Chapter 43: Declaration of War
The eerie peace lasted about as long as a mayfly's vacation—which is to say, not very long at all.
Three days. That's all it took for the Sand Village to collectively lose their minds and decide that civil war was so last season. Instead of letting their internal power struggle tear them apart like a badly made piñata, the Sand ninja elders—led by the delightfully homicidal Chiyo—decided to redirect all that pent-up aggression toward their favorite punching bag: Konoha.
Because nothing solves domestic problems quite like starting an international incident.
The announcement hit the ninja world like a meteorite made of pure chaos:
**The Third Kazekage was dead.**
Not "missing." Not "on vacation." Dead. As in, permanently ceased to exist. The man widely considered the strongest Kazekage in Sand Village history had apparently shuffled off this mortal coil, and everyone was supposed to just accept this earth-shattering news with a polite nod.
The ninja world collectively choked on their morning tea. Kage didn't just *die*—they were walking disasters in human form, the kind of people who could level mountains when they were having a bad day. For someone like the Third Kazekage to just... stop existing? That took serious effort.
But wait—there was more! Because apparently the Sand Village wasn't content with just one bombshell per news cycle.
**Konoha killed him.**
The accusation landed with all the subtlety of a brick through a window. The Sand Village pointed their collective finger at Konoha with the kind of righteous indignation usually reserved for people who'd just discovered someone had been eating their labeled lunch from the office refrigerator.
Of course, anyone with half a brain could smell the political maneuvering from miles away. The Sand Village and Konoha had been at each other's throats since the invention of pointed sticks. During the Second Ninja War, Konoha had served up Sand ninja casualties like they were running a particularly violent restaurant, including Chiyo's daughter-in-law—killed by none other than Hatake Sakumo, the "White Fang of Konoha."
White Fang might have been pushing up daisies now, but Chiyo held grudges like other people held house keys: tightly, personally, and with absolutely no intention of letting go. Her personal vendetta had somehow become the Sand Village's official foreign policy, which said disturbing things about their decision-making process.
But hey, at least someone had finally pulled the trigger on this whole "inevitable war" situation everyone had been dancing around.
Ironically, it wasn't the Rock Village (who'd been rattling sabers so hard they probably needed new scabbards) or the Mist Village (whose intentions were about as subtle as a neon sign). No, it was the Sand Village—the ones who'd been playing the quiet game—that finally decided to flip the table and start the apocalypse.
Within the Sand Village, the announcement went over like gangbusters. Sure, plenty of people could smell the obvious lies about how the Third Kazekage actually died, but nobody was stupid enough to voice their doubts when Chiyo was in a killing mood. Besides, blaming external enemies was way more fun than dealing with internal politics.
The next day, Chiyo and her brother Ebizo led the Sand Village army into the Rain Country, heading straight for the Fire Country border like tourists from hell.
Meanwhile, the Third Tsuchikage Ōnoki—that ancient ball of concentrated spite and political cunning—saw an opportunity and pounced. The Rock Village announced their own declaration of war against Konoha, complete with moral outrage about "assassinating foreign leaders."
Everyone with functioning eyeballs could see that Ōnoki was just jumping on the bandwagon, but the old bastard had been itching for a fight since before most people were born. He'd spent months stirring up trouble, whispering in diplomatic ears, and generally being the kind of political parasite that made honest people want to take up farming.
But the real gut punch came from an unexpected source: the Cloud Village.
Konoha's supposed allies took one look at the brewing shitstorm and decided they'd rather be on the winning side, thank you very much. The Third Raikage—a man who could bench press mountains and had roughly the same diplomatic finesse as a caffeinated rhinoceros—tore up their alliance treaty like it was junk mail and declared war.
Three of the four major villages. All gunning for Konoha. All at once.
The only village sitting this dance out was the Mist Village, who'd gone mysteriously quiet. Nobody knew what those water-logged psychopaths were planning, which somehow made everything worse.
The ninja world had gone from "tense but manageable" to "civilization-ending clusterfuck" in the span of a long weekend. Small villages were booking the fastest routes out of dodge, while ordinary civilians were probably reconsidering their life choices and wondering if subsistence farming was really such a bad career option after all.
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**Konoha - Hokage Building, Conference Room of Impending Doom**
The meeting room felt like a funeral where nobody had bothered to bring flowers.
Sarutobi Hiruzen sat at the head of the table with the expression of a man who'd just realized his retirement plans had been cancelled indefinitely. Beside him, Danzo radiated the kind of bitter "I told you so" energy that could power a small city. Koharu and Homura completed the quartet of Konoha's aging leadership, all looking like they'd rather be anywhere else—preferably somewhere with less imminent death.
Every jonin in the village had been summoned, creating a crowd that would have been impressive if it weren't gathered for the purposes of discussing how to avoid complete annihilation.
Danzo's glare could have melted steel. His eyes screamed the silent accusation he'd been nursing for days: This is what happens when you try to be the nice guy, you indecisive fool.
In Danzo's mind, this whole mess could have been avoided with a little preemptive violence. Attack first, ask questions later, sort out the moral implications after you'd won. But no—Hiruzen had to be 'ethical' about things.
Hiruzen, for his part, felt his old friend's resentment like a physical weight but refused to show regret. He'd made his choices based on principles that mattered more than tactical advantage, and he'd stand by them even if they led straight to hell.
After laying out the grim situation for everyone present, the room fell into the kind of silence usually reserved for grave sites and awkward family dinners.
But here's the thing about Konoha: they might not like war, might not go looking for fights, but they sure as hell weren't going to roll over and play dead when someone came knocking with violent intentions.
Hiruzen felt a surge of satisfaction at the grim determination radiating from his ninja. This was what he'd been trying to preserve—not just the village's strength, but its spirit.
"Orochimaru. Jiraiya. Tsunade."
The three legendary Sannin stepped forward, each carrying themselves with the casual confidence of people who could end small countries if they put their minds to it.
Orochimaru's smile was the kind that promised interesting times ahead—the sort of "interesting" that usually involved a lot of screaming. He said nothing, but his tongue flicked out to wet his lips in a gesture that made several jonin unconsciously step back.
Jiraiya straightened up, his usual perverted goofball act evaporating like morning mist. When the Toad Sage got serious, mountains trembled and enemies reconsidered their life choices.
Tsunade might not have radiated the same predatory menace as her teammates, but she had her own special talent: the ability to turn grown men into fine paste with her bare hands. Gods themselves probably crossed the street when she was in a bad mood.
"Orochimaru—Water Country. Jiraiya—Hot Springs. Tsunade—Rain Country." Hiruzen's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Prepare yourselves. We leave immediately."
The three nodded and turned to go, taking a good chunk of the room's jonin with them. There wasn't much point in lengthy speeches—everyone had known this day was coming since the Chunin Exams started going sideways.
As the room emptied, Hiruzen's gaze fell on Danzo. Despite their philosophical differences, they'd worked together for decades. Some conversations didn't need words.
Danzo hauled himself upright with his cane, looking every inch the aging predator he was. "If the Mist ninja are stupid enough to stick their toes on dry land, they won't be swimming home."
The killing intent that rolled off the old war hawk was thick enough to taste. Love him or hate him, nobody could deny that Danzo knew how to conduct a proper war.
Hiruzen stared at the half-empty conference room and sighed deeply enough to rattle the windows. Whether Konoha survived this mess would depend on whether all their years of preparation had been worth a damn.
God, how he missed Hatake Sakumo at times like this. The White Fang would have made this whole situation so much simpler—mainly by killing everyone who looked at Konoha sideways.
But Hiruzen couldn't take the field himself, not yet. The moment the Hokage left the village for battle, every enemy would know Konoha was down to their last desperate card. He had to coordinate, strategize, and pray that his people were strong enough to hold the line.
"Everyone," he said to the remaining ninja, "let's make sure our people on the front lines have everything they need. Konoha's future depends on it."
"Yes, sir!"
He turned to Nara Shikaku, the man whose strategic mind had gotten them through more impossible situations than anyone cared to count. "Shikaku, the supply lines are yours."
"Understood."
As the meeting dispersed, Hiruzen allowed himself one final thought: Please, let us find some heroes in this madness. We're going to need all the help we can get.
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