War is a complex system. Tedious. Ruthlessly methodical. It leaves no room for luck. Which meant one thing—every detail must be accounted for.
For someone like Tsukasa Kaede, whose physical endurance was far from elite, prolonged exposure to the battlefield was an exhausting ordeal, draining both chakra and stamina to dangerous levels.
"No more delays. The life-preserving technique I've simulated a thousand times in my mind—I have to complete it. My intel's already leaked. I'm sure half of Suna's shinobi now know what I'm capable of. Next time I fight, I'll lose the edge of surprise."
He sat amid a field of corpses. Some still leaked blood, the warmth of life not yet fully extinguished, painting the earth in arterial streaks.
A few corpse-handlers from the logistics corps watched him, expressions taut with awe.
"Tsukasa-sama… Is he selecting new bodies?"
"He must be. After that brutal battle, he probably burned through all the corpses in his scrolls. He needs new stock."
"Didn't he work this role during the Amegakure front, too? Guess this is a return to his original specialization. Enemy corpses turned into weapons—how poetic."
"Shut it, idiot. Talking like that's practically dissecting his tactics. You wanna get cursed by a death jutsu?"
The handlers belonged to the rear division and rotated out often. A handful had met Tsukasa before—but none could quite accept that he'd essentially become a corpse-specialist combat medic.
Tsukasa turned his head slightly, gazing at his "colleagues." A faint, kind smile curled across his thin lips—though in their eyes, it was something out of a horror story.
Screams followed. One even stumbled back, half-believing he'd be turned into one of Tsukasa's living corpses on the spot.
"Guess I'm becoming the protagonist of a battlefield ghost story… but whatever."
Tsukasa knew he'd never be a radiant figure like Namikaze Minato, basking in adoration.
No—his nature was incompatible with the golden warmth of the Asura line. He had far more in common with the indomitable chill of the Indra lineage.
"While I'm free, I need to finalize my new technique—my Corpse Substitution Jutsu. Based on the mechanics of the standard Body Replacement Technique and the Summoning Jutsu."
The Substitution Jutsu was a D-rank Academy technique—even civilian-level genin could use it. But the pinnacle of substitution? That was Madara's Limbo: Border Jail—an absurd technique that replaced the user with shadow clones on another plane, bypassing most forms of damage. A form of space-time ninjutsu, in truth.
Of course, Tsukasa could use the standard version. But his idea was different—replacing the wooden log with one of his undead, fused with summoning mechanics. It had taken time to develop.
The ideal version: instant position-swap between himself and one of his zombies, while both retained combat functionality—allowing him to reappear and launch a sneak attack.
"Zombies, to me, are just another form of ninja tool—mobile, re-sealable, responsive. If I treat them as substitute logs and use summoning displacement…"
There was only one major challenge.
Substitution targets like wooden logs are inert—no chakra, no movement. Zombies, however, were active chakra vessels. Constant motion meant ever-shifting chakra signatures, which made precision timing incredibly difficult.
"Anyone else would fail outright. But for me, someone who's mastered Corpse-Style Jutsu and has spent years trying to split a single chakra thread in two… syncing with a zombie's flow is like moving my own fingers. The only question is stamina."
If it worked, it would mean one thing—a new form of space-time ninjutsu. Not just a summon or escape. Something different. Cruder than Amenotejikara, the instant switch of the Rinnegan, but of similar strategic value in close combat.
"If I can complete Corpse Substitution and eventually claim a native body with deep chakra reserves… I'll be a legitimate space-time user. I could store my undead in coffins buried across the Elemental Nations, like Flying Thunder God Technique markers."
His mind spun. Ideas burst and fused. He optimized chakra use until he felt like splitting atoms inside himself. Every drop mattered.
Corpse-Style had immense potential—its current limitations were only circumstantial. With enough refinement, it could become legendary.
Five days passed.
No new major clashes between Konoha and Suna. Patrol skirmishes continued, but both sides were clearly waiting. A storm in the distance.
Konoha was likely waiting on Tsunade.
But Suna?
Tsukasa doubted they were focusing on him. More likely they were preparing something devastating.
On the sixth day, he received his orders—to leave camp for a classified operation.
"An A-rank mission... issued by Aburame Ryōma? So he's made it to this front line as well."
As he exited the camp, Tsukasa's eyes narrowed.
His chūnin promotion came with only one real change—solo or small-team operations. Risk spiked accordingly. As a genin, he was just another body tending to wounded in bulk. Now?
He was valuable—and vulnerable.
"My medical ninjutsu's second-rate. Ryōma must know that. So if he handpicked me… either he's testing me, or this mission links directly to my abilities."
Yakushi Nonō, perhaps?
Tsukasa had studied Root operations too long not to suspect something. He glanced sideways at the assembled team.
Five members total. The team leader: a cold-eyed man named Terai.
Tsukasa instantly recognized him. In the original timeline, he assassinated the Third Hokage under Danzō's orders. A Root agent through and through.
Then there was Morino Isuke, still wrapped in medical bandages from his last mission. Also Root. The last two—silent, masked, sterile—reeked of Root indoctrination.
"Great. A whole squad of Danzō's monsters. If this weren't dangerous, they wouldn't be here."
He didn't bother hiding his thoughts.
"So… the mission is to retrieve a Konoha asset? Yet you haven't given us the target's appearance or traits. You plan to brief us mid-operation, Captain?"
Terai's voice was flat as his face.
"Sharp. No wonder Lord Ryōma selected you. Our target is carrying intel of critical value. Your job is to ensure their safe return."
Tsukasa didn't need to be told what that meant. If the mission went sideways, Terai would sacrifice the entire team—himself included—so long as the intel made it back.
That was the Root doctrine: loyalty beyond logic, survival irrelevant, only the mission mattered.
And now he was part of it.