141-143

Chapter 141: The Truth 

A blood-red moon hung in the sky. 

The void-like darkness was suffused with crimson light, casting an eerie, oppressive atmosphere. 

Two figures stood in the emptiness, bathed in moonlight. They exchanged the intel in their hands, flipping through it slowly. 

Holding a thick stack of dossiers, Aburame Ryoma felt a slight ease in his mind. 

Despite a minor hiccup, the Thunder Drum Mountain mission had finally reached its third phase. 

Blowing up the mine was the least significant part of Danzo’s orders. The real priorities were the trade with Orochimaru and the Akatsuki intel from Uchiha Itachi. 

A month ago, Itachi had used his unique chakra signature to leave a mark and message with Root’s intelligence operatives. 

His identity couldn’t be exposed. 

He demanded a meeting with Danzo himself in the Land of Lightning, claiming he had Akatsuki’s key personnel list but would only hand it over if Sasuke’s safety was guaranteed. 

Danzo, of course, refused. 

He knew how much he was hated. With Itachi’s Mangekyo Sharingan abilities unknown, Danzo wasn’t about to risk himself. 

Plus, Shisui’s other Kotoamatsukami was still missing, likely in Itachi’s possession. 

If Danzo showed up and got hit with a zero-frame Kotoamatsukami, it’d be a disaster! 

Coincidentally, Danzo was already sending Ryoma to trade with Orochimaru at Thunder Drum Mountain, near the Land of Lightning’s border. 

So, he decided to handle both matters at once. 

He sent word to Itachi to meet near Thunder Drum Mountain. 

With both tasks converging there, Root’s operatives scouted the area for a suitable trade location. 

That’s when they stumbled upon the Cloud Village’s secret mine, matching intel from a Cloud Jonin’s mind, leading to this complex mission. 

The correct mission flow was: 

Arrive at Thunder Drum Mountain during Orochimaru’s appointed time, eliminate the Cloud ninjas, and complete the trade for the arm and Sharingan. 

After the trade, destroy the mine. 

Then, wait at a designated spot outside the mountain for Itachi to deliver Akatsuki’s intel, securing it and the arm for a safe return to the Leaf. 

But everything went haywire. 

Itachi came to the Land of Lightning also seeking Orochimaru, causing their missions to clash. Thankfully, they corrected course in time. 

They lured Orochimaru and that troublesome blue-skinned ninja to a separate battlefield, while sending the sharp-eyed Hairi away, creating space to exchange intel. 

The mine wasn’t destroyed, and Orochimaru’s trade wasn’t completed, but Akatsuki’s intel came through first. 

Flip! 

Opening the black booklet, Ryoma’s eyes fell on the first page—his old partner. 

Orochimaru. 

Codename: Void. 

Status: Leaf S-rank rogue ninja, former Sannin. 

Condition: Betrayed, kill on sight. 

This guy joined Akatsuki too? 

And betrayed them, now hunted worldwide—classic Orochimaru! 

Ryoma kept reading, growing more shocked. 

A mysterious masked man claiming to be Uchiha Madara, the godlike Pain of the Heavenly Path, a blue-haired angel, an immortal cultist, and a legendary ninja who once fought the First Hokage. The details were sparse, but even these scraps were terrifying. If Itachi’s intel was accurate, Akatsuki could destroy any of the five great ninja villages. 

Such a powerful organization existed in the ninja world! 

Suppressing his shock, Ryoma memorized the booklet page by page. For a ninja with twenty years of intelligence work, this was second nature. 

While Ryoma mouthed the intel, Itachi quickly skimmed Sasuke’s photos. 

Three photos, all candid, none showing his face clearly. 

The first was at the Uchiha training grounds. Sasuke formed the “Ram” seal, unleashing a Great Fireball, his body hunched with exhaustion. 

He was training Fire Release. 

Judging the fireball’s size and power, Itachi nodded, approving of Sasuke’s effort. 

The next photo was at the Ninja Academy. 

Sasuke’s crimson eyes locked onto a silver-haired girl whose face was unclear, his single-tomoe Sharingan brimming with confidence. 

He’s awakened the Sharingan already? 

A faint joy flickered in Itachi’s eyes as he moved to the last photo. 

In it, Sasuke smirked, taunting a blond boy with a beckoning gesture, as if in a duel. 

In the background, a silver-haired girl with her eyes covered sat watching—likely the same girl from the second photo, possibly a close friend of Sasuke’s. 

Rumor had it Sasuke was popular with girls at school. Seems it was true. 

Itachi gently released the photos. 

Whoosh! 

They fluttered like falling leaves in the void, burning to ash as if consumed by wildfire. 

His crimson Sharingan fixed on Ryoma, who was still memorizing. Itachi’s eyes gleamed coldly, his three tomoe spinning, interlocking. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Rain Country base, blue-haired angel, flight ability—call me Ryoma.” 

Ryoma frowned, annoyed. 

“How long have you been with Root?” 

“Don’t know.” 

Ryoma’s cold voice carried irritation. The human brain was unreliable—distractions could ruin intel memorization. 

He hated being interrupted during this process. 

“You’re qualified to know my identity, so you must be a Root higher-up.” 

Itachi’s persistent voice echoed, and Ryoma sighed, looking up. 

“You—” 

His voice cut off. 

Itachi’s terrifying Mangekyo spun, dominating his vision. The purple eyes, like the blood moon above, reflected a haunting pattern. 

Itachi watched the dazed figure, his Mangekyo’s shuriken spinning faster, invading Ryoma’s will. 

Sensing his weakening resistance, Itachi’s gaze deepened. 

“What’s your role in Root?” 

“I manage all Root affairs, relaying Lord Danzo’s will.” 

Ryoma’s crimson eyes spoke mechanically, his voice cold but unnaturally flat, clearly hypnotized. 

Itachi didn’t rush, standing silently, waiting. Seeing no disturbance in the illusion space, a faint, cold smirk curved his lips. 

This time, he’d finally bypassed that troublesome Curse of the Tongue Seal! 

The blood moon loomed. 

Its crimson light pierced Ryoma’s figure, who stood dazed, as if surrendering. 

Passing Akatsuki’s intel was a pretext—it didn’t require a meeting. Handing the dossier to Root’s operatives would’ve sufficed. Why go through the hassle? 

Using the intel to lure a Root higher-up was Itachi’s true goal. 

Akatsuki’s mission to hunt Orochimaru gave him a chance to slip Kisame’s watch. 

Offering Sasuke’s status as a condition, he turned one-way intel delivery into a two-way trade, a plausible excuse to draw Danzo out. 

With Shisui’s Kotoamatsukami in his possession, Danzo wouldn’t come himself. 

He’d send a key figure instead. 

Itachi’s identity was a Leaf secret, tied to the Uchiha, Akatsuki, and the Leaf. Whoever Danzo sent would likely know his secrets. 

This was his chance. 

A perfect opportunity to extract Danzo’s intel. 

It went as planned. 

When interrogating Borin down the mountain, Itachi hadn’t even asked about Danzo—just mentioned the captain’s abilities—and triggered the Curse of the Tongue Seal. 

The confidentiality level was as high as Danzo’s, confirming the target was a Root higher-up, letting Itachi’s plan proceed. 

He left Orochimaru to Kisame, pulling Ryoma’s mind into the Tsukuyomi illusion space, separating his spirit and body. 

Then, in Tsukuyomi, he conducted the hypnotic interrogation, bypassing the Curse of the Tongue Seal. 

Now, it was time to reap the rewards. 

Itachi relaxed slightly, staring at the dazed Ryoma, pouring Mangekyo chakra to erode his will. 

“Where’s Shisui’s other Mangekyo?” 

“Lord Danzo’s right eye.” 

Ryoma blurted the forbidden intel without hesitation. 

Even Obito, an illusion novice, could hypnotize the Third Mizukage with Mangekyo. Against Itachi’s hypnosis, Ryoma was defenseless. 

The expected answer left Itachi’s face icy. 

Danzo forced the Uchiha rebellion and killed Shisui to steal Sharingan power. Implanting the Mangekyo in his right eye wasn’t surprising. 

Just as no one would be shocked if Itachi killed Danzo. 

“Tell me Danzo’s abilities, intel, and—weaknesses.” Itachi’s intent was clear, his crimson eyes nearly bleeding. 

“I… don’t know.” Ryoma’s eyes were blank, clueless. 

Nothing? 

Itachi frowned. His Mangekyo’s Yin chakra probed Ryoma’s mind, detecting no resistance. 

He wasn’t breaking free—he genuinely didn’t know! 

“How long have you followed Danzo?” 

“Long… I don’t remember.” 

Ryoma tried to answer, but couldn’t recall anything about Danzo, straining to remember. 

His memories were blurry—intel, abilities, all vague! 

It felt like the memories were at the tip of his tongue, but veiled by thick gauze. 

Pain stabbed his mind, his body trembling. 

“Why can’t I remember?” 

Ryoma pounded his head, eyes frantic and lost. 

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall Danzo, only a single, lonely image remained. 

A man with a blurry face, smiling at him. 

He shouldn’t forget. 

He mustn’t forget that man. 

“I… don’t know.” 

Unable to recall, Ryoma shook his head, repeating the phrase like a mantra, trapped in some syndrome. 

His emotions and will clashed, loosening even Itachi’s tight pupil hold. 

“I know.” 

Itachi’s Mangekyo spun, channeling Yin chakra deep into Ryoma’s mind, revealing a purple-black memory fragment, like decayed flesh. 

This ability only worked under Tsukuyomi’s enhancement. 

“Can… can you tell me?” Ryoma trembled, eyes pleading. 

“Hm.” 

Itachi’s voice grew heavy. 

Cracking the dead memory with Sharingan, fragments flooded out, like opening Pandora’s box. 

Then, he fell silent. 

The entire space sank into deathly stillness. 

Waiting endlessly for Itachi’s response, Ryoma stared blankly at the blood moon, his Mangekyo spinning. 

Until— 

Boom! 

Memory fragments snowed down, his mind clarifying, like a nearsighted patient finally wearing the right glasses—everything became vivid. 

Ryoma looked up, dazed. 

A boy with a radiant, sunny smile. 

Crouching, his handsome brows softened, he gazed at Ryoma, golden sunlight filtering through his hair, casting sharp shadows. 

“Why don’t you play with the other kids?” 

Kids? 

Play? 

Ryoma looked down, finding himself crouched on the ground, his childish hands black, clutching sticky, damp soil. 

Where was this? 

Green branches swayed in the breeze above, and far below a cliff stood a single massive Hokage Rock—the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, watching him. 

“Hey, what’re you looking at? I’m talking to you!” 

The spiky-haired man feigned annoyance, but his faint smile betrayed his true mood. 

“I…” 

Trying to speak, Ryoma realized he couldn’t control this childish body. This wasn’t reality—he was a phantom traveler. 

“They don’t notice me. I thought you wouldn’t either.” 

Young Ryoma muttered, digging soil, pulling out a wriggling earthworm. 

“My name’s Aburame Ryoma.” 

Holding the slimy earthworm up, the childish Ryoma, wearing tiny sunglasses, looked at the man. 

“You?” 

“Shimura Danzo.” 

The boy grinned, his X-shaped chin scar raised proudly, exuding a unique charm, not a hint of ruthlessness. 

Chapter 142: I Don’t Know 

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. 

A spiky-haired boy and a sunglasses-wearing Ryoma crouched together, digging through the soil, carefully pulling out earthworms one by one. 

“Why are we digging up earthworms?” the boy asked, only thinking to question after they’d dug a deep pit. 

“They’re always burrowing into the dirt. I thought they could use some sunlight,” Ryoma replied. 

The possessed Aburame Ryoma watched his younger self line up the wriggling earthworms under the sun to dry, a faint smile curling his otherwise cold lips. 

“Earthworms die if you leave them in the sun,” the boy warned with a smile, scooping up a handful of soil to cover the struggling creatures. 

“Isn’t it sad if they never get to see the light?” Ryoma said, letting Danzo bury the worms they’d worked so hard to unearth, his head lowered in quiet loneliness. “Is that really the fate of bugs? To live forever in dark, damp shadows, never knowing brightness?” 

“Is that what you think?” the boy asked, uncovering the buried worms and placing them on a soft mound of earth. 

The bright red worms, exposed to the scorching sun, writhed and curled, frantically burrowing back into the soil, inching deeper into the earth. 

“Isn’t it?” Ryoma said, arms wrapped tightly around himself, watching the worms flee the light as if feeling their pain. 

“Of course not,” the spiky-haired boy said with a grin, gently lifting the mound of soil and holding it under Ryoma’s lowered gaze. He rubbed the dirt between his hands, loosening it as the red worms slipped through the cracks, burrowing downward. “Look, they’re searching for their own sun.” 

“Their sun?” Both the young and older Ryoma looked up in sync, as if time itself aligned in that moment. 

“Bugs have their own sun, too. But theirs isn’t up in the vast sky—it’s down in the cold, damp earth,” the boy said, pointing at the worms tunneling deeper. “Ryoma, darkness is their sunlight!” 

Darkness is sunlight. Aburame Ryoma mulled over the boy’s words, his violet eyes growing brighter, mirroring the innocence of his childhood self. 

Before he could dwell further, the memory shattered. Light and shadow flickered wildly, fragments of the past dissolving. 

The scene froze as a young Aburame Ryoma stood and grew taller, the image locking in place. 

Thud! 

Ryoma stared blankly ahead. 

A dark, quiet basement. A flickering candle cast light on a man’s stern face, his eyes glinting with orange firelight, as if wrestling with a difficult decision. 

“What’s wrong?” Ryoma’s voice came unbidden, signaling he’d slipped into another memory. 

The man’s expression softened at Ryoma’s arrival. “Hiruzen wants me to form another organization to help him manage the village.” 

“Isn’t the Anbu enough?” Ryoma asked, baffled by the Third Hokage’s thinking. 

“You don’t get it,” the man said, shaking his head, his gaze fixed on the darkness ahead. “The Anbu are Tobirama-sensei’s old guard and members of the clans. Hiruzen has no faction of his own, and his strength and achievements don’t command enough respect. Right now, only the two of us working together can keep the clans in check.” 

“So he wants me to create an Anbu within the Anbu—a shadow within the shadow—to eliminate anything threatening the village’s stability.” 

“Politics isn’t my thing,” Ryoma said, removing his Anbu mask and sliding it across the table toward the man. His purple eyes flickered in the candlelight. “Just tell me what you need.” 

“Straight to the point, huh?” The man grinned, his warmth cutting through the dark room. To the present Ryoma, Danzo’s face felt both familiar and foreign. 

“I’ve decided! The organization will be called Root—the foundation of the Hidden Leaf!” Young Danzo beamed, proud of his naming skills, glancing at Ryoma expectantly. 

“Mm,” Ryoma replied flatly. 

Danzo’s laughter stopped abruptly, his smile fading. “If you join, how about you lead Root as its captain?” 

“Whatever you say,” Ryoma said, his usual indifference making Danzo shake his head in exasperation. 

“Then, as Root’s captain, pick a new codename for yourself.” 

A codename? Ryoma frowned. In all his time with Root, he’d never used one. On missions requiring anonymity, he wore a mask, and everyone just called him Captain. 

“Earthworm,” young Ryoma said without hesitation. 

“No way!” Danzo waved him off, cutting him short. “The captain of Root called Earthworm? Are you trying to scare off recruits? Your real name’s got enough weight. From now on, your codename in Root is ‘Ryoma’!” 

“Same thing,” Ryoma said. 

“How is it the same?!” Danzo exploded, his spiky hair practically bristling. The future Ryoma scratched his head, still unsure why Danzo had gotten so worked up. To him, it was the same. 

Crack! 

The scene froze, spiderweb cracks spreading across it. The old memory shattered, giving way to a new one. 

Unfazed, Ryoma stood still, waiting as light and shadow shifted. 

Soon, the light grew bright. Overhead, harsh fluorescent lamps stung his eyes. A cold breeze carried the sharp smell of disinfectant. 

“Lord Ryoma, excuse me,” a voice said. 

Ryoma snapped back, stepping aside. A nurse pushing a cart of clinking medicine bottles passed by, nodding before hurrying toward a ward. 

His body moved on instinct, following her. 

Click. 

The door opened, and they entered the room. 

A shirtless man lay on a hospital bed, his bloodied chest heaving weakly. A frail, monkey-like Chihaya Tō, drenched in sweat, pressed glowing green hands to the wound, pouring Yang chakra into it. 

Nearby, Danzo sat with a grim expression, silently watching his unconscious friend. 

“Who is he?” the past Ryoma asked for him. 

“He’s Uchiha Kagami, my closest friend,” Danzo said, hands clasped under his chin, eyes dull with grief. 

The Second Hokage’s disciple? The spectral Ryoma stared at the blood-streaked Uchiha Kagami, shocked. Who could’ve done this to him? 

His past self answered the question. Ryoma pulled out a report: “Uchiha Kōshi, male, elite jōnin, skilled in kenjutsu. His father was Uchiha Setsuna, former leader of the Uchiha’s hawk faction. After Setsuna’s failed rebellion was uncovered by the Second Hokage, he was imprisoned. Since then, Kōshi has harbored hatred for the village, often stirring tensions between the Uchiha and Konoha. Recently, he’s been spotted near the prison, intentions unclear.” 

Danzo’s eyes burned with murderous intent. “Those ungrateful curs. Back then, it was Kagami who uncovered Setsuna’s plot. Tobirama-sensei showed mercy, sparing him, and this is how they repay us? By attacking Kagami?” 

“We have no proof, and he’s an Uchiha. Technically, it’s their clan’s internal matter. We can’t just arrest him,” Ryoma said. 

“They don’t deserve to share Kagami’s name. Root doesn’t need proof,” Danzo replied, standing slowly, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Kagami’s fading breath. 

Chihaya Tō sweated profusely, but the pierced heart was beyond healing. Blood dripped down the bed, the green glow dimming. 

“Gather the team. I want him dead,” Danzo growled, his voice thick with vengeance. Young Ryoma bowed his head, saying no more. 

That night, thunder roared, and rain poured in sheets. 

Aburame Ryoma and a dozen masked Root ninja formed a semicircle, the spectral and real Ryoma merging. Danzo stood at the center, slamming Uchiha Kōshi’s head into the ground, beating him to a bloody pulp. 

A woman, soaked and trembling, clutched two crying children, kneeling in the mud. 

“You said you had nothing to do with it, right? Speak! Where were you that day?” Danzo roared, his fury drowning out the storm. 

Kōshi’s once-handsome face was caved in, blood and mud mixing into a grotesque mask. “Uchiha Kagami… betrayed the clan… a lapdog of Konoha… he deserved to die!” he spat, teeth missing, voice slurred but defiant. 

“Good! You admit it!” Danzo nodded, his killing intent surging. “For murdering a comrade, I sentence you to death!” 

“You have no right—argh!” Kōshi’s scream cut off as Danzo’s fingers gouged out his Sharingan, gripping his skull like a claw and lifting him off the ground. Kōshi writhed in agony. 

“I deal with scum like you. Understand?” Danzo snarled, flinging Kōshi into a puddle, blood and mud spreading. 

“Kill them,” Danzo ordered coldly. 

A kunai pierced Kōshi’s chest, silencing him. The woman’s infants wailed louder, her lips purple with fear, too terrified to beg, tears streaming as she bowed her head. 

The Root members exchanged glances, hands gripping kunai but hesitating. Kōshi was guilty, but his wife and children were innocent. Killing them went against Konoha’s principles. 

Swish! Swish! Swish! 

Three shuriken sliced through the rain, striking the throats of the woman and her children. Their cries stopped, blood pooling under the downpour. The Root members froze, stunned. 

Danzo lowered his hand, hiding it behind his back, his piercing gaze cutting through the group. “Tobirama-sensei’s mercy spared Setsuna’s child, and it cost Kagami his life. I won’t make that mistake again. Root exists for one purpose: to ensure Konoha’s stability, no matter the cost. I know this is hard for you, so I’ll bear it all. From now on, you are merely my blades. The sins fall on me, the one who wields you. Only I, Shimura Danzo, will face damnation. Understood?” 

His commanding presence silenced doubts, the Root members’ eyes hardening. “Yes, Leader!” 

“Now, raise your blades and carry out my orders!” 

“Yes!” they roared. 

Thunder flashed as the Root ninja plunged their kunai into the lifeless bodies, blood staining the puddle red. 

Danzo turned, walking away, his clenched fists trembling behind his back. 

Ignoring the mutilated corpses, Ryoma stepped behind Danzo, shielding his shaking hands with his body. Neither spoke, walking silently through the rain. 

“Ryoma.” 

“I’m here.” 

“You’re the only one I trust.” 

“My honor.” 

Their low voices echoed in the storm. 

“If…” Danzo began. 

“If what?” 

“If one day I’m consumed by darkness, unable to return,” Danzo stopped, turning to Ryoma, his eyes resolute. “You must kill me.” 

Lightning illuminated their faces. For once, Ryoma didn’t respond to the man who was his sun. 

“That’s an order!” Danzo pressed. 

“…Yes,” Ryoma rasped, teeth clenched, head bowed in silence. 

Thunder froze the scene, raindrops suspended like pearls. The world spun, darkness swallowing Ryoma. 

Splash! 

Ice-cold water crashed over him, jolting him awake. A whip cracked, its barbed tip tearing into his chest, the hooks ripping flesh as it pulled away, burning like fire. 

“Hiss!” Ryoma gasped, pain searing through him. 

Before he could react, a rough hand grabbed his wet hair, forcing his head up. He faced a grim cell, bound to a stone pillar, surrounded by knives, needles, and branding irons. 

A red-clad Iwa ninja glared at him, one hand gripping his hair, the other pressing a cold dagger to his cheek. “I ask, you answer. Saves us both trouble. Got it?” 

“I don’t know anything—argh!” Ryoma screamed as the blade dug into his face, the ninja twisting it, carving out a chunk of flesh. 

“What’s your organization? Who’s your leader? The Wind Release ninja who blew up our armory—what’s his name, and where’d he go?” the ninja demanded. 

Ryoma panted, trying to dull the agony. “I… I don’t remember!” 

Speaking with the dagger in his cheek sent waves of pain through him. The blade was yanked out, blood and white insect eggs clinging to it. 

“Don’t remember? No problem. We’ve got plenty of time to play,” the Iwa ninja sneered, tossing the dagger into a basin and picking up a steel needle, pressing it against Ryoma’s fingernail. 

Ryoma trembled. “Just call me when you remember,” the ninja said with a cruel grin, snapping Ryoma’s finger and driving the needle under the nail. 

Ryoma’s scream echoed, his body thrashing against the restraints, but his chakra was sealed, useless. He bit down, refusing to speak. 

What followed was a nightmare—waterboarding, whipping, cutting, electric shocks. Darkness consumed him, pain the only reality, stripping away time, space, and meaning. Only one thought remained: I can’t betray Danzo. 

Boom! 

The bloodstained door shattered, white light flooding in. Dust swirled as Ryoma, caged and broken, squinted toward the figure stumbling inside—a man with a charred arm, a bloodied eye socket, and a cloak soaked in blood. 

“Ryoma, I’m here,” the man said. 

“I… I don’t know,” Ryoma muttered, eyes wide with fear, body shaking. “I don’t know, I really don’t know…” 

“You don’t recognize me?” The man stared at the mangled figure, a tear tracing down his remaining eye. 

“I don’t know,” Ryoma repeated, like a broken record, even his reason for enduring forgotten. 

“It’s okay,” the man said softly. 

A gust of wind shattered the cage. The man’s charred hand gently stroked Ryoma’s bloodied hair, his scarred face breaking into a warm, sunlit smile, just like their first meeting. 

“Let’s start over. I’m Shimura Danzo. And you?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“I know. You’re Aburame Ryoma!” Danzo said firmly. 

“Aburame… Ryoma…” Ryoma whispered, lifting his head to the faintly lit figure. 

A lowly bug, unable to reach the sun, had found its light in that moment. 

The figure faded. Bloodstains on the ground turned to dark reflections, a scarlet moon rising. Tears in his eyes, Ryoma faced the void. 

I remember! 

Everything! 

Danzo! 

Chapter 143: Shadow 

The wind howled fiercer, and the rain poured harder. 

A boundless curtain of water shrouded the murky sky, making it impossible to tell east from west. The water level rose steadily underfoot, even filling the massive mine behind them. 

Buzz buzz! 

Insects swarmed chaotically in the sky, their wings clashing with raindrops. Banxiong and his two companions stood tense, muscles taut, behind Shino Aburame’s cousin, Ryoma, locked in a standoff with Itachi Uchiha. 

No one noticed. 

For a split second, both men froze, only to swiftly return to normal. 

Raindrops clung to Ryoma’s pitch-black sunglasses as he tilted his head skyward, letting the rain wash over his face. His fingers lightly traced the purple mark on his right cheek, feeling the wrinkled scar beneath. 

Itachi’s crimson eyes fixed on Ryoma, his gaze heavy with unspoken complexity. 

So, it was all the Uchiha’s bitter harvest. 

Pride from strength led to arrogance. Arrogance bred isolation. Isolation sparked rebellion. Yet, lacking true strength, the rebellion failed. 

The bloodshed and sacrifice fueled hatred from those who opposed them. 

Boundless love amplified that hatred, dragging the proud Uchiha—and Danzo—into the abyss. 

Danzo, the man who despised the Uchiha most, was ironically the one who resembled them the most. 

Recalling the pact made with Ryoma in the Tsukuyomi space, Itachi’s hand, hidden in his sleeve, clenched into a fist. He remained silent. 

Boom! 

A deafening roar echoed from afar, louder than the sky’s thunder. A terrifying explosion and surging chakra fluctuations snapped everyone’s attention from the tense standoff. 

Seeing Itachi showed no intent to strike, Choji’s cousin, Torune, swiftly formed hand signs. Ripples of chakra probed toward the fierce battle raging to the left. 

The sky churned with dark clouds. Torrential rain, drawn by chakra, morphed into two rows of jagged teeth. 

A ferocious shark-shaped Water Release technique spread its fins, rearing defiantly. Orochimaru, hands forming an inverted triangle, manipulated an Earth Dragon Bullet, clashing and tearing at the shark. 

Hikari, Orochimaru’s guard, stood before him, eyes lowered, observing the clash between two Kage-level shinobi. 

The more she watched, the more she felt the vast chasm between herself and true powerhouses—a gap rooted in chakra reserves. 

It was common knowledge. 

Chakra flowed constantly in the human body, a dynamic balance of mind, body, and spirit. 

The greater the chakra reserves, the healthier and younger the chakra core, and the faster chakra recovered. 

Barring natural recovery or chakra pills, a ninja’s everyday chakra was about a third of their combat state. In a life-or-death struggle, pushing mental limits to drain the body could yield five times their normal chakra. 

Thus, the ninja world marked three to five times chakra as a threshold. 

Each rank above another multiplied chakra reserves by three to five. The chakra of an average ninja academy student— a typical 12-year-old human—was considered Genin-level. 

Generally, three times a Genin’s chakra made an average Chunin. Five times marked an elite Chunin. Even some special Jonin capped at this level. 

The pattern held upward. 

Three times an elite Chunin’s chakra made an average Jonin. Five times reached elite Jonin. 

Thus, an elite Jonin in peak combat could wield at least 125 times the chakra of an average Genin in normal state. 

Tripling or quintupling that marked a baseline Kage-level shinobi. 

But that was the bare minimum. 

At Kage-level, shinobi entered inhuman territory, capable of facing an entire ninja village alone or swaying a war’s outcome. 

Chakra reserves varied wildly among individuals. 

Naruto, with most of his chakra sealing the Nine-Tails, had roughly three times Hikari’s reserves. Unsealed, it could reach a hundredfold. 

Excluding recovery or Nine-Tails’ power, Naruto’s peak chakra outburst was 12,500 times a Genin’s. 

This wasn’t unique among Kage-level shinobi. Take the man before them. 

A terrifying blue aura flickered faintly. 

The soul-shaking chakra pulses warped the rain itself. 

The monster dubbed the Tailed Beast Without a Tail held chakra roughly three-fifths of six-year-old Naruto’s, without needing to suppress a Tailed Beast, wielding it freely. 

He could effortlessly create lakes or summon hundred-meter tsunamis. 

In ancient times, he’d be a god of myth. 

Orochimaru’s chakra wasn’t far behind. 

Through body modification and life-force-enhancing forbidden techniques, his reserves reached ten to twenty times an elite Jonin’s. Hikari estimated that in his Eight-Headed Serpent form, Orochimaru’s chakra rivaled Kisame Hoshigaki’s. 

Their ninjutsu clashed relentlessly. 

Each chakra burst outstripped the total reserves of Hikari’s clone. 

Boom! 

The Earth Dragon collided with the shark for the umpteenth time. 

With the rainy environment and Kisame’s obscene chakra, each clash eroded Orochimaru’s dragon, shedding clumps of mud. 

Sweat beaded on Kisame’s brow. Nearly a quarter of his chakra was spent, his core pulsing wildly to sustain his ninjutsu. 

“How long are you gonna stand there watching?” 

Orochimaru’s raspy, magnetic voice carried a hint of irritation. 

“I’m looking for an opening. Don’t rush me.” 

Hikari’s Byakugan scanned Orochimaru, noting his reserves and unplayed trump cards—Eight-Headed Serpent and Edo Tensei. She calmly eyed the distant, sun-like chakra source. 

Thanks to the rain, Kisame’s chakra barely dwindled. Even the chakra spent on his initial Great Waterfall Technique had mostly recovered. 

Even together, she and Orochimaru couldn’t outlast Kisame’s ninjutsu. 

Genjutsu was useless; Kisame’s Samehada disrupted chakra effortlessly. 

Close combat was worse. Samehada’s chakra, devouring her Tailed Beast cloak or Lightning Armor, would shatter her shadow clone instantly. 

What a nightmare. 

This was what the Third Hokage meant by an elite Jonin taken further. 

Kisame wasn’t unique—every Kage was a shadow, a monster, overcoming their flaws. They weren’t perfect all-rounders but had no glaring weaknesses. 

Only by shoring up weaknesses could one face thousands. Hikari, used to exploiting others’ flaws, now tasted being countered. 

“If you don’t hurry, your teammates are gonna get wiped out.” 

Orochimaru’s golden slit pupils glared at the dawdling Hikari. Gritting his teeth, he drew more chakra, holding off Kisame’s assault. 

Ryoma couldn’t stall Itachi forever. One-on-one was already strained already. If Itachi joined, they’d be doomed. 

To secure the Six Paths artifact, they had to kill this chakra juggernaut before Itachi finished Ryoma, creating a many-on-one advantage to repel Itachi. 

“We can’t outmatch ninjutsu. Let’s fight dirty with taijutsu to create a chance.” 

Orochimaru’s tongue flicked, his icy gaze locking onto Kisame, the giant wielding his blade. 

“He’s one of the Mist’s Seven Swordsmen. His taijutsu isn’t weak, and I know that blade—it devours chakra. One hit, and it’ll drain us dry.” 

“We can’t afford a single mistake, or our chakra’s gone,” Hikari eyed Kisame’s hair, relaying intel to Orochimaru. 

Intel was their only edge. 

Orochimaru nodded slowly, grasping why Hikari avoided close quarters. 

“So what chance are you waiting for?” for?” 

“No clue.” 

Hikari shook her head. 

They were the ones losing, the ones who should be desperate. 

Yet Kisame’s emotional aura—grew brighter, more frantic. Pinkish-red emotions swirled with blue chakra, roiling. 

The Nine-Tails sensed emotions and malice, not thoughts. She couldn’t discern what drove Kisame’s urgency. 

For now, her only option was patience. 

Waiting for the enemy to err, to expose a flaw. 

If itachi never closed in, suppressing with water and guarding with Samehada, they’d have to risk a desperate charge, leaving them worse off. 

Worse, Orochimaru’s untrustworthiness kept her close—If itachi used Reverse Summoning to flee, they’d be screwed. 

“Water Breathing!” 

Kisame’s fingers interlocked, chakra surging into the lake below. A massive chakra-devouring shark formed, jaws wide, lunging at the shark. 

A distant figure slapped the ground. 

Rumble! 

A grand iron gate rose atop the mountain. 

The shark crashed into the beast, absorbing all chakra, but the gate held firm. 

held no chakra, purely physical. The shark shattered it with brute impact but faded. 

The foe seemed to know his tricks. Every chakra-absorbing technique was met with precise physical counters. 

Once or twice, coincidence. More, a pattern. 

Facing the duo calmly trading ninjutsu, Kisame’s anxiety grew. 

Normally, he’d love a war of attrition, but Itachi could reinforce anytime. 

Lord Madara warned him to beware the Uchiha, to conceal the Six Paths artifact. 

As a ninja, the mission was paramount. 

He had to crush the snake before Itachi arrived, preserving the artifact’s secret. 

No more stalling! 

Resolved, Kisame drew Samehada, swiftly unraveling its bandages. 

Whoa! 

Half-unbound, Samehada sprouted spikes, shredding the rest. Stretching, it gaped toward the snake, visibly ravenous and thrilled. 

“Time for a feast!” 

Infected by Samehada’s fervor, Kisame’s mood soared. 

Water Breathing: Water Shark Bullet! 

Raging water swirled, morphing into a shark, encasing Kisame’s body. 

Bang! 

The shark’s tail slapped the lake, splashing wildly. With the thrust, the shark soared, gliding toward the snake. 

“He’s here!” hereKisame! 

Hikari’s Byakugan locked on Kisame inside, alerting the snake to the moment. 

Pummeled for hours, Orochimaru’s fury simmered. 

Seeing it leap, Kisame leap, it leap leaped, he transformed, neck stretching, spitting a gleaming sword-tip at the skyward shark. 

Hikari clasped a water sphere, a stream from the lake fueling it, easing chakra use. Her ninjutsu quickened in this rain. 

This wet field wasn’t just Kisame’s playground. 

Boom!  

The giant shark smashed the rain veil, plummeting, trailing white mist like a gliding fighter jet. 

“How long?” 

Chomping his steel blade, Orochimaru’s speech slurred. 

“Now!” “N!”ow! 

Hikari squinted. 

Wind chakra coated the sphere, forming a dense film. The sphere quaked, its pressure alarming even Orochimaru—this was Hikari’s plan. 

Samehada planned only one strategy. 

Absorb chakra or block—Kisame had one choice. 

If their attacks synced, they could pierce his defense. 

The shark dove. 

Kisame, brandishing Samehada, loomed into view. 

Buzz!  

The sphere  

Water* condensed, boiling visibly under pressure, bubbles flooding it. Hikari’s hands glowed white. The shark’s jaws gaped, Samehada’s spikes bared. 

Raising it, she aimed, the split sphere, her palm like an orchid, slit open like Orochimaru’s slit pupil. 

“Snake!” the snake!” “!” she shouted. 

“Got it!” it! 

Orochimaru’s eyes gleamed, his blade sword, the Kusanagi, surged, its razor tip stabbing skyward at the shark. 

Sizzle!  

Wind sliced rain, a wind-charged water blade, like a laser, joined the Kusanagi, targeting the shark. 

Hikari’s Byakugan pinned Kisame, the laser’s focus: his brow! 

Sword and torrent struck. 

Eyes wide, Kisame, poised to ambush in the tank, raised his starving beast! 

“Hide!” it! 

“Roar!” it! 

The bio-blade it—Samehada—gaped. Kisame stepped on water, arms swelling with monstrous strength, slashing the blade at the torrent, the blade, below.