I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

By the time Shuoge's squad returned to the eastern front camp, it was already dark.

The journey was fraught with danger but ultimately safe.

The sea breeze was saltier than a few days ago, but the fog had thinned, and visibility was actually greater than before.

There were some unfamiliar faces in the camp—reinforcements transferred from the western front, wearing vests with different numbers and speaking with different accents.

There were two more rows of tents than before, and the supplies were piled up like a small mountain. The boxes of explosive tags were stacked more than a person high.

Kai parked the cart at the supply depot, Hong went to submit the mission report, and Shuoge stood in the middle of the camp waiting.

He noticed a detail: the line at the supply depot was three times longer than usual, some people were arguing, some were cutting in line, and a Chunin carrying three boxes of explosive tags squeezed through the crowd and almost fell.

This wouldn't have happened before—resources were always distributed according to plan, without the need for scrambling.

Feng walked over from the direction of the command post, and when he saw Shuoge, he paused for a moment.

"You're back?"

"Um."

The wind didn't say much, walking past him. After a few steps, it stopped, without turning back. "Don't leave the camp recently. Turn down non-essential missions as much as possible."

Shuoge looked at him. "Why?"

Feng's hand rested on the hilt of the knife, then fell back down. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but finally managed to squeeze out only, "Listen to me."

Then go.

Shuoge stood there, watching Feng's figure disappear between the tents.

There were fewer campfires in the camp than before, not because there was no fuel, but because they were afraid the firelight would reveal their location.

The number of hidden sentries has increased, but the visible sentries have almost all been removed—there used to be a visible sentry every twenty steps, but now you only see two people after walking the entire main road.

They were all hiding behind sandbags, with only half their faces showing.

A muffled sound, like thunder, came from afar, but the sky was clear.

Shuoge listened for a while; the direction was east. Some said it was an exercise, others said it was the Fog Shadows probing the defenses. Exercises wouldn't be held at night, nor would they use live ammunition.

Some things, once understood, don't need to be spoken of.

-

Back in the tent, Kai fell asleep immediately, while Kurenai was organizing her ninja tool bag.

Shuoge sat in the corner, his knife across his lap, not asleep. He heard many sounds in the camp—footsteps, whispers, the clanging of metal.

More than usual, denser than usual. Like a pot of water, about to boil.

-

In the middle of the night, he went out of the tent and saw that the lights in the direction of the command post were still on.

The members of the Dark Guard emerged from within, wearing masks, and moved swiftly, disappearing into the surrounding fog.

Half an hour later, another member of the secret service entered from the opposite direction, carrying a scroll, and went straight into the tent. They went in and out without stopping all night.

Shuoge leaned against the tent pole, looking at the lamp until dawn.

-

The news spread the next day.

Three outposts on the eastern perimeter have lost contact.

It wasn't an attack—an attack would have made noise, sent out distress signals, and left corpses. The three outposts vanished without a trace.

The people are gone, but the tents are still there, the supplies are still there, and the water in the teacup is still warm.

The first team to investigate found nothing, but the second team went a mile further and found a body in a crevice in the rocks.

The sentry's throat was slashed open, the wound extremely fine and deep, something no ordinary kunai or short sword could leave.

When Shuoge was summoned to the command post, Hong was already there.

Kai was waiting outside the door and wouldn't let him in.

Orochimaru was not there, nor was Sakumo Hatake. The meeting was chaired by a Jonin whom Sakumo did not recognize. He had an old scar on his face that ran from his forehead to his chin, and his voice was hoarse.

"Uchiha Sakugo, your squad goes to the seventh outpost. Investigate the cause of the disappearance, return once you find clues, and avoid combat."

He pushed a map in front of Shuoge and pointed to the locations with his finger.

"Here. Fifteen miles from the camp, at the bend in the coastline."

Shuoge glanced at the map. "Have the first two outposts been checked?"

"We checked. We found nothing."

"And the third one?"

The Jonin glanced at him. "Haven't investigated yet. It's your turn."

Shuoge didn't ask any more questions. He took the mission scroll, folded it, stuffed it into his pocket, and turned to walk out of the tent.

-

The three walked eastward along the coastline.

The fog was thinner than yesterday, but visibility was worse—not because of the fog, but because of the overcast sky. The clouds hung low and were hazy, as was the sea, leaving only a thin slit between heaven and earth.

The first outpost is empty.

The tent was blown down by the wind, and no one cleaned it up. The canvas lay on the sand, damp and sticky from the fog.

Shuoge stopped and squatted down to look.

There were drag marks on the sand, but they were covered by the wind and sand, making it impossible to see their shapes. Hong stood behind him, holding a kunai in her hand, her knuckles white.

"Keep going." Shuoge stood up.

The situation at the second sentry post was even worse.

The sentry's body had been removed, but the bloodstains remained, dark brown on the sand, dried for at least two days. Red crouched down, touched the sand, smelled it, and stood up, her face pale.

"It happened two days ago," she said. "The command center knew about it then."

Shuoge didn't speak. He quickened his pace and headed towards the third sentry post.

The seventh outpost is behind a reef.

The tent is still there, the canvas flapping loudly in the wind.

Everything was still there—a cot, a coat, a water bottle, and unfinished rice balls.

The water in the teacup had gone cold, leaving a brownish ring of tea stains on the cup's surface. Shuoge squatted down and touched the teacup with his finger. It was cold. The person had been dead for at least a day.

Kai called out from outside the tent, "Shuoge, come and see."

Shuoge walked out.

Kai squatted down next to the reef, pointing to the leeward side of the reef.

There was an extremely fine and deep cut there, not left by chopping, but by cutting—the blade sliced ​​across the reef at an extremely fast speed, like cutting tofu, leaving a smooth cut on the stone.

Shuoge squatted down and touched the cut with his finger. The edges were smooth, without any burrs, and the cut was made in one continuous stroke without any pause.

Hong also squatted down, looking at the cut. Her pupils contracted slightly.

"Ninja Sword".

Her voice was very low.

"The Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist. My father said that their swords were not ordinary swords; each one possessed special abilities. To leave such marks, a weapon must be at least of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen's caliber."

"Your father has seen Kirigakure's ace?" Kai asked in surprise.

Each village has its own elite forces—the puppet troops of Sunagakure, the explosives troops of Iwagakure, and the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist.

Hong paused for a moment. "I saw him. He survived. But his teammates didn't."

Shuoge stood up and went around to the back of the reef.

There was a line of footprints, very light, not walking but running—but they only ran for three steps before stopping.

Ahead of the footprints, there was a pool of dried blood on the sand, and a broken telescope. The shattered lenses were scattered all over the ground, gleaming faintly in the hazy light.

Shuoge squatted down, picked up a piece of lens, looked at it, and threw it away.

He stood up and looked at the distant sea.

Gray sky, gray sea, gray waves.

He suddenly understood—the first two outposts hadn't been undetected; they'd been found, but command hadn't made it public. They were afraid. Afraid of causing panic, afraid of the news leaking, afraid the enemy would know they already knew.

"go back."

Kai paused, taken aback. "Aren't you going to continue the investigation?"

"All done with the investigation." Shuoge turned and walked towards the camp.

Kai glanced at the cut mark on the reef, then at Shuoge's back, and followed. Hong walked at the very back, her hand resting on the kunai, her knuckles turning white.

-

Back at the camp, Shuoge didn't go back to his tent, but went straight to the command post.

He waited outside the tent for almost fifteen minutes.

The curtain wasn't closed properly, and sounds from inside leaked out through the gaps.

There was an argument going on, the voices were low, but Shuoge's Sharingan caught some words—"supply line", "seven people", "it's impossible to defend every line", "take a gamble".

The sound was intermittent, like the wind blowing through a crack.

When the curtain was lifted, a staff officer came out, his face ashen. He paused for a moment when he saw Shuoge, then walked away quickly without looking back.

Shuoge lifted the curtain and went inside.

The Jonin was still there, sitting behind the long table with a map spread out in front of him. There was a new stack of intelligence scrolls on the table, sealed with a red "Top Secret" stamp.

He frowned slightly when he saw Shuoge.

"So fast?"

Shogo placed the mission scroll on the table. "The sentry at the seventh outpost is dead. The killer used a ninja sword, at least a weapon of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen's caliber."

The Jonin remained silent. He looked down at the map on the table, tapping his finger twice on the location of the seventh outpost. A long silence followed.

"Okay, go and rest."

Shogo didn't move. "What is the Seven's goal?"

The Jonin looked up at him. There was no surprise, no anger, only weariness in his eyes.

"Supply lines. There are more than a dozen supply lines, and only seven people. They can't possibly guard every single one. We can only guess—guess which one they'll choose."

"What if you guessed wrong?"

The Jonin didn't answer. He lowered his head and continued looking at the map. Sakugo stood in front of him, not moving. The Jonin was silent for a moment, then drew three lines on the map with his finger.

"These three are the most likely."

"Which mission line are we on?" Shuoge asked.

The Jonin looked at him. "You don't need to know."

"I need to."

The two stared at each other for a few seconds. The Jonin looked away first. He tapped the southernmost line with his finger.

"This one is the most dangerous. It's close to the coastline, passes the seventh outpost, and then goes thirty miles east. It's the route that Kirigakure knows best, and it's also the route that's easiest to be targeted."

He paused. "But precisely because it's dangerous, the enemy thinks we won't take this route. So we insist on going anyway."

Shuoge remained silent. He understood the logic. It was a psychological game, betting that the other side couldn't guess. But the stakes were lives.

Who decided on this route?

The Jonin paused for a moment. "Lord Orochimaru."

Shuoge didn't ask any more questions. He picked up the mission scroll on the table, folded it, stuffed it into his pocket, and turned to walk out of the tent.

Outside, it was completely dark; there was no moon, no stars. Only the orange campfires flickered in the darkness, like open eyes. Feng stood not far away, leaning against a tent pole, and walked over when he saw Shuoge come out.

"You know what this road means," the wind said softly.

Shuoge did not speak.

"Command knows. Orochimaru knows. Hatake Sakumo knows too." Feng looked at him. "But they have no other choice. This batch of supplies must be delivered. The enemy must send someone to face the Seven Ninja Swordsmen, to stop them, to sacrifice themselves."

"understood."

Uchiha Sakugo remained expressionless, but his heart was cold.

Who is the hunter, and who is the prey?

Who can say for sure?

The Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist?

Oh--!

-

On the morning of the third day, new mission instructions were delivered to Shuoge's tent.

"Emergency supplies, transported to the front lines. Medicines and explosive tags are sealed in three reels. The route is top secret and must not be disclosed."

Shuoge unrolled the scroll and looked at the route marked in red pen.

Starting from the camp, cross the coastline, bypass the reef area, pass the seventh outpost, and then travel thirty miles east to reach the front-line supply point.

That's exactly what the Jonin said.

He had just walked this road a few days ago.

The sentry at the seventh checkpoint was dead. Further east, there was nothing. No checkpoints, no patrols, no reinforcements. Only a road, and the end of the road.

He stuffed the reel into his pocket and stepped out of the tent.

Kurenai was already waiting outside, her ninja tool pouch hanging at her waist, a kunai in her hand, which she twirled between her fingers before putting it away.

Kai stood next to her, yawned, and stretched, as if he were just going for a walk.

Shuoge walked towards the supplies distribution point. Kai and Hong followed behind.

The supplies distribution point is located on the north side of the camp, with several large boxes piled up behind a row of long tables.

The Chunin in charge of distributing supplies was a man in his thirties with stubble on his face and dark circles under his eyes.

He saw the task sheet handed to him by Shuoge, his hand trembled, and the pen fell to the ground. He bent down to pick it up, signed it, and as he handed the scroll back, said, "Be careful on the road."

The sound was very soft, but Shuoge heard it.

He didn't answer, but took the three sealing scrolls—two rolls of food and one roll of medicine—and stuffed them into his ninja tool pouch. The logistics department had provided a flatbed cart, but the wheels would sink into the sand, making it difficult to push, but there was no better option.

Shuoge pushed the cart toward the camp entrance.

Dai was already waiting.

He stood in the morning mist, his green bodysuit damp and clinging to his body.

Water droplets dripped from the watermelon's head down his hair, but he didn't wipe them away; the same smile remained on his face.

It was so dazzling it was almost blinding, so dazzling it left people speechless.

His headband was tied tighter than usual, so tight that it left a red mark on his forehead.

His fist was wrapped in bandages, not the kind he usually used for training—they were special bandages soaked in medicine, a darker color and thicker than ordinary bandages.

Kai didn't notice any of this. He walked past Dai without looking at him, chin up, hands in his pockets.

"Walk."

Shuoge walked past Dai.

Dai took the handle of the cart and pushed it after them. Kai walked beside Dai, and Hong brought up the rear. The four of them, with the cart, walked out of the camp and into the fog.

Behind me, the campfire in the camp gradually blurred in the fog and finally disappeared.

Ahead, the road stretched out in the fog, its end nowhere in sight. A sea breeze blew in from the east, carrying a salty, fishy smell and an unusual aura—not fog, but a menacing presence. It was faint, distant, yet present.

Dai pushed the cart with steady steps.

His smile was still on his face, but his eyes had changed.

Those eyes held none of the usual fawning or humility, only one thing—calm. The kind of calm that comes from knowing where you're going, what will happen, and what the outcome will be.

Shuoge walked at the front, his sword behind his back, his hand resting on the hilt. He didn't turn around, nor did he speak. His three-tomoe Sharingan slowly rotated in the mist, staring at the road ahead.

At the end of the road, something awaited them. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that thing wouldn't let them pass.

The sea breeze stopped. The fog grew thicker.