Chapter 39 – Brush with Death, Breaking One's Limits
Hearing the voice behind him, cold sweat poured down Taichi's back. He turned slowly—only to see a masked man standing not far away, empty-handed.
A small breath of relief escaped him. The stranger was clearly injured, wounds scattered across his body, his chakra unsteady.
He must have only just survived a battle, forced to flee here in search of his comrades.
Taichi cursed inwardly. What is going on with Konoha? Has the village turned into a sieve?
The one earlier had been—at most—a tokubetsu jōnin. Even so, it had taken Taichi a desperate ambush to bring him down.
But this one? The sheer pressure in his chakra made it obvious. He was a jōnin.
Since when are jōnin so worthless that they can stroll into Konoha to cause havoc?
The only consolation was that this man was badly wounded. Taichi might be able to hold on for a while—at least until reinforcements arrived.
"You mean that fool just now?" Taichi blurted in feigned panic. "My teacher killed him! He's gone to get help—he'll be back any moment. You'd better not come any closer!"
He prayed the lie would buy him time.
The masked man only sneered, then flashed forward, charging straight at him.
Taichi steeled himself and rushed to meet him, blade in hand.
The moment their weapons clashed, Taichi knew something was wrong. The man's strength was overwhelming. He was completely outmatched.
Within two exchanges, a kunai had already cut a shallow wound across his side.
For the first time, Taichi found himself utterly suppressed.
Another hard clash sent him staggering backward, returning to his original position. Retreat wasn't an option—at his feet lay the unconscious girl, the masked man's obvious target. If Taichi abandoned her, she wouldn't survive.
The masked man saw through his hesitation and pressed the attack. Taichi could only grit his teeth and fight back.
Steel clashed with steel, sparks bursting at the riverside. Blood seeped from the webbing of Taichi's hand, his grip straining to hold his short blade.
The masked man's kunai reeked of blood as it hacked downward. Taichi drew on every ounce of strength, flooding his weapon with wind chakra until it screamed with a sharp hum, barely catching the blow that could have split stone in two.
"Annoying brat!" the masked man spat, shifting tactics. His leg whipped out like an iron rod, aiming for Taichi's ribs.
As Taichi twisted away, he caught sight of blood soaking through the man's bandaged flank—a deep piercing wound, no doubt from the pursuers earlier.
A spark lit in his eyes. He deliberately exposed a false opening. The kunai slashed across his shoulder, but in the same instant he flicked three smoke bombs to the ground.
Purple smoke billowed, swallowing them both.
Relying on his sensing ability, Taichi slipped behind his foe, blade stabbing out through the haze.
But the masked man's body twisted with a grotesque, fluid motion—his blade cut only into the man's arm.
Taichi's heart sank. Even in this state, his reflexes were still at full jōnin level.
"Too slow," came the whisper, chillingly close to his ear.
Every hair on Taichi's neck stood on end. He ducked into a desperate roll as a kunai whistled past, shaving strands of black hair from his head.
Scrambling back, he returned to the girl's side, breath ragged.
His body bore fresh wounds, but he had confirmed one critical thing: the masked man could no longer use ninjutsu. Otherwise, a jōnin wouldn't be wasting time with kunai and brute strength.
That realization planted a new thought. Then I'll play dirty.
He called up his stat panel, adding a point to his Constitution attribute. Instantly, his drained chakra and stamina refilled to the brim.
Without hesitation, he drove his short blade into the ground and began weaving seals.
Two techniques, already perfected to their limit: Wind Release: Great Breakthrough and Fire Release: Phoenix Sage Fire Technique.
One after another, he unleashed them in relentless succession.
A storm of wind blades screamed across the riverside, forcing the masked man into constant evasive maneuvers. He couldn't counter—not without ninjutsu.
Before the winds died, blazing fireballs erupted in waves, exploding across the ground, pursuing him with unending fury.
Jōnin reflexes kept him alive, slipping and dodging between the bombardments, inching closer despite the onslaught.
But what unsettled him was that Taichi's chakra showed no sign of running out. His jutsu came one after another, without pause, without exhaustion.
Step by step, the distance between them froze. The masked man could go no further.
Damn this brat. There's no way he has this much chakra. Once he runs dry, I'll tear him apart piece by piece.
But Taichi kept hurling technique after technique. In mere minutes, he had already unleashed more than ten C-rank jutsu—except these weren't ordinary C-rank. His strengthened versions packed power equal to B-rank techniques.
Even a jōnin's reserves couldn't endure such consumption.
But Taichi had a cheat—within just this short exchange, he'd already strengthened his physique yet again.
With his relentless barrage of jutsu, he quickly realized the true benefits of the two skills he had acquired just yesterday: chakra responded faster, ninjutsu fired off with greater speed, consumed less, and hit harder.
And with his constant weaving of Fire and Wind Release, Taichi gradually grasped the knack of combining the two elements in combat.
The result was clear on the battlefield—the masked man was forced further and further back. At this point, Taichi was nothing less than a walking "ninjutsu artillery battery."
The masked man, however, was on the verge of despair. He could feel himself being driven farther away with each passing second.
That brat's chakra seemed bottomless, pouring out in a relentless tide. He knew he no longer had any chance of capturing the target. Now, the only thought in his mind was retreat.
He regretted his earlier caution. Had he gone straight for a sneak attack instead of hesitating for fear of an ambush, he could've killed the boy before things got this far.
Before he could think of a plan, the rustling of leaves came from the distance—shinobi were closing in fast.
The masked man wasted no more time. Ignoring the fireballs flying his way, he spun around and tried to flee.
But how could Taichi let him escape? Without hesitation, he changed his seals and shouted: "Water Release: Water Formation Wall!"
This time, though, the water wall didn't rise in front of Taichi. Instead, it surged up right behind the masked man.
Caught off guard, the enemy crashed headlong into the wall. The pressure of the torrent twisted his face as he was thrown back. Reflexively, he tried to skirt around it to continue his escape.
But Taichi seemed guided by instinct, his hands frozen in the serpent seal as chakra kept pouring out. The water wall suddenly stretched outward, curving in a circle with the masked man at its center, sealing him in.
In the blink of an eye, the walls merged overhead, forming a massive water sphere. Chakra continued to flow, filling the sphere with turbulent currents that tossed and crushed the masked man inside, leaving him unable to break free.
It was, without doubt, a mutated form of the Water Prison Technique.
Just then, the pursuing shinobi arrived, surrounding the battlefield.
"Quick, I can't hold this much longer!" Taichi gritted his teeth, shouting.
Two masked shinobi dashed up beside the water sphere. Only then did Taichi dare release the serpent seal, letting his chakra flow cease. With a thunderous crash, the sphere collapsed.
The masked man tumbled out, only to be knocked unconscious instantly by the waiting shinobi—alive, no less. That was a major catch.
As for Taichi, he dropped to the ground on his backside, gasping for air. Only now did the pain wash over him—an ache that ran from the surface of his skin to the deepest parts of his body, while sharp stabs of agony coursed through his chakra pathways.
It was the price of high-intensity, prolonged chakra output: severe strain and damage to his meridians. Recovery would take time.
Meanwhile, the other shinobi who had gone to check on the little girl and inspect the scar-faced man's corpse returned with their reports.
Hearing that the girl was safe, the squad leader finally breathed easier. But when he turned his gaze to the battlefield—scorched earth, flames still burning, gouges carved by slicing wind blades—he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of awe.
"Kid, got any strength left?" he asked.