Mastering the Elements - Chapter - 50

The sky over the eastern shores of Kirigakure was overcast as always, clouds rolling like waves over the mist-veiled trees. But in the secret rebel stronghold hidden deep within the caverns of the Waterfall Cliffs, the air was thick with a different kind of heaviness.

Itachi Pottaru, still known here as Indra, stood in the center of the war room—silent, steady, and distant. The last month had changed everything.

The rebellion, once disorganized and desperate, had become a true force of resistance. Strongholds had fallen. Commanders had been assassinated. Morale had risen.

All because of him.

And now, he was leaving.

All around him, men and women in tattered armor stood with solemn eyes—each one hardened by war, yet softened by the knowledge that their strongest comrade was departing.

Riku, Daiken, Kaen, and the few others who had survived countless battles at his side were gathered closest. Each of them wore an expression that hovered between pride and sorrow.

“You’re really going, aren’t you?” Kaen asked, voice low, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Itachi nodded. “I gave my word. One month.”

Riku exhaled sharply. “Damn your word. We could end this with you still here. The Mizukage is weakening. One more month and—”

“—And I’d break the promise I made to my father,” Itachi interrupted gently. “We have our own duties to uphold. Mine was always temporary.”

“You’re not just another soldier, Indra,” Daiken muttered. “You gave this rebellion teeth. You taught us strategy, sealing arts, stealth missions. You made us believe we could win.”

Itachi looked at them, each in turn.

“You will win. Not because of me, but because of what you've become.”

They said nothing. The silence between them was heavy with respect and regret.

In the corner, Mei Terumi leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, a faint smile on her lips.

“You kept your word,” she said quietly. “And you’ve done more in thirty days than most do in three years.”

“I only did what was right,” Itachi replied.

She stepped forward, her eyes sharp. “You’ll always have a place here, Indra. Whatever your real name is… we’ll remember you.”

“I’m grateful,” Itachi said with a light bow.

A short while later, inside a deeper chamber, the rebels gathered for a final sendoff. They presented him with a parting gift—a folded black scarf, embroidered with the rising wave sigil of the rebellion. It wasn’t just a token. It was a symbol. A promise that he was one of them, no matter the name he bore.

“We know you’re wearing a disguise,” Riku said with a smirk. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“You fought beside us. Bled with us. You’re our brother,” Daiken added.

Kaen grunted. “Just don’t die out there. We’re not done drinking together.”

Itachi allowed a small smile to surface. “You’ll be drinking without me for a while. But I’ll return when the war is over.”

Riku stepped forward and clasped his hand. “We’ll hold you to that.”

Then, without another word, Itachi stepped into the mist.

He moved alone through the forest, his footsteps silent, heart heavy but resolute. His disguise would hold until he was well past the border. His chakra sealed. His presence erased.

But something inside him lingered.

The scent of rain.

The voices of comrades.

The dream of a free Kirigakure.

Not yet. But one day.

He would return—not as Indra, but as himself.

But now, it was time to go home.


The sea breeze was calm and cool, the waters of the eastern channel smooth beneath the gentle hum of the chakra propeller at the back of the small, armored boat.

Itachi sat near the stern, cloaked and silent, the rebellion’s black scarf tucked neatly beneath his collar. The soft whir of the engine and the occasional cry of distant gulls were the only sounds as the craft cut swiftly through the misty waters between Kirigakure and the Land of Waves.

The man steering the vessel—an older shinobi with salt-and-pepper hair and a permanent squint from years of sailing—was known only as Kuroda, a rebel agent responsible for moving supplies and people through the tightest security in the east.

When Itachi had shown him the scarf, Kuroda had nodded without a word. No questions. No hesitation.

Now, halfway through their journey, the boatman looked over his shoulder.

“You seen the new Bingo Book yet?”

Itachi shook his head, eyes fixed on the horizon. “No.”

Kuroda chuckled and reached into the satchel at his feet. “Figured as much. Got an extra copy. Take a look—thought you might find something interesting.”

He tossed the slim black tome over his shoulder. Itachi caught it one-handed.

The cover was glossy, lined in metallic seal-thread, and the latest edition had been published just two weeks ago by an independent bounty network. Inside were pages of high-priority targets across every major nation.

Itachi flipped through until he came to a familiar alias.

Indra.

There it was—his image, staring back at him.

Or rather, the masked version of himself: obsidian armor, half-face wrapping, wild hair made to mislead, and cold eyes in a stylized illusion. It was an effective disguise, designed for war, for deception. But seeing it printed on the page, paired with the label S-RANK THREAT – FLEE ON SIGHT, felt surreal.

Indra – Affiliation: Unknown
Age _ Unknown
Specializations: Genjutsu, Ninjutsu, Fuinjustu, High-Speed Combat
Confirmed Kill Count: 180+ Shinobi
Notable Abilities: Genjutsu Layered Field Collapse, Black Flame Technique, Unknown Sealing Jutsu
Status: Do Not Engage – Flee on Sight
Bounty: 85 Million Ryo – Dead Only

Itachi raised a brow.

Kuroda whistled. “Big number, huh?”

“There’s no ‘capture alive’ option,” Itachi murmured.

“Smart decision,” the boatman said. “Not many people live to tell the tale after meeting Indra. Rumors say you turned a fortress into a crater in one night.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” Itachi replied calmly, closing the book.

Kuroda grinned. “Doesn’t matter. Symbols matter more than facts in war. And Indra’s become a symbol. The kind that terrifies the enemy and gives hope to the desperate.”

Itachi didn’t answer. Instead, he tucked the Bingo Book away and looked at the waves again, the salt air easing the weight in his chest.

By evening, they arrived at the peaceful shores of the Land of Wind’s southern islands—one of the smallest neutral nations that bordered both Water and Fire Country territories. A quiet coastal settlement bustled with open-air trade stalls, fishermen, and peddlers of imported silks and spices.

Itachi stepped off the boat, nodding to Kuroda.

“Thanks for the ride.”

The boatman smiled and offered one final word. “Safe travels, Indra… or whoever you are under that mask.”

With that, he sped off into the mist.

Itachi reached into his cloak and slowly peeled off the layers of his disguise—removing the war mask, false hair seals, and the chakra-concealing neck shroud. Once done, he pulled on a simple traveler’s robe and vanished into the marketplace.

He had a few days to rest before heading home to Fire Country, and there were things he wanted to bring back.

At a dried seafood stall, he picked up a carefully wrapped bundle of salted bluefin, smoked eel, and tiger prawn rolls—Naruto’s favorites. In another corner, he purchased a small handcrafted pendant for Mikoto, shaped like a blooming lotus. For his father, a rare scroll of cooking said to originate from the Desert.

Each item chosen with thought. Each step forward bringing him closer to home.



The sea was unnaturally still.

The wind, which had gently rocked the boat for hours, came to a sudden halt as a dozen dark figures emerged on the surface of the ocean—ten shinobi, cloaked in gray and black, standing with ease atop the water as though the sea itself bowed beneath their feet.

Itachi Pottaru, cloaked and hooded, sat quietly at the rear of the small wooden boat, arms crossed, as the boatman froze in place, his face pale and drawn with fear.

The shinobi surrounding them wore no insignias.

No colors.

Only masks.

“W-we're surrounded,” the boatman whispered, clutching the edge of the boat.

Itachi stood up slowly. No panic. No motion wasted.

“You're just a boatman, right?” he said, voice calm and cold. “Not part of this.”

The man nodded rapidly, trembling. “I swear! I don’t know who they are! I just take passengers!”

Itachi reached into his cloak, pulled out a small bundle of Ryo, and placed it in the man's trembling hands.

“Then go. Return to your family. You owe me nothing.”

The man stared, stunned, until Itachi added quietly, “Now.”

The boatman didn't wait. He dropped to the floor of the boat and began frantically rowing backward, sweat beading on his brow as he turned his back to the confrontation behind him.

Itachi stepped off the edge of the boat, landing softly on the sea.

His sandals kissed the water’s surface as if walking on glass.

He looked up, eyes still hidden beneath his hood. But he didn’t need to see their faces.

He could feel them.

Chakra signatures. Their breathing. Their fear.

They were all strong. Seasoned. Likely jōnin-level or higher. But not one of them felt like Mei Terumi’s direct command.

“Let me guess,” Itachi said quietly. “Are you going to say Mei Terumi didn't send you.”

One of the shinobi stepped forward, arms behind his back.

“That’s correct. We came on our own.”

Itachi tilted his head. “Why lie?”

“Mei Terumi didn’t order this,” the lead shinobi said. “But she didn’t stop it, either.”

Another voice spoke from behind him.

“You helped us. That’s true. But you’re a Konoha shinobi. And Konoha is not our ally.”

Itachi’s voice grew sharper. “So you plan to kill me now that I’ve served your purpose?”

“Not kill,” the leader said, “just capture. For the sake of balance. Your Hokage could turn you against us with a single command. We can’t afford to leave a weapon like you unaccounted for.”

Itachi was silent for a long moment.

Then he smiled. Not kindly.

“So this is the thanks I get.”

Another shinobi moved forward quickly, forming hand signs.

“Water Style: Water Prison Jutsu!”

The sphere of water surged from the ocean, forming rapidly around Itachi like a cage.

But in the same breath, he was already gone.

He leapt high into the air, his cloak whipping behind him as he formed a rapid set of hand seals.

“Fire Style: Dragon Flame Vortex!”

From his mouth erupted a torrent of twisting flame, spiraling like a dragon’s breath. The blast hit the sea with a hiss, steam exploding upward, obscuring vision, forcing the enemy to scatter in every direction.

Shinobi cried out as they dove away from the molten heat, chakra flaring in panic.

When the steam cleared, Itachi hovered above the water’s surface, his Sharingan now glowing beneath his hood, eyes cutting through the fog like blood-red stars.

“So. You want to dance?” he asked, his voice laced with a cold thrill.

Below, the shinobi regrouped into formation. Their leader glared up at him.

“No hard feelings, Indra. But you are too dangerous to walk free.”

Itachi raised his hand slowly, fingers shifting into the first of many deadly seals.

“Then come, Let’s see if your conviction is stronger than my fire.”

The waves trembled.

And the battle began.