No one paid any more attention to the murmurs rippling through the crowd.
Every shinobi standing at the front had their eyes fixed on Aoyama Ryuyun, their breaths caught in their throats, waiting to see what their commander would do.
"Lion's Might."
Ryuyun's voice was low, but the moment the words left his lips, the atmosphere changed completely.
An oppressive pressure, wild and suffocating, rolled across the battlefield. The air itself seemed to ripple around him as his blades — Withered Wood and Sakura-ju — began to glow with a blinding golden light.
Then he moved.
"Extreme Slash Wave!"
The twin blades cut through the air in one smooth motion — and what followed left even seasoned warriors speechless.
A golden arc of sword qi, nearly a hundred meters long, ripped across the battlefield. The very earth split open beneath its path, mountains sheared apart as if made of paper. The shockwave alone sent clouds of dust spiraling high into the air.
The Iwagakure camp, still in the midst of preparation, never stood a chance.
The blinding strike crashed down, flattening the entire ridge where the enemy's main forces had been stationed.
"This…"
The Konoha soldiers could only stare, wide-eyed, as silence swallowed the battlefield.
Even Hatake Kakashi, the son of the famed Konoha's White Fang, stood frozen. He had seen his father's swordsmanship — fast, precise, lethal — but nothing on this scale. Not something that could tear through an army in a single strike.
The golden sword qi slowly dissipated, leaving only devastation behind — and the charred remains of what had once been the Iwagakure command camp.
"Too strong… far too strong!"
"This is the Golden Lion's power?!"
"With a commander like this, how can we lose!?"
The cries of awe spread through the Konoha ranks like wildfire.
Just as Aoyama Ryuyun had expected — empty words could only carry morale so far. True power was what inspired absolute faith.
The shinobi who moments ago had looked uncertain now stood tall, eyes burning with renewed resolve.
Then, from the smoking ruins of the Iwagakure camp — a harsh, aged voice thundered across the battlefield.
"Who dares attack my Iwagakure!"
A small figure rose into the sky, levitating effortlessly above the ruins. His white hair and the stone insignia on his robes left no doubt who he was.
The Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki of Both Scales, master of Dust Release.
Originally, he had been gathering his forces to prepare an all-out offensive against Konoha after learning that both Jiraiya and Minato Namikaze had withdrawn.
But before he could even finish his council meeting, his camp had been annihilated by a single golden strike.
His sharp eyes immediately located the culprit — the calm, golden-haired man standing at the forefront of the Konoha army.
"You brat… who are you!?"
Aoyama Ryuyun calmly returned his swords to their sheaths, meeting Ōnoki's glare without the slightest hesitation.
"Konoha's Commander-in-Chief — Aoyama Ryuyun."
He spoke as though announcing a fact of nature.
"Now, I'll give you this one chance — have your Iwagakure forces retreat several kilometers. Immediately."
"You insolent fool!" Ōnoki spat, trembling with anger.
Retreat? To admit defeat before the battle even began? The very idea was an insult.
Behind him, the survivors of the initial strike gathered — Rōshi, the Four-Tails' Jinchūriki; Han, the Five-Tails' Jinchūriki; and dozens of elite Iwagakure jonin. Their chakra signatures flared in unison, oppressive and furious.
Hyuga Hiashi leaned in, voice low. "Lord Ryuyun… even after your last strike, their numbers still vastly exceed ours…"
Ryuyun raised a hand to silence him without turning his gaze from the enemy.
"I don't want to hear unnecessary nonsense right now."
Hiashi exhaled silently, tightening his grip. Even with their morale high, the odds were daunting — a thousand Konoha shinobi against nearly five thousand Iwagakure troops.
Ōnoki, floating above them, saw their thin ranks and began to laugh.
"Hahaha! Pathetic! Is this all Konoha has left? Barely a thousand men? You'd do better to surrender now!"
His laughter carried mockery and arrogance.
Yes, he had heard of Aoyama Ryuyun — the Golden Lion — but so what? He had once faced Hashirama Senju, the God of Shinobi, and Uchiha Madara, the man who could summon meteors. How could a mere upstart possibly make him flinch?
"You think you can fight Iwagakure with that pitiful number?" Ōnoki sneered.
Ryuyun smiled faintly, placing his hand once more on his sword hilt. "Is that so?"
Ōnoki opened his mouth to retort — and then froze.
His expression twisted. His chakra flared instinctively, as though reacting to an invisible force.
"...What is this…?"
Then came the boom.
Centered around Aoyama Ryuyun, an overwhelming wave of power burst outward — Haoshoku Haki, raw and unrestrained, flooding the battlefield like a tidal wave.
The earth trembled. The air seemed to vibrate with the weight of it.
The sheer pressure forced shinobi to their knees, gasping for air.
The sky itself appeared to warp, as if unable to contain the force of his will.
"Impossible!" Ōnoki gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.
He had fought monsters in his life — but this wasn't chakra. This was something else. A spiritual pressure so absolute it crushed weaker wills into unconsciousness.
One by one, Iwagakure's soldiers collapsed, their bodies seizing as their minds gave out under the weight of Ryuyun's presence.
Those who resisted for a few seconds more soon followed, until the once countless ranks of Iwagakure shinobi fell silent — scattered across the battlefield like toppled leaves.
Within moments, their overwhelming numbers had turned meaningless.
Even the Konoha shinobi, though unaffected, could barely comprehend what they were witnessing.
To defeat an army without a single blow — it was beyond terrifying.
Ōnoki's face hardened.
If this continued, he realized grimly, there would be no battle left to fight.
He clasped his hands together and began forming hand seals.
The ground beneath him cracked as Dust Release chakra began to gather, his eyes blazing.
He could no longer afford to underestimate this man.
The Golden Lion had just declared war — not with words, but with power.
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