Naruto: The Sand Will Rise!

The wheel-sized Fuma shuriken was no match for a giant revolver firing high-caliber rounds.

As soon as the shuriken met the bullets, it shattered like fragile glass, splintering into countless pieces.

The effect was devastating.

But for Satou and Jiro, who were directly below, it was a nightmare.

Their swords spun like turbines, desperately deflecting the incoming metal shards and falling ninja tools. But the sheer volume of debris was overwhelming.

Each deflected piece left another scratch, another wound, another reminder that they needed better armor.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The bullets tore through the remains of the shuriken and slammed into the ground, detonating on impact.

Luckily, the Fuma Ninjas were quick on their feet.

They scattered, repositioning themselves in a line, ready to counterattack.

"Get down!" the captain bellowed.

Satou and Jiro didn't hesitate. They dropped to the dirt instantly.

Lying flat, they turned their heads just in time to see the true devastation unfold.

"Oh, hell no."

"That's insane!"

They spoke in unison, eyes wide.

Yoruya had tossed aside his revolver and grabbed something far more menacing—a Stark Industries-designed Thor Cannon.

Da-da-da-da!

The four-barreled weapon roared to life, spinning rapidly like the turbines of a Quinjet.

Bullets streamed from the barrel like a fiery storm, cutting through the night.

The muzzle flared like a dragon's breath.

Yoruya adjusted his aim, the line of fire sweeping across the battlefield.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

In a heartbeat, a dozen Fuma ninjas were sliced clean in half, their bodies torn apart as if by an invisible force.

The bullets didn't stop there. Trees in the distance were shredded, their trunks exploding into splinters.

Satou and Jiro exchanged glances.

"We need to get in on this action. We gotta join the special forces and get ourselves some of those mobile units."

Da-da-da. Boom! Boom!

Similar battles erupted across the entire camp.

All three mobile police units had engaged the enemy in full defensive mode.

Turrets, grenade launchers, repulsor cannons—every weapon was live.

The entire POW camp transformed into an indestructible fortress, bristling with countermeasures.

Anyone who dared to come within 200 meters of the perimeter was vaporized by the overwhelming firepower.

Mufasa took prisoners seriously.

He wanted them locked up so securely that once inside, they wouldn't dream of leaving.

Even a makeshift camp in the wild had to be built like a fortress.

At the heart of the camp stood a towering Prism Watchtower.

And at its peak—Sasuke.

He gazed down at the battlefield, his Sharingan gleaming in the darkness.

Mufasa had anticipated this attack.

That's why Sasuke was here.

Scanning the battlefield, Sasuke observed something strange.

The attackers were all mid-tier ninjas. Where were the elites?

On the outskirts, perched atop a tree branch, Obito observed the battle.

His eyes locked onto Sasuke's silhouette on the tower.

"Uchiha Itachi's little brother… This complicates things."

Obito had no intention of engaging directly.

He turned to his squad of elite ninjas. "Their defenses are too strong. There could be an ambush inside."

"Retreat. The prisoner camp isn't worth this much effort."

Watching the sheer carnage unfolding before them, the others quickly agreed.

It wasn't a loss—it was just that their enemy was too well-prepared.

Sasuke remained on his perch, unmoving, watching as Obito and his forces melted away into the darkness.

The remaining mid-tier ninja squads were left behind, completely unaware of the retreat.

And the Special Forces didn't hesitate.

Satou and Jiro ignored their own injuries, launching into the trees with their mobility gear.

Within minutes, they returned with two captives each.

By dawn, the prisoner-of-war camp had grown.

Mufasa received the battle report with a grin.

"Well, time to celebrate with some home-style cooking. Somebody get me some fresh fish. Tonight, we feast on fish hotpot."

Meanwhile, Momonosuke's forces had failed spectacularly.

Mufasa knew his time to strike was coming.

"Two more days to Kawasaki Town."

"My prisoners of war… your master is coming."

As Mufasa enjoyed his meal, the road ahead was blocked.

A group of villagers, weeping and trembling, knelt before him in the dirt.

Mufasa sighed.

"Momonosuke's old tricks again?"

He turned to Kimimaro.

"Do it again."

Among the desperate villagers, a middle-aged man broke free, rushing forward.

"Master Kazekage! Please, you must save the people of Land of Rivers!"

Mufasa narrowed his eyes. "And you are?"

The man bowed deeply. "I am Fukuyo, of the Hundred Beasts Corps."

He straightened up, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.

"The Kozuki Clan is despicable and shameless. They used treachery to assassinate Kaido, our founder, and stole our homeland."

"We, the descendants of the Hundred Beasts, have sworn to overthrow them and reclaim the Land of River!"

Mufasa glanced at Sai, who nodded.

"There is a rebel faction called the Hundred Beasts Corps, but they're insignificant. Barely worth mentioning."

Mufasa exhaled through his nose, unimpressed.

Bloodlines, inheritance—just another excuse to manipulate the common folk.

He had no place in his plans for these so-called revolutionaries.

Sensing Mufasa's fading interest, Fukuyo pressed on.

"I bring valuable intelligence!"

Mufasa raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

Fukuyo pointed to the villagers behind him.

"Momonosuke has committed the ultimate sin. He has desecrated their ancestral graves. He dug them up and destroyed them."

This time, the people of the Land of Rivers weren't being forced to submit.

Or at least, it didn't feel that way.

They didn't know why Momonosuke couldn't explain why he was doing that.

For days, he had been obsessively digging up graves near the capital. His soldiers watched in stunned silence as he ordered more burial sites to be unearthed, his expression wild and unhinged.

In any world, desecrating the dead was an unspeakable crime.

The people of Land of Rivers loathed him for it.

If he hadn't surrounded himself with an army in the capital, the villagers would have long since risen against him.

Now, however, the moment they had been waiting for had arrived.

Mufasa's name had spread far and wide.

The people anticipated his arrival the way lost travelers yearn for an oasis. And when his convoy finally rolled into the village, the entire town poured into the streets—elders, children, and warriors alike—all pleading for him to lead the rebellion.

After listening to Fukuyo and the villagers recount their suffering, Mufasa was momentarily speechless.

Seriously?

They were just handing him another victory on a silver platter?

This was practically a free win. He hadn't even done anything yet, and Momonosuke was already sabotaging himself.

Mufasa had prepared for a strategic struggle—outwitting the villagers, navigating alliances—but looking at them now, desperate and eager, offering food and supplies…

This was too easy.

Some villagers even volunteered to join the fight against Momonosuke.

They were willing to give everything.

Mufasa couldn't let that happen.

He raised a hand, commanding silence.

"I understand your pain," he said. "And I promise you this—Momonosuke will fall."

A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd. The very name 'Momonosuke' was cursed by their lips, spat upon like filth.

"But you will not fight," Mufasa continued. "The battlefield is no place for civilians. Let us—the shinobis from Sunagakure—handle this."

Some villagers looked disappointed, but most were touched by his words. 

He wasn't here to use them as pawns; he truly wanted to protect them.

Still, they refused to let him leave empty-handed. 

They rushed forward with chickens, ducks, fish, baskets of fruit—offerings of gratitude.

Mufasa shook his head. "I swore I would take nothing from Land of Rivers. I will not break that oath."

A hushed awe settled over the crowd. He had refused even their willing gifts. His reputation soared in that instant—selfless, noble, unwavering.

A true leader.

Their eyes shone with admiration, watching as Mufasa and his Sand Ninja warriors marched forward. 

The villagers lined the roads, sending them off with heartfelt prayers and blessings.

Inside the command vehicle, Mufasa turned to Fukuyo.

"Now," he said, "tell me what you know."

Fukuyo bowed. "My lord, do you know why Momonosuke is digging up the graves?"

Mufasa frowned. "Enlighten me."

Reanimation Jutsu? he wondered. No, Momonosuke wouldn't have the skill for that.

Fukuyo hesitated, then spoke. "According to our sources, Momonosuke is gathering soil rich with corpses. He intends to use it to raise an army of undead—immortal soldiers that never tire."

Mufasa's eyes darkened. He knew exactly who was behind this.

Shin? So, you've made your move…

He exhaled sharply. "How many troops does Momonosuke have?"

Fukuyo's expression turned grim. "At least 40,000 standard troops and 10,000 trained ninjas. And now, with an undead army, he is even more dangerous."

Mufasa smirked. "So, he's doing all the work for me."

Fukuyo blinked, confused. "My lord?"

Mufasa leaned back, thoughtful. "I should thank him. He's gathering my workforce free of charge."

Fukuyo assumed Mufasa was hesitating out of fear. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "We can help, my lord. Our allies hold key positions in Land of Rivers. If we work together, you'll win."

Mufasa raised an eyebrow. "And what's your plan?"

Fukuyo's voice dropped to a whisper. "Your forces should launch a direct attack, draw Momonosuke's attention. Meanwhile, our elites will infiltrate through secret tunnels and assassinate him."

"If Momonosuke dies, his army will collapse. You'll have an easy victory."

Mufasa stared at him, silent.

Fukuyo misread the silence. He thought Mufasa was dissatisfied with the reward.

"We are prepared to offer more," he added quickly. "After Momonosuke falls, our leader will rule Land of Rivers. We will sign a treaty granting you free access to our resources. And if you desire additional compensation—"

Mufasa chuckled.

Fukuyo's voice faltered. "M-my lord?"

Mufasa's smirk widened, baring his teeth. "You're making one mistake, Fukuyo."

Fukuyo tensed. "What mistake?"

Mufasa leaned forward, his golden eyes gleaming. "You're treating the Land of Rivers like it belongs to you."

Fukuyo felt a cold sweat forming. "M-my lord, you said you wouldn't take anything from this land—"

Mufasa's voice was ice. "Tell me, Fukuyo. Why would I take what's already mine?"

He cracked his knuckles. "You do not have to worry to the ordinary people of the Land of Rivers. 

I'm only after Momonosuke and the power-hungry parasites like him. But... If anyone other than them gets in my way...."