"Huh!" Shiranami snorted and quickly backed away. He no longer had any intention of fighting Saitama. This Konoha kid was a monster. In such a short time, he had grown significantly stronger. Shiranami knew he was no longer a match for him.
But Saitama wasn't about to let him retreat. His sword slashed again and again, each strike leaving a deep gash. Blood began to pour from Shiranami's side.
"Hiss…" Shiranami narrowed his eyes, as if resigning himself to fate. Gritting his teeth, he charged forward instead of retreating, raising his weapon in a desperate attempt to exchange blows.
"Hmph." Saitama twisted midair, gracefully dodging the attack. As he flipped, his blade came down from above.
Schk!
The blade pierced the back of Shiranami's neck, crackling with lightning as it severed the spinal cord cleanly. With no more resistance, Saitama pulled his blade free as he landed, already scanning the battlefield for his next target.
General-level Shinobi no longer posed a threat to him.
Scenes like this played out all across the battlefield. Sand Shinobi had been besieging the Konoha forces with confidence and momentum, but somewhere along the line, large numbers of Konoha reinforcements had burst in, turning the tide and throwing the Sand ranks into disarray.
However, the Sand Shinobi were seasoned veterans. Though caught off guard at first, their numerical superiority helped them regroup quickly, and the clash continued to escalate in brutality and chaos.
At a distance, the battlefield trembled from another intense duel. The giant serpent Manda roared in pain, his massive body covered in deep wounds as he fended off several elite jonin. But his movements remained swift and precise—it was clear that these injuries hadn't come from them alone.
Elsewhere, Orochimaru and the Fourth Kazekage, Rasa, were locked in fierce combat. Sand torrents clashed with enormous serpents, and rivers of glinting gold dust chased after Orochimaru's elusive figure. Neither held back. The area around them was cleared—no ninja dared interrupt a battle between such monsters.
Meanwhile, Saitama remained focused on his part of the battlefield. The lightning-cloaked blade in his hand had become a death god's scythe, reaping enemy after enemy wherever he moved.
Perhaps it was his relentless momentum that drew attention, for before long, even more Sand shinobi surged toward his location, surrounding and separating the Konoha units.
Clang!
Saitama faced a new opponent—a masked figure wielding a kunai. The pattern painted on his face gave him a mysterious, menacing aura.
"Tch." Saitama slashed downward, sparks flying as his lightning blade struck the sandy ground, scorching a black mark beneath the enemy's feet.
Then—whoosh!—Saitama burst forward, body flickering with chakra-enhanced speed.
"Wind Release: Wind Blade!"
The enemy formed a quick seal. A gust of wind surged forward, slicing the air with near-invisible blades.
Saitama dodged with minimal motion, weaving through the razor wind.
Then—pfft!—a Konoha ninja behind him cried out, struck down by the jutsu.
Saitama's brows furrowed. On the battlefield, danger came from all directions. One couldn't afford to focus solely on the enemy in front of them.
Activating his Sharingan, Saitama locked eyes on the opponent. The tomoe spun rapidly, reading and predicting the man's next move.
Reversing his grip on the sword, he crouched and began circling. His footsteps were unpredictable—his trajectory unreadable.
In a flash, he was at the man's flank.
Shunk!
The blade, charged with lightning, carved cleanly through the enemy's neck. The head fell to the sand.
But Saitama did not let his guard down. Eyes sharpened, he raised his blade and scanned his surroundings.
The nearby area had cleared. Sand ninja were beginning to hesitate.
Only then did Saitama notice something strange—the severed head had no expression of pain. Its mouth was still curled into a mocking smile.
"A puppet…"
The realization hit him too late.
Crack!
The sand beneath his feet gave way. Without hesitation, lightning surged through his legs, and Saitama launched himself out of the trap just before it could close.
Boom! A large hand shot from the ground, grasping empty air.
Zzzzt! Saitama's sword crackled as he brought it down. The puppet's limb shattered under the force.
He landed safely to the side, scarlet eyes scanning again. Another puppet.
"Haha… Not bad." A figure emerged from the sand—a man with only half his body visible, fingers dancing through the air as he manipulated his chakra threads.
"A Suna puppet master," Saitama muttered, sword raised.
"Oho, sharp kid!" came the voice, nasal and cold, like a sewer echo.
Saitama didn't wait for the monologue to finish. He shot forward. His sword stabbed straight at the puppet charging toward him.
The puppet bit down on the blade—only to convulse as Saitama overloaded it with chakra. Lightning burst through its joints and seams.
The puppet burst into smoke.
"Argh!" The puppet master hadn't expected Saitama to use elemental overcharge—he had assumed trapping the blade would weaken Saitama's offense.
Wrong move.
Crack! A powerful kick shattered the remains of the puppet, sending black fragments flying.
Drawing his sword again, Saitama cleanly bisected the puppet's torso. It crumbled.
Whirr! A new puppet zipped into the air—bird-shaped, it hovered just above the sand, flapping wings that stirred the battlefield into a minor sandstorm.
Saitama's Sharingan locked on. He couldn't afford to play defensive against a puppet master.
The bird puppet kept firing its weapons—hidden needles, poisoned senbon, caltrops—but Saitama's blade moved like a blur, deflecting or avoiding most of them.
He knew how dangerous Suna puppeteers could be. Poison was always their ace. One graze could end a battle.
His Sharingan spun furiously, tracking every twitch and chakra signature.
Then, finally, the bird puppet's mouth began to close. Its weapon supply was momentarily exhausted.
"Now."
Saitama leapt, electricity roaring along his limbs.
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