Naruto: Starting by Reading Minds in Naruto

Acting on Tonbo’s intelligence, the patrol moved ahead of the caravan.

Itachi watched Tonbo cross the branches in front of him. Whatever he thought of the man’s philosophy, his analytical ability deserved respect.

Hayama raised a closed fist.

”Conceal yourselves. Prepare the ambush point.”

The four dispersed.

Wire, alarms, false trails, and explosive tags disappeared beneath leaves and soil. Tonbo placed his own traps with particular care, then formed a sequence of seals. A giant woven pangolin emerged, burrowed beneath the road, and concealed itself after restoring the grass above its tunnel.

He added barrier triggers at the approaches and explosive tags along routes an attacker would likely use to escape.

The work proceeded without discussion. Anko threaded wire through low brush and angled it to catch a shinobi moving at speed. Itachi hid steel beneath the leaf litter, memorizing every safe step between the traps. Hayama inspected the road from several elevations, ensuring that none of their preparations would endanger the approaching caravan. Within minutes the forest looked untouched again.

Tonbo possessed neither Hashirama’s chakra reserves nor any reason to waste what he had. Traps converted preparation into power. Shikamaru had once defeated an immortal opponent through planning that raw endurance could never have overcome; Tonbo intended to remember the lesson.

Ayame was waiting at home. Recklessness held no appeal.

Elsewhere, eight figures advanced beneath the dark forest canopy.

”Captain,” one asked, ”Konoha must know about the attacks by now. Why risk striking another shipment?”

Their leader was a broad, muscular man whose careful expression contradicted his imposing build.

”Konoha’s recovery has accelerated during the last two years. Our orders are to slow it before the village regains its former strength.”

”The infiltrators say the caravan will reach the target point at the same time we do,” another shinobi said. ”What if Konoha prepared an ambush?”

”At worst, we meet the normal border patrol. Four shinobi. We have eight.”

”And Fire shinobi are soft.”

”Do not become careless,” the leader warned. ”Check for traps before committing.”

They reached a bend where the road narrowed and concealed themselves among the treetops. Some watched the distant approach while others prepared their own traps.

Hayama’s patrol waited in deeper concealment on the opposite side of the road.

The captain assessed his team with quiet satisfaction. None displayed the restlessness of inexperienced shinobi. Even eight-year-old Itachi vanished into the terrain with discipline worthy of a veteran.

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Tonbo extended his senses.

The forest became a field of muted shapes and chakra signatures. Eight concentrated sources entered from the seven o’clock direction, moving rapidly toward the road.

”Eight hostiles,” he whispered. ”Seven o’clock, high speed. They will arrive before the caravan. All appear experienced.”

”Chakra levels?” Hayama asked.

He knew Tonbo could estimate danger by reserves, though chakra alone never provided a complete measure of skill.

”Two signatures are comparable to ours. Likely one jōnin leading each four-person unit.”

Anko’s expression tightened. Itachi became completely still.

Their first engagement on the border would be no minor skirmish.

Hayama considered the balance. ”Can you contain one of the jōnin?”

”I’ll do more than contain him. I will defeat one and reinforce you. You finish the other quickly enough to support Anko and Itachi.”

The two senior shinobi could divide the enemy leaders. The greater concern was leaving a chūnin and a very young genin against six remaining attackers. Numbers mattered even when the weaker fighters were individually inferior. One mistake could let an enemy slip past Anko and put a blade through Itachi before either jōnin could intervene.

”Anko-senpai and I can hold them,” Itachi said.

His confidence did not reassure Anko. Genius or not, he was eight years old.

Itachi’s eyes changed. Two tomoe appeared in each Sharingan.

”If the difference in strength and numbers remains manageable, these eyes will keep us alive.”

Anko stared. She had known the death of his teammate awakened the Sharingan, but not that the boy had already reached two tomoe.

Tonbo gave a low whistle.

”Excellent. Madara did not awaken his eyes until much later, according to the old accounts. At eight, you already have two tomoe. Your potential is remarkable.”

”I would not compare myself with Madara,” Itachi said.

”Good,” Hayama decided. ”The traps reduce their numerical advantage. Anko and Itachi delay the six while Tonbo and I engage the leaders. Stay ready to break contact if the situation changes.”

His calm concealed a second plan. If either younger shinobi came under lethal pressure, Hayama would abandon his opponent and intervene.

Tonbo’s attention snapped toward the road.

”They are here.”

The caravan rolled into view, wagon wheels groaning beneath loads of ore. Shinobi and samurai guarded the front and rear while the civilian travelers remained close to the vehicles.

A heavily bearded noble from the Land of Iron led the procession in an expensive kimono, issuing sharp instructions to drivers and escorts.

Shuriken and kunai erupted from both sides of the forest.

The first guards died before anyone finished shouting a warning. Survivors scattered behind wagons or drew weapons to meet the second volley.

Horses screamed and reared against their harnesses. One wagon lurched toward the roadside ditch before its driver dragged the team under control. The narrow road, chosen because it protected the cargo from ordinary bandits, now trapped the defenders between their own vehicles.

Then the infiltrators inside the caravan struck.

Lightning flashed from their hands at point-blank range. Several travelers and guards collapsed, clothing scorched and bodies smoking.

”Kill them!” the noble roared. ”Protect the wagons!”

Instead of freezing, he drew a katana and settled into an iaidō stance. The blade flashed from its sheath and deflected incoming shuriken with precise strokes. He pivoted, returned the sword to its scabbard, and drew again in one seamless motion. The betrayal within his own procession enraged him more than the attack from the trees.

Eight enemy shinobi emerged from concealment, blades reinforced with Lightning Release.

The caravan’s force of more than fifty people had been reduced within moments to barely a dozen effective defenders.

The enemy captain stepped onto the road. Dark skin and an unruly mass of hair framed a hard expression while lightning crawled over his body.

”Nothing personal,” he said. ”You chose to trade with the Land of Fire.”

”Do you know whom you are attacking?” the noble demanded. ”The Land of Iron will answer this insult.”

The Cloud jōnin raised one hand.

”Lightning Release: Swift Lightning Arrow.”