Chapter 11: The Art of Fear
The night was eerily silent, broken only by the distant crackling of dying fires from the battlefield. Kumo's retreating forces had barely made it back, dragging their wounded and dead through the harsh terrain. Their pride had suffered a devastating blow, but more importantly, their minds had been poisoned with fear.
Hikaru watched from a concealed ridge, his expression unreadable. He had seen it before—the way warriors changed after experiencing true helplessness. Some grew desperate, others reckless. Fear was a weapon just as powerful as any blade, and tonight, he had sharpened it to perfection.
A small device clicked in his palm. A simple mechanism, deceptively crude, yet capable of causing widespread devastation. He had designed it as a psychological tool more than a physical one. The Kumo shinobi had escaped, but they would not be free. Not from what came next.
He pressed a switch.
In the distance, the valley behind Kumo's retreating troops erupted in a chain of controlled explosions. The earth trembled, a firestorm of debris engulfing the path they had just crossed. A carefully calculated display—close enough to terrify, far enough to avoid unnecessary casualties.
Screams echoed through the night. Panic set in.
The illusion of safety had been shattered.
"They'll believe they're being hunted," Hikaru murmured, lowering the device. "That nowhere is safe."
A shadow shifted beside him. One of his subordinates, cloaked in darkness, observed the chaos below. "They'll think there's an enemy far beyond their understanding."
Hikaru nodded. "And fear will force them to act irrationally. Kumo will seek vengeance, but without clarity. They'll start suspecting allies, doubting their own leaders."
"And Konoha?"
Hikaru's lips curled slightly. "They will see this as Kumo's failure. Their arrogance will grow. They will push harder, believing they have the advantage."
The subordinate hesitated before speaking. "Are you certain this will not draw unwanted attention? Jiraiya is already looking into the disappearances."
Hikaru's gaze turned sharp. "Jiraiya is intelligent, but intelligence can be redirected. He will chase the ghost I have created, and by the time he realizes the truth… it will be too late."
The wind carried the scent of smoke and blood as Hikaru turned away from the battlefield. The night's work was done. The seeds had been planted.
Now, he simply had to wait for the war to consume itself.