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Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 109
🕑 Added 2025-12-14 09:27:03 +0000 UTCFor the first time in two weeks, Jiraiya was not counting raindrops.
The magically expanded tent had become a pocket of calm hidden inside a city ruled by a god. Outside, Amegakure churned—shinobi squads sweeping rooftops, patrols rotating without pause, Pain’s chakra pulsing through the rain like an unblinking eye. Inside, however, the world felt… absurdly normal.
Jiraiya lounged on a wide couch, a bowl of steaming ramen balanced on his stomach, feet propped up on a low table.
“I’ll say this,” he muttered contentedly, slurping loudly, “being hunted by a god is a lot easier when you’ve got a stocked fridge.”
From the kitchen, Itachi’s calm voice replied, “You’re going to regret eating that much if we have to move quickly.”
Jiraiya waved a dismissive hand. “Bah. I survived on moldy rice and divine intimidation for two weeks. Let me live.”
Itachi emerged carrying a tray—grilled fish, vegetables sautéed with herbs, and fresh rice. He set it down neatly.
“You call this living?” Itachi asked dryly.
Jiraiya grinned. “Kid, I call this luxury survival.”
Unlike his imprisonment in the God Tower, this enforced concealment felt almost indulgent.
Jiraiya wandered through the tent as if it were a private resort. The library quickly became his favorite room—towering shelves packed with scrolls, books, and journals from dozens of lands. Some were ancient sealing texts. Others were Harry’s personal research notes, written in a tight, precise hand.
Jiraiya pulled one scroll free and whistled.
“Good grief… your father’s sealing theory is insane. He’s mixing chakra logic with matrices. No wonder Yahiko couldn’t sense this tent.”
Itachi sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, reading another scroll.
“He believes separation of systems is a weakness. Chakra, nature energy—they should reinforce each other.”
Jiraiya flipped pages rapidly. “Hah! If the sealing corps saw this, they’d either crown him or burn him.”
“They won’t see it,” Itachi replied calmly.
Jiraiya paused, studying the young man. Even relaxed, even reading, Itachi never truly let his guard down. His chakra was suppressed to a whisper, his senses stretched outward like invisible threads.
“You’re different from the last time I saw you,” Jiraiya said quietly.
Itachi didn’t look up. “So are you.”
Jiraiya snorted. “Fair.”
Hours passed. The search outside gradually changed in tone. Itachi felt it first—the frantic edge dulling, the patrol routes widening.
“They think we’ve left,” Itachi said softly from the couch.
Jiraiya perked up. “Already?”
“Pain is confident,” Itachi replied. “He believes fear forces mistakes. When none appear, he assumes distance.”
Jiraiya shook his head. “That confidence is going to be his downfall.”
Itachi didn’t respond immediately. His eyes had gone distant—focused inward.
Then his expression changed.
Sharp.
Cold.
Intent.
Jiraiya noticed at once. “What is it?”
Itachi rose to his feet. “Orochimaru.”
Jiraiya straightened. “What about him?”
“He’s leaving Amegakure,” Itachi said. “Just crossed the outer rain perimeter. His chakra is… exposed.”
Jiraiya’s eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking of following him.”
“Yes.”
Jiraiya stood abruptly. “No.”
Itachi turned to face him.
“That snake is bait,” Jiraiya said firmly. “Pain letting him roam means something bigger is coming. We should stay focused on Yahiko and the Akatsuki. That’s the real threat.”
Itachi listened—but his gaze did not waver.
“Orochimaru is my responsibility.”
Jiraiya scoffed. “That’s not how missions work, kid.”
“This isn’t just a mission,” Itachi replied quietly.
Silence filled the tent, thick and heavy.
Jiraiya studied Itachi carefully. There was no anger in him. No recklessness. Just resolve—solid and immovable.
“Orochimaru escaped twice,” Itachi continued. “Once, because innocent lives were at stake. Again, because he hid behind others.”
Jiraiya’s jaw tightened.
“This time,” Itachi said, voice low, “he is walking freely. And he will not stop. He never stops.”
Jiraiya folded his arms. “And what about Pain? About Akatsuki?”
“They will still be here tomorrow,” Itachi answered. “Orochimaru will not wait. Every hour he lives is another experiment. Another child. Another village.”
Jiraiya sighed heavily. “This isn’t the Hokage’s order.”
Itachi met his gaze. “No.”
“Then why?” Jiraiya pressed.
For the first time, Itachi hesitated.
Then he said it.
“Because my father told me to.”
Jiraiya froze.
“Not as a shinobi,” Itachi went on. “Not as an order. As a warning.”
He clenched his fist slowly.
Kill Orochimaru before he kills another innocent man or woman.
“That wasn’t strategy,” Itachi said. “That was conviction.”
Jiraiya exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “Damn it… Harry really did raise you, didn’t he?”
Jiraiya looked toward the tent entrance, rain pattering softly beyond it.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “if you chase him, you might not come back in time if Pain moves.”
“I know.”
“And if Pain senses you—”
“I’ll avoid him.”
Jiraiya gave a humorless laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”
Itachi reached for his cloak. “I won’t be gone long.”
Jiraiya stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Itachi… Orochimaru is not just dangerous. He’s slippery. If he escapes again—”
“He won’t,” Itachi said simply.
The certainty in his voice made Jiraiya pause.
“…You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Jiraiya shook his head slowly, then gave a crooked smile. “Then I suppose I’ll hold the fort and keep the god busy if needed.”
He placed a hand on Itachi’s shoulder.
“Just don’t die on me. I’d hate to explain that to your father.”
Itachi inclined his head. “I won’t.”
As he reached the tent flap, he paused.
“Jiraiya-sensei.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you—for trusting me.”
Jiraiya snorted. “Kid, after what I’ve seen today? I’d trust you to stab a god if it came to it.”
A faint smile touched Itachi’s lips.
Then he stepped into the rain.
The tent sealed behind him, runes dimming to silence.
Jiraiya stood alone in the warm light, listening to the storm and muttering under his breath:
“Go finish it, Itachi…
And don’t let that snake slip away again.”
Tracking Orochimaru was… disappointingly easy.
Itachi moved through the rain-soaked outskirts of Amegakure like a shadow stitched to the world. His chakra was muted to near-nothing, his presence folded inward, every sense sharpened. He expected misdirection, false trails, layered traps.
There were none.
Orochimaru did not hide.
Like many shinobi who had tasted true power and survived, he carried the curse of absolute confidence—the belief that no hunter mattered because no hunter could succeed. Men like that didn’t erase their tracks. They dared others to follow.
And Orochimaru was nothing if not arrogant.
“It’s almost insulting,” Itachi murmured to himself as he knelt beside a shallow imprint in the wet ground. The footprint wasn’t even disguised. The chakra residue was thick, serpentine, and unmistakable.
He rose silently and continued.
Broken branches lay at unnatural angles.
Mud disturbed without even an attempt to smooth it.
Faint traces of summoning residue—snakes dismissed lazily rather than sealed properly.
Orochimaru wasn’t fleeing.
He was traveling.
“He doesn’t think anyone would dare,” Itachi thought coldly. “Or he believes anyone who does is already dead.”
Itachi followed at a measured distance, never closing in, never letting his intent spike. His Sharingan flickered once beneath the hood, then dimmed again as his senses painted the path ahead.
The rain thinned as Orochimaru crossed the outer perimeter of Amegakure.
The oppressive surveillance faded.
The air changed.
Itachi stopped at the boundary and looked back once—toward the city of iron towers and eternal rain.
Good, he thought. Not here.
Inside Amegakure, killing Orochimaru would draw attention. Pain’s shinobi would swarm. The Six Paths might intervene. Even victory would be costly—and incomplete.
Outside?
Outside, Orochimaru stood alone.
The terrain shifted as Orochimaru moved farther east. Wet stone gave way to cracked earth. The humidity faded, replaced by dry winds carrying sand and heat.
The Land of Wind.
Itachi narrowed his eyes.
“So that’s your destination,” he whispered.
Whatever Orochimaru planned, it involved the desert. Experiments, hidden facilities, mercenaries, forbidden ruins—Wind Country offered all of it. Remote. Lawless. Easy to disappear in.
Perfect for a man who refused to die.
Orochimaru paused briefly atop a rocky ridge, stretching his neck unnaturally as he surveyed the horizon. He looked relaxed—almost pleased.
From far behind, Itachi watched.
His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.
Not yet.
He wanted Orochimaru far from any village. Far from witnesses. Far from reinforcements. Somewhere the serpent could not escape into shadows filled with other people’s blood.
Orochimaru resumed walking, humming softly to himself.
Itachi followed.
Hours passed. Then a day.
The sun rose high, burning away the last remnants of rainclouds. Sand replaced soil. The wind howled across dunes like a living thing.
Itachi never once lost the trail.
Orochimaru’s arrogance made sure of that.
At one point, Orochimaru stopped again, tilting his head as if listening to something distant. A thin smile curled his lips.
“Still following, are you?” he murmured to the empty air.
Itachi remained perfectly still, his chakra sealed tight.
Orochimaru chuckled. “How delightful. Perhaps I’ll have company sooner than expected.”
He continued on, unbothered.
Itachi’s eyes hardened beneath the hood.
You will, he promised silently. Just not the kind you’re expecting.
He adjusted his cloak and followed the serpent into the endless dunes of Wind Country—patient, precise, and utterly without hesitation.
This was no longer reconnaissance.
No longer pursuit.
This was a hunt.
And Itachi Pottaru did not intend to let the prey escape a third time.
The heat of the Land of Wind was merciless.
From the shadow of a jagged rock formation, Itachi watched the scene below with cold focus. The desert stretched endlessly, dunes rolling like a frozen ocean beneath a blazing sun. Chakra shimmered faintly in the air, distorted by heat and distance.
Below him, a small shinobi team moved cautiously across the sand.
Genin.
Their chakra was unrefined, nervous—tight with the uncertainty of youth and inexperience. From their headbands and formation, Itachi recognized them immediately.
Sunagakure.
A patrol team. Probably sent to investigate unusual chakra disturbances near the border.
And unfortunately for them…
Orochimaru had noticed them too.
The pale Sannin stepped out from behind a sandstone ridge as if he had been waiting all along, his cloak fluttering lazily in the dry wind. He made no effort to hide his presence.
The Genin froze.
One of them swallowed hard.
“T-that’s… Orochimaru,” a boy whispered. “The traitor from Konoha…”
Another clenched her kunai. “W-what’s someone like him doing in Wind Country?”
Orochimaru tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming with amusement.
“Well, well… how polite of Suna to send children to greet me.”
The killing intent rolled off him in waves—thick, suffocating. The Genin staggered, their knees trembling under pressure they had never experienced before.
Itachi’s fingers tightened.
He’s going to kill them.
Orochimaru took a slow step forward.
“Now then… shall I take your hands first, or your chakra network?”
That was it.
Itachi shifted, preparing to move—
When the desert itself roared.
The sand beneath Orochimaru exploded upward.
A massive arm, entirely formed of compacted sand, erupted from the ground and slammed into Orochimaru’s side with overwhelming force.
BOOM!
The impact shattered stone and sent Orochimaru flying across the desert like a broken doll. He crashed through a rock outcrop and skidded across the sand, leaving a long gouge behind him.
The Genin stared in stunned silence.
The sand arm reformed, towering protectively in front of them.
From behind it, a familiar figure stepped forward—short, red-haired, with dark rings under his eyes and a gourd strapped to his back.
Gaara of the Sand.
Itachi’s breath hitched.
Gaara…
Naruto’s closest friend. The boy who once carried the same loneliness Naruto did. The Kazekage’s son.
And someone Itachi spoke to often through the enchanted mirror Naruto insisted on using to “check in.”
Gaara’s pale green eyes were locked on Orochimaru with icy intensity.
Orochimaru slowly pushed himself up from the sand.
Instead of anger… he was smiling.
“Kukukuku…” he chuckled, brushing dust from his robe. “What a delightful surprise.”
His tongue flicked out, tasting the dry air.
“Gaara-kun.”
Gaara didn’t respond. The sand around him churned restlessly, responding to his will like a living creature.
The Genin behind him whispered in awe.
“T-that’s… Gaara-sama…”
Orochimaru’s eyes gleamed with fascination.
“So the jinchūriki walks so openly now. How bold of Sunagakure.”
Gaara’s voice was calm. Cold.
“You are not welcome here, Orochimaru.”
The name alone seemed to poison the air.
Orochimaru spread his arms slightly, mock-innocent.
“Such hostility. I was merely passing through. But you see…” his gaze flicked briefly to the trembling Genin, “…your little friends seemed curious.”
Gaara’s sand surged violently.
From his vantage point, Itachi watched everything unfold—his Sharingan spinning slowly beneath the hood.
Orochimaru is testing him, Itachi realized. He’s probing Gaara’s control. His power.
And that was unacceptable.
Itachi’s jaw tightened.
There was no universe in which he would allow Orochimaru to lay a finger on Gaara.
Not Naruto’s friend.
Not the boy who had fought so hard to escape the darkness within himself.
Not another child turned into a monster by men like Orochimaru.
His hand closed around the hilt of his sword.
