resting on his kunai pouch. Aoi nodded quickly, her face pale from the pressure the legendary master was radiating. We turned and bolted into the dark, winding escape caverns leading away from the black market complex.
We navigated the subterranean stone tunnels at a rapid pace, the distant sound of the Blue Sword Saint berating his younger brother fading behind us. The air grew progressively colder as we neared the outer perimeter exit of the mountain cavern system.
I let out a low breath, feeling the tension in my chest ease slightly as the success of the heist seemed fully secured. We were only a few hundred meters from the snow-covered surface when the ambient atmosphere in the tunnel shifted violently.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Without a single word of warning, four shadowy figures dropped silently from the ceiling stalactites, completely blocking our path forward. They wore non-descript gray cloaks and plain metallic face plates, perfectly disguised as standard black-market assassins or hired mercenaries.
Before we could draw our weapons or fall into a defensive formation, the lead assassin slammed both palms flat against the stone floor of the cavern.
"Earth Style: Subterranean Collapse!" the assassin muttered in a flat tone.
RUMBLEEEEEEEE—!
CRACK! SNAP! CRASH!
A massive, violent tremor ripped through the foundation of the subterranean tunnel, shattering the structural integrity of the ceiling above us. Massive, jagged boulders and heavy rock fragments rained down with terrifying force. I immediately threw my hands up to activate my earth-hardening technique, moving instinctively to shield Aoi and Kisuke from the crushing weight.
SHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!
With a sharp mental command, a dense torrent of dark metal dust erupted from the vessels. The heavy grains responded to my raw control instantly, churning upward like a rising tidal wave. I didn't use jutsu; I simply channelled my will into the metal, forcing it to expand outward into a thick, interlocking dome over Aoi, Kisuke, and myself just as the mountain gave way.
BOOOOOOOM!
SMASH! CLANG! CRUNCH!
The entire tunnel ceiling collapsed into a deafening roar of grinding stone and blinding clouds of pulverized dust. Massive jagged rocks smashed violently against the metallic shield, the kinetic force ringing through my bones as the dome buckled under the immense weight.
Despite the protection, the sheer mass of the cave-in compressed our space, burying our path and forcing heavy debris past the edges. Sharp pain flared through my ribs as a stray boulder pinned my side, while Aoi and Kisuke were violently thrown into the cavern wall by the cascading rockslide.
BRRRRROOOOOOOOOM—!
The massive, localized seismic rumble of the cave-in echoed violently through the entire mountain ridge, shaking the surface ground above.
[ SHOHEI NARA ]
I crouched on a high, snow-dusted pine branch several hundred yards outside the cavern system, the secured wooden crate containing Taro's real sword resting beside me. I was waiting for my Genin team to emerge from the secondary exit tunnel so we could complete our covert retreat toward the border.
Suddenly, a sharp, violent vibration rattled the roots of the massive pine tree beneath my feet.
BOOOOOOOM!
A massive plume of dark dust and pulverized rock erupted from the side of the mountain ridge near the cavern's secondary exit. My eyes narrowed instantly, my lazy demeanor vanishing. Even without sensory abilities, the sheer violence of that sudden explosion and the localized collapse of the ridge made it brutally obvious—this wasn't a natural structural cave-in.
"That was triggered intentionally," I muttered aloud, my hand moving instantly to form a rapid sequence of hand signs.
Beneath my boots, my shadow on the snow-covered pine branch began to morph, darkening and expanding rapidly.
SHHHHHHH—!
Rising directly from the obsidian fluid of my shadow, a heavy-set form materialized. Sitting on the branch was Geki, my trusted, scarred badger summons. The creature grunted, sniffing the freezing winter air before locking his sharp eyes onto the rising dust cloud near the ridge.
"Geki, my squad is trapped beneath that cave-in," I commanded tightly, my voice laced with absolute Jonin authority. "Tunnel down there immediately, rescue my kids, and dig out a path for them. Keep your guard up—whoever brought down that roof is likely still lurking in the dark."
Geki gave a sharp, solemn nod, dove off the tree branch, and burrowed effortlessly into the deep snow and frozen earth below, racing toward the buried tunnel.