Chương 55: The Root of Conflict and Rest

It was a resounding victory. Fifteen Mist shinobi had attempted to circumvent the front lines, slinking through the Land of Fire like ghosts in the tall grass. Three had been butchered by their own kin; the remaining eleven were systematically dismantled by the Leaf's reinforcement unit. Under normal circumstances, there would have been no survivors, but Dongye Zhen had reached into the maw of death and dragged one back. As for who had sent that Mist-nin to death's door in the first place? It was best not to ask.

The corpses scattered along the shore all shared one trait: their skulls had been pulverized or incinerated, a grim testament to their commitment to secrecy. If Konoha wanted to uncover the Mist's true agenda, the lone survivor was their only hope. Zhen, however, already had a fair idea of what they were after. The veteran Hyuga had sensed "volatile chakra," but Zhen's perception went deeper. He didn't just feel the agitation; he felt a visceral, instinctual repulsion.

He knew exactly what it was: the lingering residue of the Three-Tails, Isobu, who had perished earlier that year alongside Rin Nohara. That chakra now drifted through the rivers, lakes, and coastal waters of the southeastern Land of Fire. It was faint—a ghostly echo that most shinobi would overlook—but it was there. Tailed Beasts were immortal; they would eventually reconstitute themselves, but the where, how, and when remained a mystery to most.

The Mist, having "husbanded" the beast for decades, likely possessed secret methods to track its scattered essence. This ritual was almost certainly an attempt to gather those drifting fragments. The practice of sealing a Tailed Beast into a human host was a relatively recent development, a strategic arms race that left every village conflicted. They loved the power but loathed the volatility. Most villages treated their Jinchuriki like fragile, albeit explosive, glass ornaments.

Only the Hidden Mist, with its penchant for internal slaughter, seemed to have extensive experience in accidentally—or intentionally—killing their own hosts. Poor Isobu. In the years to come, the beast would die yet again alongside the Fourth Mizukage. Life was a relentless cycle of misery for the Three-Tails. As for why Zhen felt such a primal distaste for the beast's chakra? He hadn't forgotten the vision he'd seen in his ethereal state.

The "pure" white natural energy he cultivated was a fragile underdog, constantly squeezed and devoured by the more aggressive energies of this world. The Tailed Beasts were fragments of the Ten-Tails, which was itself the manifestation of the God Tree—an invasive parasite that had plundered the world's natural energy and transmuted it into chakra. To Zhen, Tailed Beast chakra wasn't power; it was a pollutant.

From the moment he drew in that first breath of white energy, he had stepped off the path of the traditional shinobi. He would never sign a contract with the Great Sage Regions, nor would he ever allow a Tailed Beast to be sealed within him to serve as a glorified "hand warmer." At the lakeside assembly point, Nara Suzaku was exultant when he saw Yunmi Gekko approaching with the captive. He had resigned himself to a total blackout of information, given the suicidal fanaticism of the Mist.

Finding a survivor among the perimeter squads was a stroke of unexpected luck.

"Status? Is she stable?" This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"She's alive," Yunmi replied.

"Zhen stabilized her. He has a gift for Medical Ninjutsu; his talent easily rivals his mother's." Suzaku immediately signaled for a detachment to take the prisoner into high-security custody. He then turned his gaze to the six young Genin. These were the future of the village.

"Well done. You've all performed exceptionally. You've filled the gaps left by your seniors." He looked specifically at Zhen.

"Especially you, young Dongye. Your talents are enough to make even a veteran like me envious."

"You flatter me, Suzaku-senpai," Zhen replied with practiced humility.

"We simply did our duty."

"Good, good! Ha! Well, I'll have to trouble you further then. We have several wounded who need attention before we resume the march. I'd rather not have them dragging their feet." Because Konoha had maintained the element of surprise and overwhelming numbers, there were no fatalities or even critical injuries. Most were minor—shrapnel nicks and blunt force trauma. However, since the unit lacked a dedicated medical corps, Zhen was the de facto field doctor.

Zhen retrieved a small scroll from his pouch, unrolled it on the grass, and performed a quick seal. With a soft poof, a backpack-sized medical crate appeared. It was a standard non-living storage seal—a basic application of Space-Time Ninjutsu that Zhen had mastered early on. While his spatial talent wasn't yet at the level where he could serve as a mobile warehouse like the future Tenten, it was growing. Zhen handed the crate to Yugao, who stepped into the role of nurse with instinctive grace.

Hayate took up a defensive position, his eyes scanning the perimeter as their bodyguard. Meanwhile, Tokuma's squad basked in the envious glares of the other Genin. Muta Aburame pretended not to notice, but beneath his stoic exterior, he was likely savoring the attention—he was a closet exhibitionist if ever there was one. The injuries were mostly "splash damage" from clashing jutsu and minor blade grazes. Zhen worked with practiced efficiency.

He took the antiseptic from Yugao, thoroughly cleansed each wound to prevent the "phantom itch" of trapped debris, and then applied the Mystical Palm Technique. Zhen's medical chakra was remarkably potent, a byproduct of his refined Yin-Yang balance. The wounds closed almost instantly, leaving the soldiers refreshed and ready. One by one, the veterans offered their thanks. In the shinobi world, respect was earned through utility. When you were the one holding the thread to their lives, age became irrelevant.

The final patient was an older shinobi with salt-and-pepper hair. He looked to be roughly the same age as the Third Hokage. In Konoha's long history, this man was a legend of a different sort—the "Eternal Genin," Maruboshi Kosuke. While Danzo Shimura was the conceptual scapegoat for the village's darkness, Kosuke was the literal one—he quite literally carried an iron cooking pot on his back at all times. Zhen had observed him during the battle. The old man's Water Style was fast, lethal, and devastatingly precise.

He had made the professional Mist ninja look like amateurs.

"You're quite skilled, old-timer," Zhen noted as he treated a minor graze.

"How did someone like you end up taking a hit?" Kosuke squinted, his face crinkling into a cheerful, grandfatherly smile.

"Oh, I'm not skilled at all. Just a simple Genin. But when you get to be my age, you see a reckless youngster and your body just moves to shield them."

"You're far too modest. Rank is just a title; it doesn't dictate power. Suzaku-senpai wouldn't have let a 'simple Genin' lead the first wave if that were true."

"Ho? Sharp eyes. And your Medical Ninjutsu is exquisite. I heard you were the one who spotted the enemy first as well. Truly remarkable. You children really are the future of the Leaf."

"I have much to learn from seniors like yourself."

"I'm not sure I can teach you much," Kosuke said, glancing at Hayate and Yugao.

"But your teammates there... they seem to be practitioners of the blade. I might have a few tricks regarding the intersection of illusions and swordplay that could help them survive their next mission." Zhen exchanged a quick look with Hayate and Yugao. This was a golden opportunity. Kosuke was a master who had integrated the teachings of the Second and Third Hokages into his own unique style. His insights would be invaluable to the Gekko and Uzuki styles.

As for Zhen, he had his own questions—specifically regarding the finer points of Water Style. Even with his advanced Nature Transformation, a dialogue with a veteran who had survived decades on the front lines would undoubtedly reveal the gaps in his own knowledge. A party of three must have a teacher among them, Zhen thought. And I've just found a master.