Chương 99: Dispatch from the Front: A Strategic Withdrawal

"He... he withstood it again!"

"By the gods, what manner of aegis is this?" As the realization dawned that Dongye Zhen had emerged unscathed from the Raikage's second onslaught, the rank-and-file Konoha shinobi fell into a stunned silence. Then, a frantic wave of whispering erupted. In a world where a ninja's own fragile body was their greatest liability—where one could level a city block with a single jutsu yet be ended by a stray piece of sharpened steel—such absolute defense was the holy grail of survival.

Every man there was suddenly desperate to know the secret of this life-preserving miracle. A collective sigh of relief rippled through the upper echelons of the Leaf. The veteran Jonin were still struggling to process the absurdity of the situation. A standard battlefield engagement had somehow devolved into the climax of a third-rate Sengoku-era serial—two armies frozen in place while their champions traded blows. It was a narrative nightmare, yet they couldn't look away.

Hiashi Hyuga, Sarutobi Hiyori, and the rest of the command staff remained coiled like springs, hands hovering over their weapons. They were ready to storm the clearing the moment the truce faltered. Minato Namikaze, however, was the most focused of them all. His chakra was already synchronized with the space-time markers on Zhen's person. He would not allow the tragedies of Obito and Rin to repeat themselves; he was prepared to pluck the boy from the jaws of death the microsecond a defense failed.

For the Cloud host, the encroaching dusk was a mirror of their internal gloom. They didn't doubt their leader's lethality, but they were haunted by a far more pragmatic fear: if the Leaf had begun mass-producing shinobi with this level of durability, the very foundation of Cloud warfare was obsolete. Ay, the Fourth Raikage, skidded back to a halt. He finally took the measure of the youth he had dismissed as a silver-tongued brat.

Beneath his lightning-wreathed exterior, the Raikage was wrestling with a diplomatic catastrophe. He was, quite literally, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Despite his brawny, impulsive facade, Ay possessed a sovereign's calculating mind. His initial challenge had been a calculated gamble—a way to humiliate the Leaf while securing a face-saving exit for his battered vanguard. He had expected to squash a bug; instead, he had struck a mountain. To proceed with the third strike was a losing proposition.

If he killed the boy now, it would be remembered that the great Raikage required three full-power efforts to dispatch a mere Chunin. If he failed? He would return to the Land of Lightning a pariah, forced to wear a sack over his head in shame. Moreover, he knew his limits. The "Hell Stab"—his father's ultimate legacy—was a technique he had yet to master. His current output peaked at the Horizontal Chop; a third strike would likely yield the same result. He needed an exit strategy. A graceful one.

Ay's eyes suddenly sparked with a feigned, booming magnanimity. He looked at Zhen with the patronizing warmth of a mentor.

"Tell me, boy. What is your name?"

"Dongye Zhen. Shinobi of the Hidden Leaf." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Excellent. Truly, the village founded by the God of Shinobi remains a cradle of monsters. To manifest such a bastion at so tender an age... it is a marvel. It would be a crime against the heavens to snuff out such potential. I shall forgo my final strike, for I find myself eager to see what shadow you will cast upon this world in the years to come." Zhen stared at him, speechless.

"Dongye Zhen," Ay continued, his voice carrying across the valley to ensure every ear heard him.

"To survive two strikes from my hand is a feat worthy of song. When we meet again, I shall address you as the 'Shield of the Leaf.'" Zhen's eyes twitched. He realized exactly what this massive tactician was doing. The Raikage wasn't channelling his father; he was channelling Hanzo of the Salamander. He was "bestowing" a title to mask his own inability to finish the job. The Cloud ninjas immediately stood taller, convinced of their leader's wisdom and mercy.

The few Jonin among them who understood the bluff kept their heads low, their silence a tacit agreement to the charade. Thanks for the invite, Boss, they thought. We heard the speech. We'll keep our mouths shut if you keep that 'Lariat' away from our throats. Ay turned to Minato, his demeanor shifting to that of a weary monarch.

"Namikaze, let us conclude this farce. Your village has proven its mettle. Why not join forces? We could drag that old vulture Onoki from his perch in the sky together."

"Our war with the Stone has reached its end," Minato replied, his voice a calm, immovable tether.

"If the Cloud withdraws, the peace becomes reality. That is the only concern on my table, Raikage-dono."

"Peace? Hah! You are naive. A treaty is a scrap of parchment, and Onoki's ambition is a bottomless pit. He hasn't even signed your little paper yet."

"That is a matter for the Leaf and the Stone. It need not concern you."

"We shall see. You'll learn soon enough that the old fox cannot be trusted." With a sharp hand signal, Ay ordered his men to gather their dead. They withdrew with a disciplined, thundering stride, their pride salvaged by their leader's theater.

"Shield of the Leaf, a shell so tight! Fool, ya fool, we're out for the night! Oh-yeah!" Killer Bee's rhythmic nonsense provided the surreal exit music for the departing storm. The Konoha ranks stood in a dazed silence. Is that it? We're done? The confusion lasted only a heartbeat before the reality of the victory set in. They had cleared the south, avenged the insult to the Hyuga, and forced the A-B Combo into a stalemate. The valley erupted.

"Victory! Long live the Leaf!"

"We won!" Zhen found himself swarmed, hoisted into the air by a dozen pairs of hands.

"The Shield of the Leaf! The Shield of the Leaf!" Tossed toward the moon, Zhen felt a cold pit of dread in his stomach. It's over, he thought. I'm doomed. He was going to be remembered as a walking turtle shell. He had a repertoire of lethal, high-level offensive jutsus ready for that third strike, and instead, he'd been branded as a pacifist's roadblock. I need a PR manager, he mused.

If I can't shake this title, I'll have to start collecting 'titles' like Daenerys Targaryen just to bury this one under something cooler. Uzuki Yugao didn't care about titles. She vaulted into the crowd, pulling Zhen into a fierce, protective embrace, utterly indifferent to the wolf-whistles of the surrounding shinobi.

"Don't you ever do something that stupid again, Zhen! You scared me to death!"

"Easy, Yugao... I had it under control." In the periphery of the celebration, Kakashi Hatake watched his junior with a haunting, hollow envy. If only I had that strength, he thought. If only I could have been a shield for Obito... for Rin. He hoped Zhen would never have to learn the taste of the bitterness he carried. Minato Namikaze approached the group, a gentle, proud smile on his face.

"Zhen, you performed a miracle today. But as a shinobi, you must follow the chain of command. Don't go rogue on me again."

"Understood, Minato-senpai. Oh—and your kunai." Zhen reached into his pouch. Minato stayed his hand.

"Keep it. It's yours now. Consider it a memento of the day the Shield held firm." Zhen stared at the tri-pronged blade. Great, he thought. Now he's literally tagged me.