Chapter 24: Longevity Snake
An hour later, standing at the main entrance of the village, I couldn't help but think that punctuality was apparently one of Orochimaru's few redeeming qualities.
There he was, leaning against the gate like some sort of pale, unsettling scarecrow—arms crossed, eyes closed, probably contemplating the philosophical implications of immortality or what he'd have for lunch. Hard to tell with him.
The moment I spotted him, my stomach did that wonderful little flip it always does around snakes. Not exactly the kind of reaction you want when you're about to embark on a potentially deadly mission with one of Konoha's most... *eccentric* Sannin.
It wasn't fear of what he might do to me—though that was certainly a consideration—but rather that primal, bone-deep revulsion that hits you when you see something with no legs moving with more grace than you ever will. Those scales, that unsettling way they move, the tongue that seems to taste your fear in the air... Even the harmless garden variety makes my skin crawl, and Orochimaru was definitely not the harmless garden variety.
I glanced back at the Hokage faces carved into the mountain, their stone expressions seeming almost sympathetic. *Sorry,* they seemed to say, *but you're stuck with Snake Boy now.*
I really, really didn't want to leave.
I took my position a respectful distance away from Orochimaru, who continued his impression of a sleeping viper. Neither of us spoke. It was like our earlier conversation had been wiped from existence—which, knowing Orochimaru, might have been literal rather than metaphorical.
One by one, the other ninjas arrived, each looking about as thrilled as I felt. I watched them silently, doing a mental headcount that made my stomach sink further.
Fourteen ninjas total. Three full teams of four, plus Orochimaru and me—the odd ones out. The team captains were all jōnin, their subordinates all chūnin, and then there was me. The lone genin. Standing out like a sore thumb, or more accurately, like fresh meat in a den of wolves.
Fantastic.
When everyone had assembled, Orochimaru's eyes snapped open with the kind of precision that suggested he'd been aware of every arrival. He swept his gaze across our group with the casual interest of someone examining insects, then gave a curt nod.
A single wave of his hand, and we were off. Just like that. No inspiring speeches, no words of encouragement. Just "follow the snake man into potential doom." Lovely.
The moment we passed through the village gates, reality hit like a slap to the face. The Hyūga ninja activated his Byakugan, and suddenly everyone was moving like we'd stepped onto an active battlefield. Which, I suppose, we had.
It wasn't paranoia—it was survival. During the Second Ninja War, a Konoha team had been ambushed barely a dozen miles from the village. The entire support squad had been massacred, and only quick thinking from village jōnin had prevented a complete slaughter.
War, as it turned out, was an excellent teacher. Its lessons were written in blood, and nobody wanted to repeat that particular class.
The training camps that Yūhi Shinku had organized weren't just about technique—they were about staying alive. Veterans passing down hard-won knowledge to the next generation of soon-to-be-traumatized ninjas. The Third Hokage supported these programs for one very simple reason: dead ninja don't protect the village.
Looking at our group composition, I felt a small measure of relief. Three jōnin, plus Orochimaru—who was in a league of his own—and all of them seasoned veterans. Unless we ran into another Kage-level powerhouse, we should be fine.
'Should' being the operative word.
The journey to the Fire Country border passed without incident, which was either a good sign or the calm before a very, very bad storm. We restocked at the checkpoint, everyone moving with the efficient nervousness of people who knew they were about to leave safety behind.
And then we crossed into the Land of Waterfalls.
The Fire Country and Earth Country don't share a border—there are smaller nations like Taki and Grass wedged between them, supposedly acting as buffers. In reality, they're more like speedbumps. Takigakure, for instance, had a cozy relationship with Iwagakure. Their hidden village wasn't much compared to the major powers, but among the small fries, they packed a decent punch.
So now we had to worry about not just Iwa-nin, but also the possibility of Taki-nin deciding to make a statement. Because apparently, one potential enemy wasn't enough excitement for this trip.
The moment we crossed the border, the atmosphere shifted. Everyone became hyperaware, moving like they expected an attack at any second. Even Orochimaru dropped his usual air of casual indifference.
The landscape of Taki didn't help matters. Cliffs and waterfalls everywhere, a thousand potential ambush points behind every boulder, under every cascade, in every innocent-looking pool of water. Our pace slowed to a crawl as we navigated the treacherous terrain.
The big nations could stomp around these smaller countries with impunity, and places like Taki just had to grin and bear it. Small nations had about as many rights as a mouse in a snake pit—which was to say, none at all.
Konoha had checkpoints scattered throughout these buffer zones, dormant during peacetime but ready to spring into action when tensions rose. The Toramori Checkpoint we were heading to was one such relic from the Second War, recently reactivated after Iwa-nin had started making trouble along the border.
Unfortunately, shortly after Konoha had moved back in, the checkpoint had gone dark. Hence our delightful little field trip.
I spent most of the journey trying to be invisible, which wasn't hard since everyone else was focused on not dying. The other ninja knew what my role was, so they didn't complain about the extra baggage—they just did their jobs and hoped for the best.
When we finally reached the Toramori Checkpoint, my heart sank.
The building looked like it had been through a blender. Windows were shattered, walls were scorched, and there was an ominous dark staining on the ground that definitely wasn't from spilled tea.
"Hyūga Tokuzhu," Orochimaru called out, his voice carrying that particular tone that meant business.
"Yes, Orochimaru-sama!" The Hyūga ninja's white eyes were already active, scanning the wreckage with methodical precision.
His expression grew increasingly grim as he surveyed the scene. "Reporting to Orochimaru-sama: the battle occurred approximately two days ago. No signs of life detected."
Orochimaru's snake-like eyes glinted with something that might have been anger, or hunger, or both. He studied the ruined building with the intensity of a predator sizing up prey. "Maintain perimeter awareness. Expect an attack. Move in."
"Yes, sir!"
We drew our weapons and approached the building like it might explode at any moment. Which, given our luck, it very well might.
The smell hit us first. Blood, burned flesh, and something else—something acrid and wrong that made my stomach turn. The interior of the checkpoint looked like a war zone, because that's exactly what it was.
Bodies. Everywhere. Konoha ninja, scattered like broken dolls, their blood painting abstract patterns on the walls. The sight made my chest tighten with a mixture of grief and rage.
"Do you think the Iwa-nin will return?" Orochimaru asked suddenly.
I found myself standing beside him, though I couldn't remember moving. Looking at the carnage around us, I felt the weight of reality settling on my shoulders like a lead blanket.
"If this was a test," I said slowly, "then they're not done. They want to see how we respond, gauge our strength. They're probably out there right now, watching, waiting to see what happens next."
Orochimaru's mouth curved in what might have been a smile if snakes could smile. "Clever boy. I agree. And I suspect we won't have to wait long for them to make their next move."
We made our way through the blood-soaked corridors to the operations room. A map lay sprawled across the central table, marked with dark stains that told their own story. Orochimaru picked up a few scattered pieces from the floor and placed them on the map with the casual precision of someone setting up a chess game.
"Nakamura Kenta, Mitsui Hiyori," he said, addressing two of the team leaders. "Take your squads and scout in opposite directions. Mark your routes but don't go deep—we need information, not heroes."
"Understood!"
He turned to the third team leader. "Getsuko Naoki, your team handles cleanup. Gather the bodies and prepare them for transport."
Then his gaze fell on me. He didn't say anything, but I understood. My job was to watch, learn, and try not to die in the process.
"Code word for this mission," he continued, producing a pen from his sleeve via a small snake that looked far too pleased with itself. With quick, efficient strokes, he marked out symbols and wrote down the mission parameters.
"Longevity Snake."
The irony wasn't lost on me. Here we were, surrounded by death, and our code word was about living forever. Sometimes I wondered if Orochimaru's sense of humor was more twisted than I'd given him credit for, or if he was just that oblivious to normal human sensibilities.
Probably both.
As the teams dispersed to their assigned tasks, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were walking into something much bigger than a simple recovery mission. The air itself seemed to vibrate with tension, like the moment before a storm breaks.
Longevity Snake, indeed. Let's just hope we lived long enough to make it home.
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