Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

"Yagura is promising," Hiroshi murmured, after a long while. His voice was calm, measured, yet laced with an undertone of concern. He lifted the scroll bearing Yagura Karatachi's name, his eyes scanning its contents. "Too promising, perhaps."

The advisor leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Then why not choose him, Lord Mizukage? If war is truly on the horizon, wouldn't we need someone with his raw talent to lead the jonin?"

Hiroshi set the scroll down with a soft thud and steepled his fingers, his gaze distant. "Raw talent is a double-edged sword, especially in a position as critical as jonin commander. Yagura is young, untested in leadership, and—" he paused, his voice lowering, "he is too closely tied to the Kaguya clan."

The advisor's brows furrowed. "The Kaguya clan has shown nothing but loyalty since you became Mizukage. Surely their influence—"

Hiroshi cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "Loyalty is fleeting when power is at stake. The Kaguya's ambitions are no secret, and placing their candidate in such a position would only embolden them. It would sow division, not unity. The jonin commander must be a figure who represents stability, not one who could become a pawn in clan politics."

The advisor leaned back in his chair, digesting Hiroshi's words. "If not Yagura or Ao, then who?"

Hiroshi's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Oko Shinji."

The advisor blinked, stunned. "Shinji? But he's—"

"Less talented, I know," Hiroshi interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "What he lacks in raw ability, he makes up for in wisdom and composure. Shinji has no clan affiliations to sway his judgment, no ties that could compromise his loyalty to the village as a whole. He is the steady hand we need in these uncertain times."

The advisor hesitated, clearly skeptical. "But will the other clans accept this? Shinji's lack of connections might be seen as a weakness."

Hiroshi's gaze hardened, his black sclerae giving him an imposing air. "They will accept it because I am Mizukage, and my decision is final. If the clans wish to challenge my authority, they are welcome to try."

The advisor lowered his head in deference, murmuring, "As you wish, Lord Mizukage."

Hiroshi leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he stared out the window at the village bathed in moonlight. "Shinji will not lead us to victory in battle," he said softly, more to himself than to his advisor. "But he will ensure we do not fall apart before the battle begins. That is what we need now."

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The Land of Iron was a stark contrast to the warmer, more temperate lands of the shinobi villages bar the Land of Snow. Snow blanketed the ground in thick, pristine layers, each flake catching the pale light of the sun that filtered through the overcast sky.

The icy wind howled through the valleys of the Three Wolves, carrying with it an air of solemnity that seemed to echo the weight of the upcoming Kage Summit. The towering mountains that gave the country its name stood as silent sentinels, their jagged peaks piercing the grey skies like sharpened blades.

The streets of the capital were alive with activity despite the biting cold. Samurai in gleaming armour moved with purpose, their movements precise and disciplined, reflecting the rigorous training they had endured. Their breath misted in the air as they carried out their duties, their boots crunching against the frozen ground.

In the main hall of the samurai fortress, General Tone Tadashi stood at the centre of a flurry of activity. The fortress itself was a marvel of architecture, built into the side of a mountain with walls as thick as the unyielding resolve of its defenders. Intricate carvings of wolves adorned the stone walls, a testament to the legacy of the Land of Iron's warriors. The hall was vast and imposing, its high ceilings supported by thick wooden beams that had weathered centuries of history.

Tadashi was a towering figure, his imposing presence amplified by the ornate armor he wore—a masterpiece of steel and leather, adorned with intricate carvings of wolves and runes that glinted faintly in the torchlight. His face, weathered by years of leadership and battle, was set in a mask of stoic determination. His sharp eyes, like those of a hawk, scanned the room with a vigilance that brooked no weakness.

"Ensure the council chamber is secured," he barked, his voice resonating through the hall with the authority of a seasoned leader. "Double the guard rotation at every entrance. We cannot afford any breaches during the summit."

The room fell silent as his commands were relayed. Samurai rushed to carry out his orders, their movements swift and purposeful. Among them, a young samurai approached, bowing deeply before addressing the general.

"General Tadashi, the emissaries from Kumo and Kiri have sent their arrival times. They will be arriving within hours of each other."

Tadashi nodded, his expression thoughtful. He tapped the hilt of his katana with a gloved hand, a habit he had developed when deep in contemplation. "Good. Prepare accommodations for them separately. The last thing we need is tensions escalating before the talks even begin."

The young samurai hesitated, his brows knitting together in concern. "Do you believe the summit will lead to peace, General?"

Tadashi paused, his gaze shifting to the massive doors that led to the council chamber. For a moment, the unyielding façade of the seasoned general softened, revealing a flicker of doubt. "I hope so," he said quietly, his voice heavy with the weight of his hopes. "But hope is a fragile thing, and the shinobi world is built on mistrust and conflict. All we can do is ensure that this meeting is conducted with honour."

The samurai bowed again, murmuring, "As you say, General."

As the young warrior departed, Tadashi turned to one of his lieutenants, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down his left cheek. "Inspect the defences personally," he commanded. "I want every gate, wall, and corridor checked and double-checked. If even a whisper of danger approaches this fortress, I want to know about it before it becomes a problem."

The lieutenant saluted sharply, his armour clinking as he turned on his heel and strode off to carry out his orders. Tadashi watched him go before making his way to a large window at the far end of the hall. The view overlooked the snowy expanse of the Land of Iron, the three mountains looming in the distance like ancient guardians.

He rested a hand on the hilt of his katana, the cold steel a familiar comfort beneath his fingers. His breath fogged the glass as he spoke to no one in particular. "The shinobi think us relics," he murmured, his voice tinged with a quiet resolve. "But in times of war, even relics have their place."

The general's thoughts drifted to the upcoming summit. The shinobi world was on the brink of chaos, with tensions boiling over between the great nations. The Land of Iron's neutrality was both a shield and a sword—a position of safety that could easily become a precarious tightrope if the summit failed to achieve its purpose.

He turned away from the window, his mind heavy with the knowledge that the Land of Iron's fate was tied to the outcome of the summit. If the fires of war were reignited, they would not remain confined to the borders of the shinobi villages. The flames would spread, consuming everything in their path, and even the Land of Iron, with all its neutrality and strength, might not remain untouched.

As he walked back to the centre of the hall, his boots crunching softly against the stone floor, Tadashi let out a slow, measured breath. "Let us hope," he muttered, his voice low but resolute, "that this summit brings more than empty words."

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