As Orochimaru 2: Kirikagure's 'Help' (Patreon)

"Akira-sama, the information was correct. Orochimaru-sama has returned to the village."

The man who spoke was an Uchiha, and though the clan was famous for its pride and arrogance, his voice was unusually respectful—almost reverent.

That respect wasn't directed toward anyone, but toward the old man seated at the head of the table: Uchiha Akira, patriarch of the clan.

Around them sat nine other men, the senior council. None of them found this respect odd.

For nearly twenty years, Akira had carried the burden of leadership. He might be nearing the twilight of his position, perhaps stepping down in two to three years at most, but his authority and presence were still unquestionable.

Akira, however, only sighed quietly. Many thought the Hokage carried the heaviest burden in the village, but only he knew the truth: the Uchiha patriarch's chair was the hardest to sit on.

Take this situation—Orochimaru's return. Every major clan had their roots deep in Anbu. They all knew things before they were supposed to.

Yet somehow, the Uchiha, the most feared clan in the village, only learned of Orochimaru's return after he was already strolling back through Konoha's gates.

What did that tell him? It told him the Hokage's office didn't trust them. Not one bit.

"The intelligence we received from the Nara clan seems accurate," said a younger man among the nine, his voice carrying the excitement of youth. "This could mean the Uchiha will finally be deployed to the frontlines! At last, a chance to bring honor to the clan."

Akira resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Honor, honor, honor… these children only ever think of honor. Not survival, not politics, not the long game.

Intel from the Nara clan? What a joke. More likely, Hiruzen himself had ordered the Nara to 'leak' the information so that the Uchiha would feel grateful for being included.

And, of course, the Uchiha would now believe the Hokage still respected them—when in truth, he was simply manipulating them into the position he wanted.

It was a clever move. Too clever, in fact. Akira couldn't help but admire the man.

He remembered Hiruzen in his early days: weak, unproven, burdened with the stigma of being Tobirama's controversial choice. Surrounded by clans that doubted him, attacked him, undermined him—and yet he endured. Decades later, he was still Hokage. That required a kind of patience and strength most men lacked.

If Danzō had been chosen instead, Konoha would likely have burned itself to ash years ago. Danzō was many things, but patient? Enduring? No. He was a man who wanted results without sacrifice, power without restraint. Such a man would have destroyed the village.

Not that Akira could voice any of this. In this room, among his own clan, not one person would understand him.

"Clan leader," said another man, the so-called 'wise one' of the council, stroking his chin as if he were some great strategist. "We should appeal directly to the Hokage. The Uchiha are unmatched in power, yes, but the Hidden Mist are a poor match for us on the battlefield."

Akira almost laughed out loud. Do they think I don't already know this? Do they think I sit here blind, waiting for their pearls of wisdom?

Before Akira could formulate a diplomatic response, hot-headed Kenji slammed a fist on the table, his Sharingan flaring briefly with indignation. "Appeal?! Appeal, Daisuke?!" he roared, his voice dripping with contempt.

"That sounds like cowardice! I always knew you were too timid! An Uchiha does not appeal! An Uchiha does not back down! We face our enemies head-on. That is the Uchiha way, passed down by our ancestors! To hesitate is to dishonor them!" His passionate outburst drew rumbles of agreement and nods from seven others around the table.

Akira closed his eyes for a brief moment. 'Ancestors, give me strength.'

Times had changed. Konoha was no longer an alliance of rival clans waging endless feuds. It was a single village, ruled by one Hokage. The Uchiha's refusal to bend, their obsession with never retreating, was no longer a strength—it was a weakness.

Keep charging blindly forward, and they'd end up like the Uzumaki: wiped out, scattered, nothing but a name in history. That was something Akira swore he would never allow.

"Enough." His voice cut through the noise, calm but carrying weight. The room fell silent. "The decision has already been made. The Uchiha will face the Hidden Mist on the frontlines. That much cannot be changed."

A few mutters rose, but his sharp gaze silenced them.

"What matters now," Akira continued, "is not whether we fight, but how we fight. Who will we send? What roles will they play? And above all, how do we win efficiently?"

The council exchanged glances. When the patriarch spoke in that tone, there was little room for argument.

At last, a quiet voice came from the end of the table. Fugaku, who had been silent until now, finally raised his head.

"I believe Orochimaru's return answers that question," Fugaku said. His eyes, calm and sharp, met his father's. "It is very likely he will be chosen as commander."

Akira nodded, pleased. His son saw the truth clearly. At this moment, only three in the village had the strength to command an army: Hiruzen himself, Tsunade, and Orochimaru, barely Homura and Koharu due to their status.

But Hiruzen would not leave the village. And Tsunade… Tsunade had abandoned the battlefield long ago, absent from councils, absent from the hospital, drowning her pain in sake and gambling dens. No, she was out of the question.

That left Orochimaru. Brilliant, ruthless, already battle-tested as commander during the Second Shinobi War. Being under Danzō in Kumo was already a decision he couldn't understand; to drag him back now and place him beneath another would only strain his relationship with Hiruzen. And Hiruzen was too wise to make that mistake.

"Fugaku is right. The commander's seat basically has Orochimaru's name carved into it, and that is a problem. As Danzō's right-hand man and Hiruzen's disciple, I fear that he may suppress us—no, it's very probable."

He wasn't just being paranoid. This was a nightmare scenario he'd seen the blueprint for back in the aftermath of the Second War after Kagami's death. It was like watching a very ugly, very predictable play about to start its second run.

Then Daisuke, who'd been chewed out earlier, decided now was the perfect time to puff out his chest and channel his inner motivational speaker.

"So what?" he declared, practically vibrating with shounen energy. "It all boils down to strength, doesn't it? If we're powerful enough, we can just smash through all their schemes! No tricky plot can stand up to a strong fist."

A few people nodded slowly. It was a nice thought. A simple, muscle-headed, beautifully simple thought. It was the kind of thing you'd yell right before charging into a wall you were 100% certain you could break through.

The unspoken question hanging in the air was a little more complicated: Yeah, but... are we actually that strong? Do we have what it takes to crush everything?

But hey, the Uchiha's drama was, for the most part, a Uchiha-only problem. Well, a Uchiha-and-one-specific-eye-collecting-sociopath problem.

For the rest of Konoha? They were busy sweating the big picture. You know, minor stuff. Like the fact that they were basically about to fight the entire world.

Because if you were in Konoha, you would find that the village was basically looking… hollow.

First off, they were the only village whose walking, talking WMD—their Jinchuriki—was a big no-go for the battlefield, this meant they were already fighting with a crippled leg.

Then you had the Hokage himself, Hiruzen Sarutobi, the God of Shinobi. He was basically on emergency-only duty. Unless the situation went from bad to worse, it was unlikely for him to go to the battlefield.

Add to that the fact that they had to keep half an eye on the Uchiha during the war to make sure they didn't get any funny ideas, and that one of their Kage-level fighters and the best medic in the entire world was also mysteriously benched…

And what did the other villages see from the outside? They saw a village so stupidly, outrageously powerful that they didn't even need to send their Kage.

They didn't need their tailed beast. They didn't need their legendary healer. Heck, they didn't even need to deploy their strongest clan to fight two other Great Villages at once! The reputation was terrifying. The reality was a barely contained panic attack.

Which is why, later that night, you could find every bigwig who wasn't actively on fire crammed into the meeting room at the Hokage Tower. The air was so thick with tension you could chew it.

We're talking the Hokage, his advisors (minus Danzō, who was currently giving the Kumo border the stink-eye), the future heads of the Ino-Shika-Chō trio (looking like they'd rather be anywhere else), Akira representing the Uchiha, of course Orochimaru, and a handful of top-tier Jonin who hadn't already been shipped out.

Hiruzen didn't bother with pleasantries. The man looked tired. "I assume you all understand where this is going," he began, his pipe smoke curling into an anxious cloud above them. "War with Kirigakure is no longer a possibility. It's an inevitability."

A collective, heavy sigh filled the room. They'd seen it coming, but hearing it out loud was like a punch to the gut. A war on one front was bad enough. But one against three was a recipe for a funeral on a national scale.

Seeing their grim faces, Hiruzen pressed on. "They sent an envoy. Apparently, they're so concerned for our well-being that they've offered to support us against Kumo and Iwa."

A few people blinked.

Hiruzen's deadpan expression killed that hope instantly. "The price for their 'generosity' is 'just' a few trivial items. The Scroll of Seals. A few bloodline limits like the Sharingan and Byakugan. And enough money to probably bankrupt us for a decade. It was never a real offer. It was, naturally, their excuse."

He let that sink in. The sheer audacity of it was almost impressive.

"Our intelligence confirms it. Their troops are already mobilized. This 'negotiation' is just a stalling tactic. It might buy us a week, if we're lucky. So, I am not waiting for their move. I am considering sending our first troops to the front… in two days."

The silence that followed was absolute. It was really happening. One village against three like in the Second Shinobi War. And everyone in that room knew that if they so much as stumbled, Sunagakure—their so-called ally—wouldn't hesitate to jump on their backs for a free shot.

Homura let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire village. "Kiri didn't even give us a chance. They stayed out of the last war, quietly building their strength. Now they have the so-called Seven Swordsmen, each rumored to be capable of challenging a Kage-level opponent.

"The Yuki clan with their Ice Release, the Kaguya clan of battle lunatics, the Hōzuki clan who once produced a Mizukage, the Hoshigaki clan, the Karatachi family, the Funato clan—and on top of that, they hold two Tailed Beasts. Aside from lacking a few absolute top-tier fighters, only Konoha surpasses them in the sheer number of mid- and low-level shinobi among the Five Great Villages."

It wasn’t alarmism—it was the truth. Take Suna, for example: they didn’t have a single great clan. Even Iwa and Kumo had only a handful, and most of their power came from secret techniques that were far harder to master.

Kiri, though? Had it not been for their endless internal strife, they might already be standing shoulder to shoulder with Konoha. Whether it was secret techniques or bloodline limits, they lacked nothing.

Hiruzen gave a curt nod, not in the mood for a prolonged debate. The clan heads would grandstand for hours just to score political points, all while knowing full well none of them would actually be chosen.

It was exhausting. It was also exactly why he trusted his son and daughter-in-law as ANBU commanders more than any of the great clans. The clans always put themselves first. Those two put the village first.

"Orochimaru," Hiruzen said, cutting through the chatter. "You’ll be taking command. Do you have any requests?" The question wasn’t whether he wanted the position, but what he needed to execute it. Those were the rules.

Orochimaru didn’t answer right away. Internally, he was doing a small victory dance. So far, so good—no one had jumped up yelling, “Hey, your soul feels weirdly strong and different!” In the ninja world, that was always a risk. He’d taken this body, memories and all, but caution was a survival instinct.

Now he focused. A few words from him would dictate the fate of thousands. It was a level of authority his past life couldn’t even dream of. Outwardly, though, he was the picture of serpentine calm—utterly unreadable.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a dry, smooth whisper.
"Three things. What are my troop numbers? Who will be my second-in-command? And what is the state of our supply lines?"

His logic was simple: no matter how bad things became, there was no force alive that could prevent him from making a graceful exit if he chose to. Not two Tailed Beasts. Not the Mizukage. Not even all seven of those swordsmen at once.

It wasn’t arrogance. If Jiraiya was a bomb and Tsunade was a tank, then he, Orochimaru, was the ultimate escape artist. His ability to survive and slip away was unmatched in the entire ninja world. And now, with double the chakra and god-like control over this new body, he was even more untouchable. His true goal was to use this war as the soil to cultivate his own power.

A devious, brilliant plan was already forming. Itachi had just been born. Shisui was still a snot-nosed kid. Might Duy was the village punching bag, the eternal genin everyone laughed at. His son, Guy, hadn’t yet forged his legendary determination.

Perfect, Orochimaru thought, smirking only on the inside. All the future legends are still just… unclaimed treasures.

He would use his new authority. He’d promote the ridiculed Might Duy to jōnin immediately, saving the man from a pointless sacrifice against the Seven Swordsmen. He’d take Shisui under his wing as a personal apprentice. And when Itachi was old enough, he’d claim him too.

If Konoha was going to waste its greatest talents—persecuted, overlooked, left to rot—then he, the ever-selfless Orochimaru, would gladly shoulder that burden. He would ‘sacrifice’ his time and comfort to give them a proper home.

It was, he decided, the most noble of crimes.