"Open the silver boxes!"
With Master Bunpuku's thunderous command, the Intelligence Division ninja snapped open the cases in their hands, revealing the relics inside.
Each silver box cradled a small, irregular sphere—some crimson as cinnabar, others white as ivory, some black as ink. Under the sunlight, they shimmered with radiant hues, a thousand threads of auspicious light swirling around them.
"Thunder Palace Sanskrit! Universal salvation! Om mani padme hum!"
Master Bunpuku raised his hand to the sky. The treasure umbrella suddenly soared into the air, and the twelve relics floated up from their boxes, trailing after it. As Bunpuku intoned the sacred mantra, the umbrella spun rapidly in midair, the twelve relics orbiting it like planets around a star.
A column of golden light descended, enveloping nearly half of the Abyss prison.
Everyone within felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of peace and clarity, as if a thousand monks were chanting sutras right beside their ears.
"Hm?" Senju Hashirama's brow furrowed. Wisps of white smoke began to curl from his body—his power was being drained, slowly but unmistakably. At this rate, he'd be completely dissipated in thirty or forty days.
"All of you, get outside the golden light—leave him to me!" Master Bunpuku commanded, voice ringing through the chamber.
Chiyo and the others didn't hesitate; they bolted for the edge of the golden light.
Hashirama lunged after them—only to slam into an invisible wall. He couldn't move a step further.
"A barrier!" Hashirama looked up. The faint golden glow formed the shape of an enormous bell, covering an area the size of two football fields. At its center, the old monk sat cross-legged in meditation.
"You! Monk! This is your doing, isn't it?" Hashirama barked, pointing accusingly at Bunpuku.
Master Bunpuku pressed his palms together and bowed. "It is."
Without another word, he formed a rapid string of hand seals and pointed at the Amber Purifying Pot. Golden light wrapped around it, locking it down.
"There. That's secure," Bunpuku said with satisfaction.
Hashirama instantly understood the move—Tobirama wouldn't be getting out, either.
"You—!" Hashirama started to snarl, but Bunpuku bowed again, this time with solemn respect.
"Senju-sama, in life you were Hokage, wise and far-seeing. Surely you know that the living and the dead walk separate paths. Now that you've passed to the Pure Land, why involve yourself in mortal strife?"
Like hell I wanted to come back! Hashirama fumed inwardly. It was those unfilial brats in Konoha who dragged me out here.
Truthfully, he had little desire to meddle in these messy affairs. But Jinghang's ruthless campaigns had been too much for him to accept, and he couldn't stand the thought of seeing the village he built destroyed overnight.
His plan had been simple: defeat Jinghang, force Konoha and Sunagakure to sign a peace treaty, and fulfill his duty as the First Hokage.
But he hadn't counted on Jinghang's cunning, or the fact that he possessed the Sage of Six Paths' legendary tools. In a moment of carelessness, Hashirama had been sucked into the Crimson Gourd.
Even now, his only wish was to end this war and stop the bloodshed.
But he hadn't anticipated a monk like Bunpuku in Sunagakure, someone who seemed determined to send his soul to rest—and with methods tailor-made to counter him. For all his power, he couldn't even shake this barrier.
"Don't think I won't lay a hand on you just because you're a monk! Let me out, or else—"
Hashirama stomped, and the stone slabs beneath his feet cracked and splintered.
But Bunpuku remained unflinching, bowing once more. "If you wish to reason, I am happy to persuade you. If you wish to fight, I am not afraid. In life, you were called the God of Shinobi, your jutsu and tactics unmatched. My own cultivation is shallow, but I am willing to give it my all."
Well, well. Hashirama's eyes narrowed, a flicker of respect surfacing. This monk was neither arrogant nor timid—just calmly resolute. That alone was rare.
Had Sunagakure really grown this formidable? Not only did they have a Kazekage as troublesome as Jinghang, but now a monk this gutsy? He thought back to the Fourth Hokage, Danzo—sinister, cowardly, always scheming. Compared to this, the difference was night and day.
Sigh. Maybe fate really wasn't on Konoha's side anymore.
But admiration was one thing—business was business. Hashirama's expression hardened as he charged straight at Bunpuku.
Bunpuku didn't waste a breath. He dropped into an Arhat Boxing stance, meeting Hashirama blow for blow.
"Quick! Notify Captain Yamashita Tetsu—gather every Intelligence Division jōnin left in the village! Full alert, activate the Puppet Arhat Formation, prepare for defense!" Chiyo barked, her voice crisp and commanding.
She knew the entire Heavenly Dance Treasure Wheel formation depended on Bunpuku. If anything happened to him, the barrier would collapse. With so few elite shinobi left in the village, every precaution counted.
Suddenly, Chiyo added, "Have Pakura bring Kageyan here."
Kageyan—Hashirama's great-grandson. Maybe, just maybe, they could play the family card.
…
On the battlefield, Hashirama's shock only grew as the fight dragged on. This monk's taijutsu was no joke—his Arhat Boxing was fierce and precise, his defenses airtight. Hashirama couldn't find a single opening.
Hashirama clapped his hands together, voice booming: "Wood Release: Flowering Tree World!"
Countless massive trees erupted from the ground, roots intertwining and spreading rapidly, transforming the entire barrier into a miniature forest. On each tree, giant flowers bloomed—spewing clouds of pollen into the air.
"Master Bunpuku, be careful! That pollen is poisonous!" Chiyo shouted, covering her nose and mouth.
"Oh, it's poisonous?" Bunpuku replied calmly, pulling a mask from his robes and slipping it over his face.
Huh? Hashirama was momentarily dumbfounded. He'd meant to knock the monk out and break the barrier (he had no intention of killing him), but he hadn't expected the old monk to be so well prepared.
What Hashirama didn't know was that in Sunagakure, masks were a way of life. The desert's sandstorms made face coverings a daily necessity. Even though Jinghang's reforms had improved things, dust storms still struck from time to time. Silver Sand Pharmaceuticals had developed cheap, effective PM2.5 masks for everyone. It was second nature for villagers to carry one—Bunpuku included.
Looking up, Hashirama saw every Sand shinobi had already donned their masks. Utakata and Zabuza, meanwhile, were already slumped over in deep sleep.
"Take those two to rest," Chiyo instructed the Intelligence ninja.
…
Hashirama's face darkened. He pressed his palms together once more, sage markings blooming across his skin.
"Wood Release: Wood Human Technique!"
A towering giant, shouldering a massive wooden dragon, materialized in the center of the battlefield.
Hashirama wasn't wasting any more time—he was going all out.
Bunpuku gazed up at the Wood Human, his expression grave. "Old friend, looks like it's your turn."
A deep, rumbling voice echoed in his mind. "Old monk, I'm not refusing to help—but I can't beat him."
"Just help me hold him off. I don't need you to win—just buy time."
"Buy time?"
"The longer you last, the more he's drained. The weaker he becomes."
"…Alright then."
Suddenly, Bunpuku threw his head back and let out a long, wild howl—a beast-like roar that shook the entire chamber.
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