A week later, the hidden base carved into Shūmoku's rocky shore echoed faintly with the clash of steel and bone.
Saya swung her three-bladed scythe in wide arcs, sparks flaring as it clashed against Kimimaro's bone blades.
He deliberately dulled his strikes, careful not to snap her weapon — it was one of the few things she seemed to care about besides blood.
She had come in person to deliver a report from the Land of Hot Water, though Kimimaro suspected the real reasons: boredom and her constant need to needle and "challenge" him.
He allowed it.
Leaving that base without its top leader for a few days was acceptable; he just happened to need her here now, for a sudden new top objective.
Every high-level fighter was necessary.
Saya's progress showed.
The principles of Yang Release he had drilled into her finally bore fruit.
Just as his bones came from cellular fuel, her blood cells now multiplied under her will, thickened, surged.
For the first time, she could push her bloodline outward, shaping her crimson techniques into something resembling mid-range ninjutsu.
Kimimaro had also introduced her to some Yin Release exercises to refine her dojutsu.
She had taken to them well, building on what fragments she had already explored from her clan's lost Yin–Yang heritage.
If anyone besides him could advance along that road, it was her.
Physically, Saya was as sharp as her scythe.
She wore only a sleeveless, midriff-baring top and shorts, mesh armor hugging her thighs and stomach.
Muscles and lines cut clearly against her pale skin, her body honed by constant fighting.
Taller than Reika and Emi, older too, she had matured earlier, chest and hips full, straining against tight fabric.
Even Kimimaro found his eyes caught once or twice.
The scythe swung down, and bone blades rose to meet it.
Saya's lips curled as she locked with him, dark blue eyes gleaming with mischief.
"So, tell me… while I've been working myself to the bone with your cult in Hot Water, you've been here playing house with those two. Did you forget about me?"
Kimimaro slid her weapon aside with a precise twist, his tone calm. "You seem alive enough. That means you didn't collapse under the work."
Saya almost pouted, pushing forward with another strike. "Alive, yes. Overworked, yes. You dumped everything on me and ran off with them. Not even worried I'd run away? Or better yet, take it all for myself?"
Kimimaro caught the scythe with his forearm bone, letting the clash reverberate between them. His lips curved faintly. "If you wanted to betray me, you would've done it already. You're too stubborn to play at false loyalty. And you know as well as I do, without me, the cult would have collapsed long ago."
She huffed, though her smile betrayed her. "So confident. Maybe I just enjoy watching you think you're untouchable."
"Or maybe you enjoy the fact I actually make you stronger," Kimimaro returned, letting her blade scrape past his shoulder before stepping into her guard.
Saya stepped back with a laugh, scythe spinning as she reset her stance. "You're not wrong. You taught me how to push Yang into my blood, and now I can do this—"
She flicked her wrist, and droplets of blood rose and surged outward, hardening mid-air before scattering against the far wall like crimson glass.
Kimimaro inclined his head slightly, approving but not overpraising.
"Better. And you'll refine it more. With your eyes and your bloodline, you can walk farther into Yin–Yang than anyone else alive. If you don't waste it."
Her grin sharpened, eyes glinting with something darker. "Don't worry. I won't waste it. I plan to use all of it. On anyone who possibly thinks they can leash me or defeat me in the future."
The clash resumed, steel and bone ringing again in the chamber.
Saya's movements were sharp, but there was no real intent to kill; this was practice, banter threaded through the fight.
After a few more exchanges, she leaned her scythe against her shoulder, chest rising and falling with exertion.
Her tone softened only a touch, pride slipping through. "Our little cult's growing, Kimimaro. Blood and bone, mixed together. It's almost like our own child."
Kimimaro's expression didn't shift, but his eyes flickered, gauging her words. "A child that strangles Daimyo and shinobi villages alike. That's its purpose."
She smirked, tilting her head. "See? We even agree on parenting."
He gave her the faintest glance, calm and unreadable. "Chaos and power. That's your fun. My necessity. As long as the path runs in the same direction, it works."
Saya's eyes gleamed, almost pleased. She stepped closer, voice lower. "Exactly. Together, we'll step on all of them. Daimyo, great villages. Especially Kumo. I'll enjoy that one the most."
Kimimaro let the scythe's edge rest against his bone blade, holding her gaze steadily.
"Then keep working. Chaos alone is nothing without discipline. I'll provide the direction. You provide the blood."
Saya laughed again, sharp and breathless, but beneath it there was a strange warmth.
For all her mocking, for all her games, she hadn't run.
She hadn't even considered it.
In her mind, their cult wasn't just a tool anymore.
It was their creation, in her mind, a thing born from both of them, blood and bone fused.
Kimimaro let his gaze linger on her, the wild, pale blond hair flaring around her face like a mane, and the occasional flash of red in her Ketsuryūgan whenever her emotions spiked.
Beautiful, in her own way.
He wondered idly why all of his strongest female subordinates seemed to be so striking and talented at the same time.
Maybe it was because in this world, chakra talent can not only lead to power, but also a good appearance of some sort, through some connection, but this was just his theory of sorts.
For him, though, this was child's play.
A spar like this held no real weight.
The three of them had fought against each other so many times now that their moves were practically carved into muscle memory.
There were no surprises left to squeeze out of this little.
He knew it. And he knew she knew it.
This wasn't about sharpening skills.
This was Saya's way of getting closer and saying how much she 'missed' him.
Fighting was her language, the only way she could really express herself.
She had been born into blood and rituals, raised in chaos, and only ever felt alive when blades were moving.
If she wanted to spar, it wasn't training; it was 'bonding' of sorts.
And she had done a great deal for him lately.
Enough to earn this much.
So Kimimaro humored her, 'indulged' it.
A strange date with a semi-crazed girl of sorts, nothing more, he reasoned out.
He smirked faintly at the thought.
Anyone who had walked out of that Valley of Hell, who had watched her clan butcher each other in madness and crawled free from under the corpses as a child… how could they not have a few screws loose afterward?
It was only logical.
Saya caught the look on his face.
Her now red eyes narrowed, and she clicked her scythe, lips curling in that feral half-grin of hers.
"What's with that face, hm? You want more? Or are you looking down on me again? Don't think I'll hold back if you are."
The weapon shifted in her hands, waiting for his reply.
However, a playful grin froze on Saya's lips when Kimimaro's expression shifted first then.
His eyes lost their amusement, narrowing just slightly, that calm sharpness he wore like when sensory clones whispered something important back through the web.
He tilted his head, listening inwardly for a moment, then exhaled. "You should be happy," he said at last, his voice even.
"Looks like there's going to be an interesting scene… and a great fight, right now."
Saya straightened, scythe clicking once against the floor as her grin reignited, sharper than before.
"Oh? So that's why you dragged me out here, instead of leaving me to rot in Hot Water?"
Kimimaro's lips curved faintly.
"Exactly. This was the reason I allowed you to come. Prepare yourself properly."
Her red eyes flashed, blood stirring as she licked her lips. "Finally. I was starting to think you only wanted me here to babysit those other two. But a fight… now that's a welcome gift."
She spun her scythe once, the blades catching the dim light. "Don't worry, I'll be ready. I've been itching for something worth cutting."
However, inwardly, Kimimaro's thoughts were already shifting, cold and precise, 'Finally...'
'Uchiha clan… Root,' he murmured inside, eyes narrowing slightly as the signal sharpened.
'How strange. I never would've guessed that this isolated, unassuming island would become the stage for something this big."
His face betrayed nothing to Saya, but the smirk tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth hinted at it, a calculation, and a touch of anticipation.