"Nawaki-senpai!"
Mikoto's scream pierced through the rain. She had just poured all her chakra into the Flying Thunder God seal on the back of her neck, but the scene before her made her heart sink instantly.
Nawaki had collapsed into the mud. A deep, bone-exposing wound from a poisoned scythe stretched from his left shoulder across his chest. His remaining right arm barely held him up. His breathing was ragged like a broken bellows, voice hoarse and weak. His face was pale, his eyes unfocused.
"P-protect... Mikoto..." His lips trembled as he forced the words out, eyes struggling to focus on her. As his consciousness faded, he tried to give her a reassuring look, a silent "Don't be afraid", but his mud- and blood-covered face couldn't form anything but pain. His eyelids shut. His body collapsed.
"Nawaki-senpai!!!"
Mikoto felt like her soul had been set on fire. The grief, guilt, and hatred exploded, washing away all reason. Her scarlet Sharingan spun wildly, locking onto the puppet lunging at her again, its face painted with purple markings.
It was them.
Her overwhelming emotions tore past her mental barriers. The two-tomoe Sharingan in her eyes erupted with light. One tomoe... two... three. All three black tomoe manifested clearly, spinning rapidly. A surge of powerful ocular force burst forth.
In the despair of Nawaki's sacrifice, Mikoto's Mangekyō Sharingan awakened.
"Die!" she roared. With the clarity granted by her eyes, the puppet's movements became completely traceable. Her hands flashed through seals.
A volley of chakra-condensed fireballs shot forward like cannon shells toward the chainsaw-wielding puppet.
Boom. Boom.
The fireballs exploded on impact, disintegrating the puppet's outer frame and melting internal components.
But from her right side, another puppet's poisoned scythe curved viciously toward her waist. At the same time, another puppet lunged from the front, its poisoned dagger stabbing straight for her heart.
Her Sharingan saw both clearly, but the numbing pain from her side slowed her reaction. She barely twisted her body to evade.
Slash.
The scythe grazed her ribs, carving an even deeper, longer wound. The burning pain was instantly replaced by the icy numbness of spreading poison.
"Ngh!" Mikoto grunted, her body stumbling back.
In that instant, the puppet's poisoned blade was less than half a foot from her chest. The purple-black venom glistened with a deadly sheen. She could see the path of the attack, but her body wouldn't move.
Was it over...
As the shadow of death closed in, her mind flashed with two familiar faces.
"Ryo... Kushina... Goodbye..." The silent farewell echoed in her heart.
Darkness crept in. With her final chakra, she reached for the explosive tags on her body, ready to detonate and die with her enemies.
However—
Just as the scythe's tip brushed her clothes, a dark red figure tore through the scene like a demon from a painting.
A pitch-black Kusanagi blade. Soaked red hair clinging to a face as cold as frost, and those eyes... ice-silver, burning with rage that could engulf the heavens.
Ryo had arrived.
His eyes pierced through the rain and smoke, locking only on the girl standing in the storm, wounded and crying, eyes wide with panic and disbelief.
Mikoto was alive.
That confirmation eased a fraction of the pressure crushing his heart.
But—
His gaze immediately dropped to the gaping, venomous wound on her side. Then to the barely breathing Nawaki in the mud. Around them, three puppet attacks were still inches from striking.
Boom.
A wave of killing intent, even stronger and more violent than before, erupted from Ryo like a long-suppressed volcano. The battlefield's temperature plummeted.
Ryo didn't even turn fully. With a casual flick of his wrist, a silver-white slash, fine as a hair and sharp enough to scar space, swept out in a wide arc, moving faster than the eye could follow.
Slice. Shhk. Crack. Boom.
Everything was cut.
The puppet in front of Mikoto was reduced to ash. The one on the right had its scythe and arm severed instantly. The one on the left, hiding behind a half-collapsed wall, was sliced in half along with the wall itself. The slash continued to carve through the air, sweeping a full circle around Mikoto.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
All the Suna shinobi hiding under debris, wagons, or shadows of tents—those mid-seal or about to throw kunai, faces twisted in bloodlust—were frozen mid-move.
The next moment, their bodies were cleanly sliced in half or exploded where they stood. Blood and entrails splashed into the mud. Screams were short, snuffed out by the rain and the shriek of sword wind.
One strike.
Every threat around Mikoto—puppet or shinobi—was erased as if wiped away by a rubber.
In a radius of dozens of meters, only shattered puppets, broken weapons, and scorched earth remained.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
That terrifying, inhuman strike stunned even the surviving Konoha shinobi nearby. Their bodies locked up, minds blank, expressions a mixture of horror and disbelief. Even their souls trembled.
Mikoto stood frozen, still in a guarding pose. Tears and rain streamed down her cheeks. All her grief, her relief, and the overwhelming sense of safety hit her at once. Her composure collapsed.
But Ryo's fury hadn't cooled.
His gaze dropped again to the poisoned wound on Mikoto's side. Then to Nawaki's unconscious, equally poisoned body in the mud. Finally, his eyes turned to the battlefield, filled with enemies and killing intent.
Boom.
An even more terrifying wave of Conqueror's Haki erupted from Ryo, more violent than ever. This time, it spread out with surgical precision, bypassing Mikoto and Nawaki, engulfing the entire Konoha camp.
Ultimate Conqueror's Haki, born from wrath.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
It was like every soul was struck by an invisible hammer. Throughout the camp, shinobi dropped like wheat being harvested.
Every ninja not strong enough, whether Suna attackers or Konoha defenders—Genin, Chūnin, and even weaker Jōnin—froze mid-move. Their expressions shattered, leaving only vacant eyes.
In the next instant, they all collapsed into the mud like puppets with their strings cut. Weapons clattered beside them. Suna and Konoha alike, hundreds of shinobi lost consciousness instantly, their souls shattered by the pressure.
Thud. In the distance, a Suna elite Jōnin controlling puppets clutched his head, eyes rolling back, collapsing in place.
Only the strongest of the elite Jōnin on both sides remained standing. Their faces turned pale, veins bulging at the temples. Their bodies felt like mountains were pressing down on them, making movement almost impossible. Their eyes filled with shock and disbelief. What kind of monstrous willpower was this?
At the battlefield's edge, Chiyo, was leading a powerful puppet assault. Her opponent was none other than Danzō,.
Chiyo's weathered face was filled with focus and killing intent. Her chakra threads cut through the rain like razors, each puppet strike deadly. The elite Suna shinobi supporting her were pushing Konoha's forces to the brink. Victory seemed close.
But as she dodged another Wind Release from Danzō and countered with a puppet assault, an invisible tsunami of killing intent suddenly swept over the battlefield.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
It felt like her soul was struck with hammers. Chiyo stared in horror as hundreds of shinobi around her, Suna and Konoha alike, dropped like wheat. Genin, Chūnin, even weaker Jōnin froze, faces blank, eyes rolling back as they collapsed into the mud. The brutal clash was instantly replaced by silence.
"What?!" Chiyo's mind reeled. The dizziness made her stagger. Her puppets faltered. Only her Kage-level strength allowed her to resist the pressure without fainting, but the shock and confusion in her heart raged like a storm.
She had no idea what was happening. What kind of power was this? An attack that ignored ally or enemy alike? This was beyond her comprehension. As she looked around at the fallen shinobi on both sides, her thoughts fell into chaos and uncertainty. Her sharp gaze scanned the rain, desperately searching for the source of this force, but all she saw was eerie silence and a few still-standing individuals.
"Cough." Danzō wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. The bandage over his freshly wounded right eye was soaked with blood. Pain throbbed constantly. His left arm had also taken a deep wound, now burning in the cold rain. He had paid the price under Chiyo's brutal puppet assault.
Her strength was beyond expectations. The battle had been grueling. Just as he was about to unleash his secret technique, the overwhelming wave of pressure struck.
"Ugh." Danzō groaned, feeling like his skull had been split open. His vision dimmed, and his body staggered. He clutched his right eye, now useless, and terror surged within him.
That power... that suffocating pressure... that sensation...
He remembered.
The report from Konoha, the one about Ryo's first loss of control, where he knocked out half the village and countless shinobi with a burst of power. Back then, Danzō thought it was just some advanced genjutsu or mental technique. Something worth keeping an eye on.
But now, standing in the middle of it, he realized what those cold words had never captured. This power was something terrifying. Far beyond what words could convey.
It was cold. Violent. Supreme. Like a god looking down on ants, exerting its will directly upon the soul. That so-called "indiscriminate spiritual shock" was not just an ability. It was an extinction-level threat to ordinary shinobi.
Fear coiled around his heart like a venomous snake. But it was soon burned away by something hotter—greed. Such power... if it could be used for Root... no, for Danzō himself...
He endured the pain and shock, his lone eye scanning the field. Finally, it locked onto the origin of the power, cutting through the rain and smoke. His gaze filled with wariness and an irrepressible desire.
He knew who had arrived.
That same power again. Kamiyama Ryo.
Across the camp, within hundreds of meters, only the sound of rain remained. The few elite Jōnin still conscious gasped for air.
And at the center of it all stood Ryo.
His eyes were fixed on the only thing that mattered to him.
That familiar, overwhelming, terrifying will...
It was him.
Ryo.
He had truly come, at her moment of greatest despair.
"Ryo!" Mikoto finally cried out, her voice trembling.
Ryo stepped forward, appearing beside her in a flash.
The fury in his silver eyes was suppressed, replaced with an endless, icy calm and a pain he could barely hide. He looked at the poisoned wound on her side. The venom was spreading.
"Don't be afraid," he said. His voice was cold but firm, full of unshakable power. "I'm here now."
He slowly raised his head. Those burning silver eyes, like a reaper's gaze, swept across the battlefield, locking onto the surviving elite Suna shinobi and the shadows in the distance.
"The Suna shinobi here today..." His voice echoed like a final judgment, cold and absolute, into the ears of every conscious fighter.
"Not a single one will leave alive."
(To be continued.)
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◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.
◇ You can read the ahead chapter on Pat if you're interested: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves (Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)