"Yes, sir!" came the chorus of responses from the assembled squads.
Renjiro's sharp eyes flicked across the field, noting the subtle signs of fatigue—the slight sway in stances, the tight grips on weapons, the dull sheen of chakra depletion in some of the younger shinobi. Still, they stood ready. It was a testament to their training. The battlefield smelled of scorched cloth, iron-rich blood, and singed earth, a harsh reminder that survival always carried its own cost.
"Retrieve Squads Eight and Ten immediately," he commanded, voice brisk, clipped, and layered with quiet authority. "Have them report here at once."
A pair of shinobi immediately flickered away in response, disappearing into the settling dust.
While waiting, Renjiro walked among the injured, his presence grounding. For a moment, silence reigned—punctuated only by the low hum of healing chakra and the occasional groan of a wounded shinobi.
It took just over three minutes for Squads Eight and Ten to arrive in tight formation. Their uniforms were slightly frayed from earlier engagements, but their chakra signatures were stable. The moment they stepped into the clearing, their squad leaders saluted, awaiting orders.
"The scent of blood hangs heavy," muttered one of the arriving medics under his breath. His eyes moved from the fallen bodies of Suna shinobi to the piles of weapons and supplies being gathered.
Renjiro didn't let the mood settle too far. "Medics," he called, locking eyes with the head of Squad Ten's medical unit—a tall woman with a red cross insignia on her flak jacket—"Start treating the wounded immediately. I want to ensure that there are no deaths today. Stabilize and seal their injuries. Triage the worst cases and begin evacuation prep."
She bowed low, her voice firm. "Understood, Captain."
"Yamanaka," Renjiro continued without pause, now facing a smaller cluster of shinobi standing with folded arms and focused eyes, "Interrogate the prisoners. Extract whatever information you can. Tactics, mission objectives, squad formations. I want to know why Suna stationed such high-ranking jonins against us and what they planned to gain."
One of them, a calm-faced man with a sleek ponytail tied back by a silver band, stepped forward. His face bore the distinctive Yamanaka stoicism—detached, but razor-focused.
"Understood, Captain Renjiro," he said with a polite bow, his voice smooth and toneless. "We'll begin immediately."
The group of Yamanaka dispersed quickly, kneeling by the restrained Suna prisoners and placing their fingertips together in the signature Inoichi-style telepathic posture. Chakra began to ripple around them, subtle but disciplined.
Just as the squads began to disperse, Renjiro raised his hand.
"Yamaji. Stay back."
The head of Squad Eight paused and turned, giving a short nod. He was a stocky man with a muscular frame built for endurance, his flak jacket bulked by storage scrolls tucked beneath. His expression was hard, lined with age and combat fatigue. Shaggy black hair shadowed dark eyes that missed little.
"Yes, Captain?"
Renjiro's gaze didn't waver. "Can you go through their memories now, or do we need to transport them back to the village first?"
Yamaji folded his arms across his chest, thinking for a moment before responding. "High-ranking jonins like those two? It's going to be difficult. They'll have multiple mental seals, maybe even specialized genjutsu traps set up to activate during a psychic probe. If they were assigned against a Konoha front, they would've had their mental defences triple-checked against us."
'But my Genjutsu met no resistance'
Renjiro's eyes narrowed. "I didn't ask for a theory lesson. Can you or can't you?"
The words were blunt, almost curt—but not unkind. Yamaji held the stare for a moment, then exhaled and lowered his gaze slightly.
"…No. Not unless we want to risk destabilizing the long-range sensory tether, which I am still maintaining with HQ. It takes too much chakra to dive that deep and keep a connection open. We'd lose real-time updates."
Before the conversation could continue, Arata approached, brushing dust from his sleeves. He arrived just in time to catch Yamaji's last sentence.
"Reading their memories shouldn't be the priority right now anyway," Arata interjected, stepping beside Renjiro. "They're both alive. If HQ wants them dissected for intel, they can have the Interrogation Division do it back at base. Right now, we need to secure them and move."
Renjiro's jaw flexed slightly, considering.
"Yamaji," he said at last, "Ask HQ directly. Do they want Takako and Yumi alive or not?"
Yamaji nodded and pressed a finger to his temple. A thin stream of chakra flared at the contact point as he tuned into the long-range communication channel established by the sensory division. A moment passed—silent, tense like the world was waiting for an answer.
After several seconds, Yamaji opened his eyes. "Orders are clear. Both are to be returned to the village. Alive."
Renjiro clicked his tongue softly and turned away, his mind working.
'Alive. Why? They're dangerous assets. Transporting them means constant surveillance and patrol detail. It's going to slow us down by at least a day or more.'
He scowled slightly. 'And that means I might not be able to reach the Kumo front. I wanted to assess their strength myself… see what kind of shinobi the Raikage sent. Now, I'll be stuck playing jailer.'
His expression darkened as a thought crossed his mind. 'It would've been easier if we could just eliminate them now. Fewer risks. Fewer delays. Clean.'
He cast a glance back at the unconscious figures of Yumi and Takako, now bound in seals and guarded by two jonin. Their breaths were steady but faint. Their weapons had been removed. Their hitai-ate badges had been stripped. They looked… small now. Defeated. Human.
"Arata," Renjiro said, shifting his tone to one of authority, "Make sure all Suna bodies are accounted for. I want them sealed in storage scrolls, along with any intact weapons, equipment or any other supplies we can salvage. Scan the area for explosive tags, traps, or hidden documents. Sweep twice if you have to. Leave nothing behind."
Arata gave a brisk nod. "On it."
He turned and began barking orders. Within moments, Konoha shinobi were moving efficiently across the field, carefully extracting tags, gathering weapons, inspecting the fallen for survival signs, and cataloguing equipment. Storage scrolls unrolled on the dirt, glowing briefly as corpses were sealed away with a faint whoosh of compressed air.
Renjiro exhaled, watching it all with the cool detachment of a battlefield commander. His eyes, however, were constantly in motion—tracking chakra signatures, listening for distant movements, and reading every flicker of body language. He was already shifting into the next phase of operation in his mind.
Arata turned back, stepping over the debris of a shattered kunai. "Captain, what are you—"
Before he could finish, Yamaji's brow furrowed. His hand twitched toward his ear again, his chakra flaring ever so slightly.
"Captain," he said, eyes widening. "Message from HQ. The squad deployed to intercept the Kumo vanguard… they're requesting immediate reinforcements."
Renjiro's body went still, his features carved in stone. Time seemed to slow as he digested the implications.
'Of course. The Raikage wouldn't send weaklings. If they're calling for backup, then whoever they're facing is pushing hard.'
Arata blinked in confusion. "Wait, what? Reinforcements? Now?"
Renjiro didn't wait for a follow-up. He turned to Arata, voice quiet but firm.
"Ensure that Takako and Yumi reach the village intact. Escort them personally. I'm trusting you."
Arata's mouth opened, but Renjiro was already gone.
With a flash of movement and a gust of wind, Renjiro's form vanished from the clearing, leaving only the disturbed dust in his wake. His chakra signature flared briefly in the distance before blinking from perceptible range entirely.
He had found his excuse and was already on his way.
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