Chapter 161 - Wilderness Survival Master - Maruboshi Kosuke (5)
Golden fists filled the sky, pummeling Darui from one end of the sky to the other, spiraling endlessly in a storm of brutal strikes.
The seething rage in Darui's heart toward Jiriku quickly transformed into sheer terror in the face of death.
From the very first day he became a ninja, Darui had imagined that one day, he would die in battle.
It was a ninja's fate. Even legends like Uchiha Madara and the Third Raikage couldn't escape it.
But when the shadow of death truly loomed over him, Darui finally realized—he was just an ordinary man after all.
Facing death wasn't as easy as he thought.
Death is the great equalizer—but to die like this, being brutalized by the very prey he hunted? That wasn't the kind of death Darui had ever wanted.
But no matter what he thought, his body was still trapped in that hail of golden fists—twisting, contorting, and snapping with every crack of his bones.
Still, the will to survive kept him fighting. In midair, he kept shifting, struggling to break free from Jiriku's Thousand-Hand Strike. He refused to be beaten to death like this.
"Ahhh!! Crack!"
Suspended in the air, Darui let out a painful roar. With his uninjured left hand, he forcibly straightened his broken right arm, gritting through the pain as he used one hand to grab the other and form a hand seal.
Shadow Clone Jutsu!!!
Poof!
A puff of smoke—suddenly, the single Darui became three.
But even as three, they couldn't escape the range of Jiriku's Thousand-Hand Strike.
The golden fists, like cannonballs, rained down mercilessly on the three Daruis.
Boom! One gone.
Boom! Two gone.
Boom! Three gone.
...Three?
Jiriku's fists briefly paused—why were all three clones?
Even he hadn't expected that all of them were fakes.
If those were all clones, where was the real Darui?
A surge of humiliation and fury flooded Jiriku's chest. A mere Genin had slipped through his Thousand-Hand Strike?
To Jiriku, this was a direct slap in the face.
Failing to beat top-tier powerhouses like Kazane was one thing—but now even a lowly Genin had slipped through his fingers?
That humiliation was etched deep into his petty heart.
Jiriku swore to himself: he would wash away this disgrace with Darui's blood.
Still, he didn't lose his cool and start searching the whole island just yet. There were still those weakened Sand ninja left to deal with.
He'd finish off the stragglers first—then slowly hunt down Darui.
It wasn't like the kid could go far on this tiny island anyway.
With that thought, Jiriku mimicked Orochimaru, licking his glossy lips with his short, fat tongue.
"Hehehe! Heh! Heh! Hehehe!!!"
The six Konoha ninja rubbed their hands together, cackling as they approached the weakened Sand ninja.
What came next was... not for kids.
---
On the Ship
"Hmm~ o(￣▽￣)o"
Kazane retracted his Observation Haki from the island, stretching his back with a satisfied yawn.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
At that moment, the dark clouds hanging over the island began to weep—soft raindrops falling as though mourning the fate of the ninja from the four great villages.
The small patrol boat circling the island wasn't spared either. Rain dotted the deck, and Kazane, lounging leisurely on his chair, felt the cool drops splash on him too.
"Sigh... Rain again."
He extended a hand, catching a few drops and sighing at their chill.
The wind began to howl more wildly, inflating the sails and creaking the mast. The entire observation vessel rocked under the chaotic gusts.
Even Kazane's table, holding his wine glass, shook violently with the movement.
Seeing the worsening weather, a Mist Jōnin barked orders at the crew (mostly Genin): "Lower the sails—now!"
The sailors scrambled toward the rigging—but before they could act, a massive streak of black tore through the sky from the ship.
Whoosh!
In an instant, the howling wind vanished.
Even the oppressive clouds were obliterated by that single black slash.
Sunlight returned lazily, slanting over the sailboat like nothing had happened.
A vibrant rainbow rose on the distant horizon. Truly a picture of tranquility after the storm.
Except—today's rain had come too fast, and fallen too little.
The Mist ninja were stunned. Who could shatter storm clouds and halt the wind with one strike? Was that even human?
They turned to Kazane, lounging under the sun, their eyes filled with awe—like witnessing a god from myth.
"So this is the strongest in the shinobi world... His power really is divine."
But Kazane, basking in the sun, couldn't care less about their thoughts.
He simply didn't want the rain to ruin his good mood.
Sheathing his Wado Ichimonji, Kazane reclined into his chair, lifted his wine glass, and gestured toward a Mist ninja nearby.
As if to say, Kid, time to refill the juice.
The Mist ninja, still dazed by the earlier spectacle, didn't catch the hint until Kazane tapped the glass against the table.
Startled, he quickly fumbled to pour the juice.
This show of force cowed the inexperienced Mist ninja—but it did nothing to impress the seasoned Kage.
Looking at the cleared sky, Ōnoki's face darkened.
Angrily, he stood and marched over to Kazane.
"Hatake Kazane! You're interfering with the exam!"
"The seven-day survival on the island must include weather challenges. You stopped the rain. How are we supposed to test the Genin's endurance now?"
Though the other Kage didn't speak, their eyes bore into Kazane with similar disapproval.
But Kazane didn't even look at Ōnoki.
He just stretched his wrist, sipped his juice, and said—half to Ōnoki, half to everyone:
"Rules?"
"I am the rules here. If you're not happy, try to beat me."
"So? You gonna challenge the rules?"
The arrogance in his words infuriated everyone present.
Ōnoki, trembling with rage, began charging his Dust Release—his hand glowing with white light.
He was ready for a fight.
But... no one stopped him.
Tch.
After a moment of hesitation, Ōnoki coldly snorted and canceled the jutsu, stomping into the ship's cabin.
Hmph!
No way was he going to be the first to make a move. He was too old for this crap. Let the youngsters handle it.
Rasa and the others had hoped Ōnoki would fight Kazane—maybe even take each other out.
Ōnoki, after all, was still acknowledged as one of the few capable of challenging Kazane, especially with his Dust Release.
But seeing him back down without even a word... was disappointing.
They could only quietly disperse, helpless.
---
On the Island
Pfft! Pfft!
At the edge of a quiet, shimmering stream, two figures dragged themselves ashore, coughing and spitting up the water they had nearly drowned in. The sun filtered through the treetops, two handsome mermen, each warily eyeing the other.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, one of them let out a low, raspy chuckle that quickly erupted into laughter.
"Ha! Darui... Oh, Darui," he wheezed, his voice deep and harsh like gravel sliding across steel. "Even someone like you has days like this?"
The man's shark-like grin revealed who he truly was—none other than the so-called dead Demon of the Mist, Momochi Zabuza.
Darui's eyes narrowed. Of course it had to be him.
Zabuza's posture was relaxed, almost casual, but Darui knew better than to let his guard down. This was a man forged in blood and betrayal—the Mist's brutal training system left no room for weakness. In that hellish crucible, your enemies were not just outsiders—they were your teammates, your friends, your own reflection in the water. Trust was a luxury no shinobi of the Mist could afford.
Zabuza had learned that lesson well.
When he first sensed that Darui might be on par with him, his desire to fight had faded. He wasn't some hot-blooded fool chasing pointless battles. A true assassin understood survival was the only victory that mattered.
And on this remote, deserted island—far from the watchful eyes—the fewer competitors left breathing, the better your odds of staying alive.
So when Darui had summoned that massive wall of water, creating an entire lake in the process, Zabuza had already made his decision. Retreat.
But assassins didn't just run. They disappeared.
Darui had launched his Lightning Release, and Zabuza had played his part perfectly—pretending to die in a violent display of sparks and water. A believable demise, and the perfect cover for his escape.
What he hadn't expected... was to run into Darui again so soon.
And now, seeing Darui crawling onto shore with one arm mangled and his leg twisted unnaturally, Zabuza's cold instincts stirred.
Now was the time to strike.
Darui froze.
He had his suspicions from the start—that Zabuza wouldn't fall to something as basic as a Water Wall and a flash of lightning. But reality hitting him now, in this pathetic state, was almost cruel.
Escaping from Jiriku's monstrous jaws only to walk straight into Zabuza's?
What kind of twisted luck was this?
His breath came shallow and uneven, pain gnawing at every nerve. He knew he didn't stand a chance in a fair fight—not like this.
But Darui was no coward.
If he hadn't bowed to Jiriku, he sure as hell wasn't going to crawl for Zabuza.
Black lightning flickered across his fingers, sparking in the wet air like a promise of defiance. His eyes sharpened, refusing to waver.
If it's a fight to the death you want, I'll give you one.
Zabuza's smirk widened. There it was—that fire, that flicker of resistance. He loved it.
Psychological warfare was his art form.
He took a slow step forward, raising his voice just enough to echo ominously through the trees.
"Don't resist," he said, almost tenderly.
"I'll make it quick... you won't feel a thing."
Zap! Zap!
Crackling arcs of black lightning tore through the air as Darui lunged forward, forcing Zabuza to leap back instinctively. He wasn't fool enough to let that terrifying Storm Release touch his skin.
Zabuza's grin vanished.
He reached behind his back and drew his massive blade with one fluid motion, its edge gleaming with bloodlust. His voice rose into a roar:
"You're asking for it now!"
Still, he didn't lose his head. Darui's Kekkei Genkai was no joke—Storm Release combined lightning and water into something deadly and unpredictable. Even a single misstep could mean death.
Zabuza narrowed his eyes, then formed a series of rapid hand seals.
"Hidden Mist Jutsu!"
The wind shifted.
A heavy fog began to roll across the stream, thick and unnatural, swallowing the light. Trees disappeared into the whiteness, and the landscape transformed into a ghostly dreamscape of shadows and whispers.
Darui crouched low, trying to steady his breathing as the mist closed in.
His injuries throbbed, but his mind raced faster. This was bad.
Zabuza's Silent Killing Technique...
It wasn't just an ambush tactic—it was psychological warfare distilled into pure dread.
Zabuza didn't need to see you. He needed you to feel him—looming behind you, breathing down your neck, whispering in your ear before the blade carved you open.
And Darui... Darui was wide open.
From somewhere deep within the mist, a mocking growl echoed through the fog.
"Tch. Kept you waiting, huh?"
"You're trembling, Darui."
"So pitiful…"
Darui said nothing. He stood his ground, black lightning flickering silently in his palms. Every muscle was coiled, every breath measured.
He didn't know where Zabuza was—but he knew he was close.
Closer than the mist would ever reveal.
"Come on then," he thought grimly. "Let's see who breaks first."