Naruto: Mixed Heritage(Rewrite)

Renjiro crouched low against the jagged outcrop overlooking the snow-covered expanse below, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied the distant campfires flickering like tiny stars against the twilight.

The cold wind cut across the ridge, ruffling his cloak and biting at his exposed skin, but his focus didn't waver. His Sharingan spun lazily, absorbing every detail of the makeshift camp that lay nestled among a cluster of sparse trees.

He had known this moment would come. After his brutal clash with Jei Kaguya, there were still loose ends to tie up—dangerous threads that could unravel his carefully crafted plans if left unchecked. The Kiri squad Jei commanded would not return home without blood on their hands, and their mission had been clear: kill Renjiro Uzumaki.

"They are too many," Renjiro muttered to himself, his breath forming a cloud of mist in the icy air. His gaze swept over the camp, noting the positions of the shinobi, their movement patterns, and the flickers of chakra that danced faintly within his field of perception.

There were at least thirty shinobi below, all alert, all dangerous. Engaging them directly would be reckless—his fight with Jei had already stirred the proverbial hornet's nest, drawing attention he could ill afford.

Yet, letting them retreat unscathed wasn't an option either. These were the same shinobi who had sought his death, and Renjiro wasn't the type to leave threats hanging over his head.

'But there's always another way.' His gaze lingered on a single shinobi who had wandered slightly away from the group, sitting alone at the edge of the camp, sharpening his blade.

The man's movements were deliberate, almost lazy, and his posture radiated a false sense of security.

Renjiro smirked faintly.

'You'll do nicely.'

The lone shinobi, Seruka, was an unremarkable man on the surface—average build, average height, with a face that blended into the crowd. But his presence here meant he was no ordinary soldier. Kiri wouldn't waste weaklings on a mission of this magnitude.

Renjiro settled into his vigil, his Sharingan tracking every movement Seruka made. He watched how the man walked, his gait uneven with a slight limp.

He noted the rhythm of his breaths, the faint tremor in his hands that suggested fatigue or perhaps lingering injuries from an earlier skirmish. Renjiro's eyes followed the way Seruka handled his blade, the casual ease betraying years of experience. Even the way he chewed his rations didn't escape Renjiro's scrutiny.

Hours passed, the night deepening, but Renjiro remained motionless, an unseen predator stalking its prey. When the moment came, it was swift and silent.

Seruka had stepped away from the campfires to relieve himself near the treeline. He didn't notice the shadow that crept up behind him until it was too late. Renjiro's kunai flashed once, cutting through the crisp air and ending Seruka's life before the man could make a sound.

Renjiro caught the falling body and dragged it deeper into the shadows, his movements precise and efficient. A quick transformation jutsu followed, and when Renjiro emerged, he was Seruka in every detail—from his limp to the faint scar that ran across his cheek.

'Genjutsu would have been simpler,'

Renjiro mused as he adjusted Seruka's gear to fit perfectly. But simplicity wasn't the goal. Genjutsu left traces, and it was risky to maintain over a group for too long. No, he wanted this squad gone entirely, and for that, he needed to sow the seeds of their destruction.

Returning to the camp as Seruka, Renjiro wasted no time. He began subtly stoking the flames of doubt and urgency among the Kiri shinobi.

"I think we should check on Jei-sama," he suggested during a lull in their discussions. His tone was even, but he injected just enough concern to spark unease.

"Jei-sama doesn't need us hovering around her," one of the shinobi scoffed.

"Maybe not," Renjiro countered, "but that fight... You all felt it, didn't you? The chakra fluctuations weren't normal. If she's hurt, we'll be held responsible for not acting."

His words planted the first seeds of doubt, and as the night wore on, he nurtured them with quiet comments and pointed glances. By the time dawn broke, the squad was restless and divided.

The Kiri shinobi eventually resolved to investigate the site of Jei's battle. Renjiro felt a dark satisfaction as they packed up their camp, their focus now entirely on the mysterious fight that had drawn their leader away.

'Perfect.'

Renjiro's true goal wasn't just revenge—it was chaos. He knew that if the Kiri shinobi encountered the Kumo forces who had also been drawn by the chakra clash, a confrontation was inevitable.

The ensuing skirmish would occupy both groups, creating the perfect opportunity for Renjiro to slip into the Kumo outpost unnoticed. Since he was already this close to Kumogakure, there was no need for him to go and look for another route to use.

As the Kiri shinobi set off, Renjiro used a shadow clone to act as Seruka while he slipped away, moving ahead of them to avoid being caught in the crossfire. By the time the first shouts of battle rang out behind him, he was already scaling the outer ridge that overlooked the Kumo outpost.

The outpost was a sprawling collection of tents and fortified structures nestled into the mountainside, its perimeter bristling with guards and defensive seals. Renjiro's Sharingan gleamed as he studied the patterns of movement, the placement of barriers, and the faint hum of chakra emanating from the seals.

He descended swiftly, his movements silent as a shadow. Once inside the perimeter, he targeted a lone Kumo shinobi who was patrolling the outskirts. The man barely had time to register Renjiro's presence before a kunai pierced his throat.

Renjiro caught the falling body and pressed his palm against the shinobi's temple. His eye narrowed, and a moment later, he was sifting through the man's memories.

'Perfect. This confirms the barrier protocols. Renjiro smirked. And no other surprises.'

He disposed of the body and slipped deeper into the outpost. Every step he took was calculated, every move designed to keep him unseen. He bypassed traps and seals with ease.

By the time the Kumo forces trudged back into their outpost, weary and bloodied from their clash with the Kiri shinobi, Renjiro had already vanished into the rocky wilderness.

The commotion he had orchestrated had served its purpose brilliantly, drawing both factions into a brutal skirmish and buying him the time he needed to infiltrate the outpost unnoticed.

Now, far from the chaos, Renjiro found himself nestled within the relative safety of a caravan of merchants making their way toward Miyahira, the city where Kumogakure was undertaking its research on tailed beasts. Just like with Seruka, Renjiro performed another switch and replace on one of the traders.

The caravan rattled along the rugged path, its wagons laden with goods ranging from barrels of salt to intricately woven textiles. Renjiro sat at the rear of one of the wagons, shrouded in a plain brown cloak that concealed his Identity. Yes, he had the transformation jutsu one, but he was not taking any chances.

The steady rhythm of the caravan—creaking wheels, the soft clopping of hooves, and the low murmur of the merchants—was almost soothing after the chaos of the past days.

Yet, Renjiro's mind was anything but at ease.

His thoughts churned as he reviewed the information he had gleaned from the Kumo shinobi. Their memories had revealed more than just the outpost's security measures. There were whispers of heightened tensions between Kumo and Kiri, of clandestine missions and shadowy figures moving behind the scenes. None of it surprised him, but it painted a picture of a volatile region teetering on the brink of something far worse than sporadic skirmishes.

'Still, it's not my concern. The mission comes first.'

Renjiro's gaze shifted toward the horizon, where the city of Miyahira loomed ever closer. Its walls were a stark contrast to the wild, untamed landscape that surrounded it, rising like a fortress of civilization against nature's encroaching grasp.

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