Black Zetsu, having stumbled into Uchiha Yorin's verbal trap, slipped into a temporary logic spiral he couldn't escape.
Yorin noticed: no matter that Black Zetsu's "wisdom stat" might be ten times (or nine) that of Obito's—once anything touched his beloved mother, Ōtsutsuki Kaguya, he instantly regressed to a sub–three-year-old IQ.
Having seen the weak point, of course Yorin would use it. He's the sort with a flexible moral baseline.
If necessary, he'll kick a cripple's good leg.
"Zetsu, tell Terumī Mei: 'I want fish.'"
Watching Black Zetsu pinch his nose like he'd swallowed a fistful of energy gels to relay the message, Yorin felt utterly refreshed.
Don't be fooled by how obedient this guy seems now. Think for a moment about how, over hundreds and thousands of years, he's conned Uchiha after Uchiha to revive Mom—how many people he's directly or indirectly killed.
Yorin felt that forcing Black Zetsu to study "second son's path" or "first son's path" (ahem) would still be letting him off easy. Teasing him a little now didn't even count as interest.
Poor Black Zetsu was thus toyed with in the palm of Yorin's hand.
So, too, were Cloud's twenty-thousand troops.
…
While Black Zetsu, pinching his nose, couriered the message, Cloud's army slogged into a battlefield mire worthy of Afghanistan or Vietnam.
Yorin's defensive line was novel: alongside portable barrier arrays and earthworks building semi-permanent pillboxes, there were layered exploding-tag minefields, auto–kunai launch rigs, and even the simplest stake pits.
At the same time, Land of Hot Water's natural hot springs, scattered everywhere, became ready-made obstacles and seam-splitters for the Cloud lines.
After consulting a swarm of old war-dogs and blending in a pinch of previous-life military study, Yorin laid out a defense as disgusting as the Western Front in WWI.
If time allowed, he would've thrown up Séré de Rivières fort belts—Liège, Verdun—just to teach Cloud what "tech kills" means.
Cloud's shinobi were miserable: in this awful ground, they also faced Konoha strike teams popping up like ghosts.
Konoha's raiders—at home in the terrain—hid behind every tree, clod, and rock, hammering Cloud squads; and when Cloud countercharged in rage, those teams vanished, guiding them straight into kill boxes.
It shredded nerves. And if a trained shinobi could grit through that, then Uchiha Yorin—the walking natural disaster—was the last straw. He broke people.
Because the field was prepared, Yorin had pre-spent chakra to seed Flying Thunder God marks at all the key nodes, then used absurd mobility to dance everywhere at once.
With a 32–kunai Lightning-Cutter array as sweeping blades, he scythed down rankers like grass; even Cloud's prized elite-jōnin weren't lasting a single exchange.
Normally, hyper-fast single-target delete and massive-area annihilation don't coexist.
You either shoop-shoop like Minato, White Fang, and Shisui—one slash per flash—or you go full beast-machine like a jinchūriki, True Thousand Hands, or Perfect Susanoo.
Yorin's Lightning-Cutter storm carved a third path.
He has the former's mobility and the latter's area kill.
As he streaked, flashing sparks and thunder, Cloud units melted like snowfall in sun.
Without outside intervention, Yorin alone could have wiped out all twenty thousand.
"What the hell is that?!"
"Are all Konoha Uchiha monsters?!"
"M—mom, I don't want to die!"
Seeing the dual-wielding thunder-and-flame swordsman in God of Thunder armor, a whirling corona of kunai screaming around him, laughing like a mad god as he charged—countless Cloud shinobi broke on the spot.
No amount of "tool theory," no training regimen, survives that thing. They ran.
The strong ones flung the best Lightning Taijutsu they owned—only to find that even with quick hands and massed fire, they couldn't touch him.
He wasn't "normal." Even human-wave tactics—the kind used to stall the Third Raikage—were useless. He was too fast to encircle.
And with that much lightning stacked, drinking power by the megawatt each second, he was essentially a humanoid tailed beast. Bleeding him dry was… optimistic.
And he wasn't alone. With him stood Konoha's fifteen thousand, the sharpest edge: Shisui the Body Flicker, Senju Tsunade, Hyūga Hiashi, fifty-plus elite leaders…
So how do you fight this?
You don't.
Cloud's first probe against Konoha's line ended in total failure.
Three thousand crack vanguard—collapsed in half a day, the few who crawled back shattered and nearly catatonic. Even genjutsu trawls pulled little more than " too scary," "not human," "monster aaah!"
Some subjects died from shock. A few who slipped past Konoha's pickets were killed by their own during mind-search—poetic, in a way.
"Enough."
The mind-scrapers were floundering when that voice cut through. They turned to see the Fourth—face like thunder—and the rest of Cloud's command with the same look.
"Treat our own with more care. No more interrogation."
"Yes, but—"
"There is no 'but.' Do you not understand my words?"
A's expression could scare thousands of children. Every village has its dark face; Konoha's isn't the only one with a Root. Cloud has its version, too—but just as Hiruzen would never publicly own Danzo's sins, A will not let such coldness define his village.
Not publicly. They're not Kirigakure.
Having quelled the ugliness, he went on:
"Don't panic."
"Konoha's line is solid, their shinobi are no joke—but we have ways to break them."
"You mean…?"
Faces around the table tipped forward, hungry.
"Yes." A nodded. "I will go personally."
"Not just me. Yugito and Killer B go with me. We will smash Konoha's line. We will trample Konoha's army. We will break Konoha's 'resolve.'"
As he roared, the Two-Tails and Eight-Tails loomed behind their jinchūriki—chakra surging like tides. The oppressive pressure rolled for miles; even at Konoha's forts, men felt it and fell silent, worry spreading like ink.
Yorin's gaze stayed calm as he looked that way.
Good opponents.
Several stories tall.
"So—no patience after all. Earlier than I thought." He smiled, then glanced at Shisui. "Tailed beast—can you hold it?"
"Of course."
No fear—Shisui's fighting spirit climbed.
"Good." Yorin praised him lightly, then turned to Hyūga Hiashi. "They call Gentle Fist the ultimate taijutsu. How does it compare to Cloud's Lightning Body Arts?"
"Gentle Fist is second to none, but…"
Hiashi's face clouded.
Me, stall the Raikage? Seriously? You want an elite jōnin to fist-fight a top-tier Kage? When did the Hyūga insult you? Is this because I kept hinting you should meet our pretty clan girls?
"Neji's father, and other Hyūga will go with you," Yorin said, reading it on his face. "I don't need you to beat him—only delay him."
"Even so…"
He wanted to say what everyone thought: You should crush the Raikage. A Lightning vs Lightning king duel fits you both.
Yorin saw it, smiled, and said:
"Yes, I will take A myself—but first I'll eliminate the Two-Tails. Don't worry; it won't take long."
The certainty in his tone made Hiashi swallow his last protest.
So Yorin would down a tailed beast, then face the man many called the world's strongest hand-to-hand fighter?
Even having seen him butcher Mist's elites, Hiashi almost couldn't believe it. Because it meant the Hyūga had been left far, far behind.
~~~
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