The escort formation moved with quiet efficiency.

  Two ANBU scouts ahead. One behind. Squad 9 to the fnks. Kakashi and Ken closer to the carriage.

  The road was narrow, winding through dense pine and maple that twisted into canopies above. It was humid. Heavy. The kind of still air that made soldiers restless.

  The carriage itself wasn’t grand—dark cquered wood, unmarked. No fgs. But every shinobi in the detail could feel the weight of what was inside.

  Ken walked just left of center, eyes scanning rhythmically, every step measured.

  The mission brief had been vague on the “guest.”

  Now he knew why.

  Because when the Hokage had approved it, and when Kakashi had handed off the scroll in person, no one had said who was inside.

  Now, as the door briefly opened for a status check—and a gloved hand passed out a sealed letter—Ken caught the fsh of a golden crest on the man’s sleeve.

  A lotus and fme pattern.

  The symbol of the Fire Daimyō.

  Ken’s jaw didn’t move. His breath didn’t change.

  But something inside him went still.

  This wasn’t politics.

  This was power.

  Real power.

  He didn’t speak to the others during the trek, not even Daen. Reina and Daisuke followed protocol, staying in formation, but Ken could tell Daisuke hadn’t put it together yet.

  Reina had.

  Her eyes occasionally flicked toward the carriage with a kind of dread Ken understood all too well.

  If the Daimyō was killed on Konoha soil, it wouldn’t just destabilize the Land of Fire.

  It would destabilize everything.

  Treaties would crack. Rivals would rise. And Konoha’s shinobi would become suspects in the eyes of every noble house.

  No more whispers.

  Just war.

  They crossed the river pass at midday.

  The trees thinned. The sunlight grew hotter.

  Then Ken felt it.

  First, a vibration beneath his footstep. Subtle. But there.

  Then the breeze shifted—sharp, dry, unnatural.

  Wind chakra.

  His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

  “Daen,” he said quietly. “Something’s wrong.”

  Kakashi turned slightly from his spot at the head of the caravan.

  Ken’s eyes locked onto the far ridge.

  “Dust pattern. Movement’s too uniform. High speed. They’re coming.”

  The words had barely left his mouth when the first kunai screamed from the treeline.

  But it wasn’t metal.

  It was gss-coated sand.

  The ridge exploded.

  Sand poured like water from the slope, reshaping midair into needles, spikes, and clouds. They struck the escort line hard—one ANBU was smmed backward, the other barely dodged a whip of compressed grit.

  “Ambush!” Kakashi barked.

  Ken was already moving.

  He threw himself between the carriage and the colpsing side slope, chakra flooding his legs.

  Suiton: Mizurappa – Violent Water Wave!

  A cone of pressurized water bsted into the incoming sand, scattering it wide, but more followed—shaped into crude humanoid figures, moving fast, guided by enemy chakra.

  “Sand clones!” Reina shouted, falling into cover near Daisuke.

  Daen didn’t hesitate. “Daisuke, fnk left! Reina, fall back and cover the carriage!”

  Ken drew his sword—his sword.

  It whistled through the air.

  One sand clone lunged. Ken sidestepped, flickering to its blindside, sshing low. The water lining on the bde activated mid-swing—cleaving the construct in half with a hissing burst.

  Another came from behind.

  Ken didn’t turn.

  Instead, he dropped into a spin, chakra pulsing through his palm.

  Fūton: Shōtotsu Kaze!

  The burst of wind shattered the clone’s structure, spraying sand across the path.

  Then came the real shinobi.

  Two figures dropped from the trees—cloaked in beige robes, veils drawn, faces hidden. Their chakra signatures were faint—masked, refined.

  But not hidden from Ken’s eyes.

  His Sharingan fred.

  Time slowed.

  The first one weaved seals—Sand Binding Coffin—targeted at the carriage itself.

  Ken stepped forward—then Kakashi blurred past him.

  The white-haired ANBU peeled off his mask, revealing that cold, familiar stare. Then his left eye glowed red.

  Mangekyō Sharingan.

  “Not today,” Kakashi said.

  Kamui.

  The coffin of sand twisted, warped—and vanished into a ripple of space.

  The Sand ninja blinked. “Impossible—”

  Ken didn’t let him finish.

  He was already mid-flicker, bde in motion. The shinobi raised a barrier, but it was too te.

  Ken smmed into him with a downward arc, bde screaming.

  CRACK.

  Chakra-infused steel met chakra shield—and won.

  The enemy dropped, blood painting the sand.

  Meanwhile, Reina was using chakra-enhanced threads to shield the Daimyō’s carriage while healing the downed ANBU. Daisuke tore through one sand clone with raw strength, his gauntlets cracking its core.

  Daen moved like a ghost—every kunai he threw struck joints, eyes, or hearts.

  No orders.

  Just survival.

  Ken turned to see the st enemy preparing a jutsu—one Ken recognized. Wind-boosted Sand Scythe. Lethal. Unpredictable. It shredded chakra armor with ease.

  But the man never finished the seal.

  Ken moved faster than the jutsu.

  Faster than the thought.

  He was already there.

  Bde sheathed.

  Draw.

  A line of steel.

  A burst of wind.

  One strike.

  And the attacker’s chest split open.

  He dropped, motionless.

  When the st of the sand fell and the trees stopped shaking, there were no cheers. No words.

  Just heavy breath and the scent of sweat, blood, and scorched dirt.

  Kakashi walked back to the group, mask back on.

  Daen looked at him. “They were targeting the Daimyō.”

  Kakashi nodded. “Confirmed. Sand shinobi. Independent cells.”

  “Rogue?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  He looked at Ken.

  “You fought like someone with years of field command.”

  Ken didn’t answer.

  He wiped his bde and sheathed it.

  Daen gnced at him. “Still think this was just a test?”

  Ken stared down at the blood-soaked sand.

  “No,” he said.

  “This was a message.”