After six weeks of waiting, Seijuro's hands moved through several seals before placing a mark resembling the Flying Raijin.
When he did so, he made sure only the Aburame was there to see it. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel⦿fire.net
He repeated the same process a few more times, going to different locations with the whole squad.
He also had every member of his squad under illusion so even if he was spied on, it would look like he was simply teaching them something.
Even the bugs were under it.
Why did he do that, you may ask?
Well... we shall see later.
For now, it was time to act like civilians and get on those damn boats.
The whole process went smoothly since they had all the necessary paperwork. So, they boarded their boats and got comfy for the trip to Kiri.
Wonder how the nation would look?
Three hours into their trip, as they approached Kiri—
Kiri shinobi. At least eight.
One of them stood out like a growling storm in a monastery—massive frame, jagged teeth, and a bandaged monster of a sword strapped to his back.
Member of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen.
Aura? Murder on a leash.
He stepped forward, scanning the deck. His cold eyes moved across the crowd.
"We've received reports. That tree-huggers were on a boat headed for Kiri."
The Kiri-nin fanned out.
One of them yanked an old woman to the side, tearing off her shawl.
Another slammed a merchant's crate down, scattering dried fish across the deck. The merchant stammered—
"P-please! I only have trade permits! We're just passing—"
A Kiri shinobi smashed his knee into the man's stomach, sending him to the floor. He groaned. No one moved to help.
Clad in plain robes, hood up, crouched beside the man.
Face calm. Hands shaking—perfectly.
The "scared civilian" act was flawless. Trembling breath. Eyes wide. He murmured something soft, like a lullaby, to calm the merchant.
Like a predator catching a scent, it twitched—and turned.
Fuguki narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, dragging the heavy, wrapped hilt.
The blade slammed against Shikaku's neck.
He acted out the hurt part; some blood leaked from his head.
Samehada? Didn't react. Not even a twitch of hunger.
Shikaku was wearing a seal—custom-made by Seijuro—which made his chakra levels appear pitifully low.
Which... the weapon had no taste for.
Fuguki narrowed his eyes.
Samehada only responded to chakra. And it didn't even sniff.
But it didn't end there.
Samehada gave a subtle twitch. Toward the supply cart.
He cut the cart in half. Spices spilled. Blank scrolls. Dried food rations. Sealed crates. Ink. Paper bombs.
His killing intent spiked instantly.
He raised Samehada to take off Shikaku's head—
Just an innocent merchant's urgency.
He reached into his robe and pulled out a rolled permit, wrapped in waxed leather.
Stamped with the Hoshigaki Clan seal—a war-permitted trade license.
"Trade permit. Six months left. We're authorized to carry ninja wares for cross-border military supply," he said, deadpan. "You do remember the treaty, don't you?"
Fuguki snatched the paper and looked it over.
Valid. Issued by a Kiri diplomat stationed in the Land of Hot Springs. All clean.
And since this merchant had one, it meant he'd spent like six months waiting for it, going through all the legal loops.(I am sure he did)
Seijuro had only waited a few days—made it look like he'd waited longer, though. Nothing the man needed to know.
Speaking of which, he saw some bugs... hmm, he was being set up.
The Kiri shinobi grit his teeth hard enough to crack them.
He shoved the paper back and turned.
But his eyes scanned each of them one last time before leaving.
Meanwhile, Seijuro helped Deer pick up the scattered scrolls. His movements were calm. Purposeful. But his voice was a whisper.
"They were expecting us."
Shikaku's brow twitched.
Seijuro's eyes stayed on Fuguki's back as the Kiri-nin disembarked, blending back into the fog.
Inoichi, lounging by the railing like a traveling poet, muttered just loud enough for the soldiers nearby to hear:
"Should've just sold to Iwa. Less spine-breaking."
A couple of the Kiri-nin paused. Angry. But restrained.
One of them even muttered a quick, bitter apology to Seijuro.
"Sorry for the trouble, merchant-san. We're... under pressure."
The boat rocked gently again, returning to silence. The lanterns swung. The crew exhaled.
Under his hood, Seijuro sat back, gaze cold behind innocent eyes.
His voice drifted to Shikaku, almost lazily:
Mentally, thanks to Inoichi, he began to speak.
{Someone leaked that we were coming.} — Fox
{But how? Apart from the Hokage, no one else is aware we're on this mission.} — Wisp
{What a drag. First minute in and we almost got spotted. Do we leave?} — Deer
{We haven't been spotted yet. With my eyes, that's a guarantee. There's no need to leave now.} — Eagle
His pride was clearly showing there.
{It's fine. We'll continue as usual. Moth, you're first up on guard duty.} — Fox
Shikaku's brow furrowed. Something felt off.
At the beginning of the mission, he had noticed Seijuro taking several team members somewhere—as if he was aware something was off from the very beginning.
Well, it was time to see what exactly the man had cooked up.