Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

Following the scattered traces of combat, Roshi finally stopped at a clearing deep within the forest.

This was clearly where the fighting had reached its conclusion.

The signs were more intense than at the previous rest point—churned earth, broken branches, faint chakra residue lingering in the air—yet still, no bodies.

No heavy pools of blood.

Nothing that suggested an immediate death on either side.

There were no scorch marks from large-scale fire release, no shredded terrain from explosive tags.

For a battle of this intensity—especially with Shisui present—the likelihood of his squad being wiped out was extremely low.

They must have disengaged successfully and regrouped at another fallback point.

Roshi mentally reviewed the map of backup strongholds. After deciding on the nearest one, he set out again.

By the time he arrived, night had completely settled over the forest.

A natural stone cave pressed against a rock wall came into view, half concealed behind hanging vines.

Subtle tripwires and pressure lines glimmered faintly under moonlight—standard Uchiha anti-intrusion traps.

Approaching a recently ambushed unit recklessly was a good way to get skewered, so Roshi first gave a sharp, coded whistle—Konoha’s identification signal.

No response.

Roshi didn’t tense, but he did step back several paces—just far enough to avoid a hasty counterattack if the cave’s occupants weren’t allies.

At last, a faint answering whistle came from within.

Only then did Roshi call out, ”Jonin Roshi, reporting under direct orders.”

The vines rustled aside. A familiar silhouette emerged.

”Roshi?”

”Shisui.”

Shisui’s Sharingan spun once, examining him in silence before the tension in his gaze eased. Only after confirming the chakra flow and physical details did he drop his guard. His eyes never lied to him.

”It’s all right,” Shisui called back into the cave. ”He’s one of ours.”

Dust clung to his clothes, and leaves were stuck in his hair, but Shisui bore no injuries—just signs of battle.

”Why are you here?” he asked, stepping fully outside. ”Did something urgent happen in the Village?”

His voice held a quiet worry. If Roshi himself had been sent rather than a regular communication method, something had happened.

Roshi handed over the travel permit and mission order stamped by Tsunade, then motioned Shisui closer and explained everything in a low voice.

When he finished, Shisui’s expression darkened with a rare bitterness.

”So… Danzo-sama hates the Uchiha to this degree.”

”It’s only a strong suspicion,” Roshi said evenly. ”But stay alert.”

Shisui nodded. ”I will.”

Roshi continued, ”How is your situation here? I found battle traces at the previous camp.”

Shisui’s posture straightened. ”Over the past half-month, Hidden Mist’s harassment has grown more frequent. Their deployed units have increased as well.”

”This morning,” he added, ”several teams even managed to get close to our camp.”

Roshi’s brows drew together. ”With such an unusual troop increase, why didn’t you request reinforcements?”

”My squad, plus the elite Uchiha Anbu team, has been enough to hold the line,” Shisui replied.

But seeing Roshi’s frown deepen, he elaborated:

”Although their numbers have increased… their attacks have become—”

He hesitated, searching for the right word.

”—perfunctory.”

Roshi blinked. ”Perfunctory?”

Shisui nodded, his own confusion evident. ”Uncharacteristically so. These Mist-nin engage us, but if they fail to gain the upper hand quickly—or inflict decisive casualties—they retreat immediately. No persistence. No killing intent.”

Troop numbers rising…

But offensive commitment falling…

A pattern neither random nor typical of the ”Village of the Bloody Mist.”

Such behavior usually meant only one thing:

The enemy wasn’t probing.

They were waiting.

Accumulating strength.

Setting up a larger, coordinated strike.

And Shisui’s squads were sitting right in the middle of it.

Roshi thought for a moment, then asked, ”How are your casualties?”

Shisui didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he swept a cautious glance around the area before saying, ”This isn’t the place to talk. Come inside the cave, Roshi.”

Roshi had originally planned to leave as soon as the warning was delivered—but the situation on the eastern front was stranger than expected.

And with Orochimaru lurking in the shadows, Danzo plotting internally, and the Uchiha reform just beginning, this was the worst possible time for unexpected developments.

So Roshi gave a small nod and followed Shisui through the curtain of vines into the cave.

The interior was far more spacious than it appeared from the outside.

Seven people were inside—three from Shisui’s own squad, and the newly formed Uchiha Anbu team.

Compared to Shisui, who looked nearly untouched, the others were far worse off: dented armor, torn sleeves, minor cuts bandaged hurriedly. Even the Anbu squad carried scrapes from close-quarters combat.

Still, their morale remained intact. When Shisui brought Roshi in, they offered polite nods—mixed with thinly veiled scrutiny.

That scrutiny came from the Anbu. Not surprising.

Roshi’s identity as Itachi’s captain, combined with the public merits he’d earned last year, ensured every Uchiha in Anbu knew his name.

Shisui picked up where they’d left off.

”It’s precisely because the Mist-nin have no real will to fight that I believed our current manpower was enough to hold the line. That’s why I didn’t request reinforcements.”

Roshi pressed, ”Aside from their increased numbers and weaker attacks, did you notice anything else? Supply ships? Transport vessels docking nearby?”

Before Shisui could answer, a young Uchiha in Anbu attire spoke up confidently, ”None. Those Mist-nin are incredibly weak. ’Bloody Mist’ feels like an empty title.”

Shisui didn’t correct him. He simply gave Roshi a small nod, confirming the basic facts.

Which only deepened Roshi’s confusion.

Mist-nin behaving timidly…?

Withdrawing the moment they failed to secure an advantage…?

Increasing reconnaissance teams but dialing down aggression…?

Ninjas weren’t civilians—they didn’t fire warning shots ”into the air.”

Especially not a village with Mist’s brutal training methods.

If it was just a handful of opponents behaving strangely, that would be one thing.

But an entire frontline? Acting hesitant in unison?

That could only mean one thing—

They were following orders.

So what is Hidden Mist planning?

Meanwhile—Hidden Mist Camp

Ao rested with his back against a rock, breathing quietly. His Byakugan placed constant strain on him; tracking Konoha squads wasn’t easy work.

Around him, Mist-nin sat scattered through the camp—sharpening weapons, binding wounds, staring into the fog with dull resignation.

”Captain,” a young Mist-nin finally spoke up, unable to contain himself. ”How much longer are we supposed to keep this up? If we keep holding back, Konoha will start thinking we’re a joke.”

Ao replied calmly, ”Our enemy is formidable. Shisui of the Body Flicker, plus a full Uchiha squad with fully awakened Three Tomoe Sharingan. Exercising caution is only natural.”

The explanation sounded reasonable.

But none of the gathered shinobi looked convinced.

One squad facing Shisui and an elite Uchiha team might act with caution.

But they had three times that number here.

And yet—they attacked, then immediately retreated.

Again and again. Like a pantomime of war.

Wasn’t the Village hoping to make progress on the Fire Country front by deploying so many units?

Ao fell silent because he could not explain the contradiction.

He had received two sets of orders before leaving the Village:

One official order from the Fourth Mizukage:

Ramp up harassment of the Land of Fire. Increase pressure on Konoha.

And one secret order from Elder Genji:

Preserve manpower. Avoid decisive combat. Do not escalate.

Two directives—completely opposite in goal.

Genji’s voice echoed in Ao’s memory:

”The Fourth Mizukage… he’s not the man he used to be.”

”Ao, his decisions no longer reflect the Hidden Mist’s interests.”

It didn’t shock Ao. If anything, it confirmed what countless Mist-nin had silently begun to fear.

When young Yagura took the position of Mizukage, he had seemed earnest, driven—determined to reform the village’s blood-soaked legacy.

But somewhere along the line… something changed.

He became withdrawn. Secretive.

His orders grew extreme, irrational—eerily reminiscent of the tyranny of the Third Mizukage.

Genji, burdened and weary, had confided:

”Last year’s actions against Konoha were understandable.”

”But this year’s constant harassment—it has no strategy. No aim. It wastes manpower and resources without gain.”

”Yagura refuses to meet with me, refuses to explain his reasoning.”

”Ao, I won’t tell you to disobey him outright…”

”But I beg you—act with discretion.”

”For the future of the Hidden Mist.”

And so Ao acted.

Dragging battles out.

Retreating early.

Avoiding escalation.

Pretending to fulfill orders while ensuring his men didn’t die for nothing.

Because even Ao could tell, Their Mizukage was no longer… himself.

And the chilling thought lingered beneath every uncertain whisper and cautious withdrawal:

If the Mizukage was not the one truly giving orders…Then who was?

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