I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

The fog on the eastern front is never reasonable.

Shuoge walked at the front, with his knife behind him and his hand on the hilt.

Red followed to his left rear, holding a kunai in her hand, her knuckles turning white. Kai walked to his right rear, empty-handed, his steps incredibly light—almost unbelievably light for a martial arts fanatic like him.

The three people walked eastward along the coastline.

To the left is a beach, the sand damp and making a soft crunching sound underfoot. To the right is a grove of low trees, their branches bent by the fog, water droplets sliding from the tips of the leaves.

Pat pat—

It's like someone is following us.

The first sentry post is normal.

Two sentries, wrapped in overcoats, sat in the tent and waved when they saw the mission sheet that Shuoge showed them.

"There's not much movement ahead. The fog is too thick; visibility is less than ten steps."

The second sentry post was also normal. The sentry stood on the reef, holding binoculars—he couldn't actually see anything, but standing was more reassuring than sitting.

The third outpost was behind a group of rocks at a bend in the coastline. As Shuoge approached, he smelled a certain odor.

It doesn't smell like the sea; it smells like rust.

--Blood!!

He raised his hand and clenched his fist.

Kai and Hong stopped at the same time.

Both of them gasped for breath!

The tent flap was blown open by the wind, and the tent was empty.

A folded overcoat lay on the cot, and an overturned cup lay on the floor, its tea stains already dried.

Behind the tent, in a crevice of the rocks, lay a person.

sentinel.

There was a thin, shallow wound on his neck, precisely located—the carotid artery. He had bled to death; his body was stiff, and his face was ashen. He had been dead for about an hour.

Shuoge crouched down and glanced at the wound. The knife was thin and swift. Approaching from behind, he covered the mouth with his left hand, held the knife in his right, and slit the throat in one stroke. Clean and swift, without a trace of struggle.

"The Hidden Mist Assassination Squad." Shuoge stood up. "At least three people. One to attack, two to provide cover. Still in this area."

The fog grew thicker.

It didn't thicken naturally; it's the signature ninjutsu of Kirigakure—the Hidden Mist Technique!

Sakugo's three-tomoe Sharingan began to rotate silently, and chakra flowed within the mist—not in human form, but the mist itself was moving.

Someone is manipulating the fog, mixing chakra into the water vapor to make the fog thicker, denser, and more suffocating.

"Spread out," Shuoge said softly. "Back to back, no more than five steps apart."

Kai took two steps to the left, his back to Shuoge. Hong took two steps to the right, also his back to Shuoge.

Three people, three directions, one circle.

A very faint whooshing sound came from the fog.

Shuoge turned his head, and a blowgun flew past his ear and landed on the reef behind him.

The arrow fletching was purplish-black, indicating it was poisoned.

He didn't move, his Sharingan fixed on that direction—a blurry chakra light was crouching on the rocks, loading a second blowgun.

"Kai, eleven o'clock, on the rocks."

Kai rushed out.

He was so fast that the fog was torn open, and before the shadowy figure on the reef could react, Kai's fist was already there.

The man was sent flying by a punch, the blowgun slipped from his hand, and he tumbled halfway through the air before crashing into the sea.

The splashing water was swallowed up by the mist.

Footsteps came from the right.

Red turned around, and the bitter thing flew out of her hand, heading straight for a dark figure in the fog.

The shadowy figure parried with a short sword, deflecting the kunai, but the red kunai was already upon them. The shadowy figure was forced to take a half step back, revealing an opening—the red hand had already formed a hand seal.

"Illusion Technique: Tree Binding Kill".

The shadowy figure froze.

From his perspective, countless vines sprouted from the ground and entangled his hands and feet.

He couldn't move; the knife hung in mid-air, unable to fall. Red didn't stop; she had already grasped the third kunai in her hand and was about to thrust it towards his throat—

But the shadowy figure's eyes twitched.

His chakra surged, and the genjutsu was broken.

Red wasn't fast enough; the shadowy figure's dagger had already broken free from the illusion's restraints and slashed back at Red's chest.

Before Hong could dodge, the blade was already in front of her.

A beam of white light cut in from the side.

Shuoge's knife blocked the short sword, and the sound of metal clashing exploded in the mist, piercing and deafening.

With a flick of his wrist, the blade slid down the other man's sword, severing two of his fingers. The dagger fell to the ground, and Shuoge's knife was already at his neck.

"Don't move."

The shadowy figure did not move.

His eyes were fixed on Shuoge, his pupils bloodshot.

Hong stood to the side, still clutching a kunai, her hand trembling. It wasn't fear, but the reaction of someone who had survived a close call. She looked at Sakugo's profile; his face was expressionless, as if he were doing something very ordinary.

"Red, tie him up." Shuoge's voice was flat.

Red took a deep breath, pulled a rope from her ninja tool pouch, and tied the shadowy figure's hands behind his back. Her movements were swift and her hands were no longer trembling.

Kai pulled the first person from the sea. The man was unconscious, his face covered in blood, and his nose crooked to one side—from a punch Kai had delivered. Kai threw him onto the beach and clapped his hands.

"There's one more," Kai said. "In the water. I saw its shadow, but I couldn't catch it."

Shuoge looked into the fog.

The three-tomoe Sharingan was still spinning, but the flow of chakra within the mist had disappeared.

The third person ran away.

It's not that we can't catch up, it's that it's not worth chasing.

Kai had a wound on his shoulder—not from his fist, but his own. A blowgun was embedded in his left shoulder, the arrowhead deep in the flesh, and the skin around the wound was purplish-black.

"When did you get infected?" Shuoge asked.

Kai looked down at his shoulder and paused for a moment.

"I don't feel anything."

He genuinely felt nothing. The speed was so fast that he didn't even notice when the poisoned needle pierced through.

Shuoge walked over, squatted down, and glanced at the wound.

The poison on the blowgun is not immediately fatal; it paralyzes the nerves.

Kai's shoulders were starting to stiffen, but he was still standing and could still speak. Kai's physical abilities were far superior to those of an average person, which slowed the spread of the toxins considerably.

"Back to camp." Shuoge stood up. "You go first, I'll go behind. Hong will go in the middle."

Without saying a word, Kai turned and left.

The strides were still large, but the left arm was hanging down at the side and no longer swinging.

Red followed behind Kai, glancing back at Sakugo. Sakugo trailed behind, his sword sheathed, hand on the hilt, his Sharingan fixed on the mist behind him.

The three of them walked back.

Behind them, two captured Mist Shadow assassins were tied to the rocks, awaiting the arrival of the recovery team.

In the fog, the sea breeze dispersed the smell of blood, and then brought in new fog.

Footsteps crunched on the wet sand.

Kai walked quickly, the beads of sweat on his forehead growing larger and larger. It wasn't from exhaustion, it was from the poison. His lips began to turn purple, his breathing became heavy, but he didn't stop.

"Kai, slow down." Hong's voice was a little urgent.

"No need," Kai said through gritted teeth. "This little bit of poison won't kill me."

Shuoge didn't speak. He walked at the very back, watching Kai's retreating figure.

The green figure appeared and disappeared in the mist, the blowgun still strapped to its shoulder, trembling with each step. He thought of Zhonglin, he thought of the iron horses.

They're the same way; they get injured but say they're fine, and then nothing happens.

He quickened his pace and walked to Kai's side.

-

Shuoge reached out and supported Kai's right arm, shifting his weight onto his own shoulder.

Kay was half a head taller than him, and his shoulders were a whole size wider. When the two of them leaned against each other, they looked like a tree supporting a wall.

But Shuoge's legs did not bend.

Chakra exploded from the soles of his feet, creating a shallow crater in the wet sand. His speed increased rather than decreased; each step he took was like a nail driven into the ground, steady and fast.

Kai's weight pressed down on him, but his back remained straight, and his breathing remained even.

Hong followed behind and saw Shuoge dragging Kai along the beach, running faster than she could run alone. Her pupils contracted slightly.

She had seen powerful ninjas, but she had never seen a swordsman with such explosive power.

Kai didn't speak.

He was still conscious, but his lips had turned purple, and his left arm was completely numb, hanging limply at his side like a piece of wood.

He gritted his teeth and tried his best to shift his weight onto Shuoge, so that his legs would have to exert less force.

It's not that I'm being lazy, it's that I don't want to slow things down.

The three men made their way through the fog, across the reefs, and past the second sentry post. The sentry saw them, saw the blowgun on Kai's shoulder, and turned and ran back to camp to report.

At the camp gate, the light of the campfire shimmered in the mist.

Shuoge stopped and handed Kai over to the medical team that came to greet them.

Two medical ninjas flanked Kai, one on each side, and led him toward the medical tent.

Kai glanced back at Sakugo, wanting to say thank you, but before he could even speak, he was pulled away by the medical ninja.

Shuoge stood there, his knife resting beside him. His left shoulder was stained with Kai's blood, a dark red that shimmered black in the firelight. He glanced down at it but didn't wipe it away.

The command center personnel arrived; a middle-aged Jonin was holding a notepad.

Shuoge recounted the attack on the outpost: three assassins from the Hidden Mist Village, two prisoners left behind, and one escaped. One of their own men was poisoned, but none died. The Jonin finished recording, nodded, and turned to leave.

Hong stood beside Shuoge, still clutching a kunai in her hand, her knuckles white. She gazed in the direction of the medical tent and remained silent for a moment.

"Will Kai be alright?"

Shuoge's voice was flat. "He's not someone who dies easily."

Hong glanced at him. Her face was expressionless, but the pool of blood on her left shoulder was glaringly obvious under the light.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say thank you—just now at the sentry post, if it weren't for Shuoge's stab, her chest would have been pierced by the dagger.

But she didn't say it. She turned and walked towards her tent. After a few steps, she stopped.

"Could you teach me some practical illusion techniques during training tomorrow?"

Shuoge glanced at her. "Okay."

Hong is gone.

-

Shuoge stood alone at the camp gate. The sea breeze blew in from the east, dispersing some of the fog and revealing the dark sea in the distance.

He turned and walked toward the medical tent.

Lifting the curtain, Kai lay on a cot, his shirt off, bandages wrapped around his shoulders, a towel between his teeth, his face flushed red.

The medical ninja is removing the poison, using tweezers to hold the arrowhead of the blowgun and slowly pulling it out.

Kai's forehead veins bulged, but he didn't make a sound.

Shuoge leaned against the tent pole and watched.

When Kai saw him, the towel in his mouth fell out, and he grinned.

The smile was distorted by pain, but the meaning was clear—I'm fine, don't worry. Shuoge didn't speak, he simply nodded.

Kai understood his response and bit the towel back into his mouth.

The sea breeze blew in from outside the tent, causing the candlelight to flicker.

Shuoge stood there, not moving.

He didn't say anything encouraging, but just his presence was Kai's greatest comfort.

Silent companionship is more powerful than any words.

……

……

……

When Shuoge lifted the curtain of the command post tent, it was already full of people.

On either side of the long table, several staff officers from the Eastern Front Command were sketching on a map.

Orochimaru sat in the main seat, his hands crossed and resting on his chin, his pale face glowing unhealthily in the candlelight.

His eyes were narrow, with golden, vertical pupils, like snakes. Hatake Sakumo sat to his right, his sword resting against the table leg, his eyes closed as if dozing, but Sakumo knew he wasn't resting.

The other advisors included a sensory ninja from the Yamanaka clan, a tactical advisor from the Nara clan, and two Jonin whose names Sakugo couldn't recall.

The air inside the tent was stuffy and hot, mixed with the smell of tobacco and ink.

Shuoge walked in and stood at the end of the long table. He had just come out of the medical tent, his left shoulder still stained with Kai's blood, dark red, which had already dried. He hadn't changed his clothes or wiped it off; he had come straight here.

Intelligence has a time limit and cannot wait.

Orochimaru glanced at him. His golden eyes were devoid of emotion, holding only a cold, scrutinizing gaze, as if he were dissecting a frog.

"explain."

Shuoge recounted the attack on the outpost: three Mist Shadow assassins, two captured, and one escaped. One of the captured men spoke up—not as a confession, but as a slip of the tongue during interrogation, saying, "The second batch has already set off."

The staff officers exchanged glances.

The Nara clan's tactical advisor tapped the map a few times and whispered something, but Sakugo couldn't hear him.

Orochimaru didn't move. He tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table, a slow, rhythmic tapping, like a snake flicking its tongue.

"The Fog Shadows are testing our defenses."

His voice was very soft, so soft it was as if he were talking to himself.

"First, take out the outposts, then find out the patrol routes, and then—" He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone understood. Then came large-scale infiltration, decapitation, or encirclement.

Hatake Sakumo opened his eyes. He didn't look at the map, nor at the staff officer, but at Sakugo. There was something in those tired eyes—not worry, but confirmation.

He confirmed the intelligence was true, confirmed that Shogo was still alive, and confirmed that there was no more bad news.

"The troops on the western front will take another three days to fully arrive," a staff officer said. "Until then, the forces on the eastern front are insufficient to simultaneously defend both the coastline and the inland passages."

"Then consolidate the defensive line," Hatake Sakumo's voice was calm. "Abandon the outposts and concentrate forces around the camp. We'll deal with the situation when the western front arrives."

Another staff officer frowned.

"Abandoning the outposts is tantamount to handing over the coastline to the Mist Shadows. They can freely move in and out of our defense zone to scout, lay mines, and set ambushes—"

"Let them come," Orochimaru interrupted him. His golden eyes were fixed on the gray coastline on the map.

"Once you're here, you're not leaving."

There was a moment of silence in the tent. Orochimaru stood up, walked to the map, and traced his finger along the coastline, stopping at a rocky area on the east side of the camp.

"If the Fog Shadows want to infiltrate, they must go through here. Reefs, undercurrents, foggy weather—these are the terrains they are most familiar with." His lips twitched slightly, not in a smile, but in something colder.

"We'll wait for them here."

The staff officers began to discuss in hushed tones, some nodding, some shaking their heads.

Sakumo Hatake didn't speak. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes again. Orochimaru turned around and looked at Sakumo. His gaze lingered for a moment, then shifted away.

"Go and rest."

Shuoge turned around, lifted the curtain, and went out.

Behind me, the sounds from inside the tent rose again, low and rapid, like waves crashing against rocks.

He stood outside, the sea breeze blowing the fog in, it was cold.

He glanced down at the blood on his left shoulder; it had turned black.

He turned and walked towards the barracks.