"Drink!" Raizen's low shout reverberated across the shattered battlefield as his golden Buddha surged with power. Thousands of chakra-laden fists pressed down like an unstoppable avalanche.
The middle-aged ninja's stone fortress crumbled under the assault. He tried to retreat inside, but the golden fists struck him mid-motion. A howl of pain ripped from his throat as he was thrown back, slamming into the ground.
"This kid…" he groaned, staring at Raizen's towering chakra construct. Despite his own skill and confidence, the display of raw power drained him of courage. He knew one wrong move now would cost him dearly.
Raizen's voice was calm, almost teasing. "What's wrong? Giving up so soon?"
"Hmph. You got lucky this time, kid," the ninja growled, glaring at him before spinning on his heel and vanishing into the distance. Relief washed over Raizen as he watched him go, eyes tracing the cratered battlefield below. Then, with a flicker of chakra, he vanished, traveling back toward the Land of Fire.
Time passed. Raizen grew, years folding over themselves like pages in a grim history book. By the time he turned ten, he had already spent two years traveling the fractured territories of the Warring States, observing, learning, surviving.
Across the same lands, Madara Uchiha and Hashirama Senju were twelve, their clans already preparing for the inevitable clash. This year, conflict erupted again—the first real confrontation between the two clans. Childhood friendships had dissolved into enmity, their ideals and bloodlines colliding on the battlefield.
Raizen's own power hadn't grown exponentially, but his understanding of this chaotic world deepened. He knew its weaknesses, its betrayals, its endless misery—and he adapted.
News of the Amamiya Clan trickled in along the way. After seizing Uicheng, the clan had focused on survival, building stamina, training, and fortifying their position. Two years later, a small but sturdy family had become a mid-tier power. Raizen allowed himself a faint smile—he could breathe a little easier knowing his own bloodline had survived—but he didn't linger. The Warring States demanded constant movement.
Two more years passed. By twelve, Raizen had mastered Ice Dun, bending cold and ice at will in combat. He had unlocked the technique's deeper potential—the ability to manipulate water inside human bodies, chilling opponents to the bone. While not as overwhelmingly strong as Wood Style, Ice Dun made him deadly in subtle, surgical ways.
Raizen's illusions had also grown formidable. Encounters with illusion-trained ninjas along the road forced him to refine his skills. He realized that true illusions relied less on flashy technique and more on the strength of the user's mental fortitude. By twelve, Raizen could manipulate perception, affect sight and hearing, and craft disorienting battlefield conditions. Paired with his Ice Dun, his illusions were at a Jōnin-level mastery, though he lacked the innate eyes of a Uchiha.
Despite these improvements, Raizen remained grounded. Shadow-level ninjas like himself existed, but legends like Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha loomed in the near future. At fifteen, Hashirama would awaken Wood Style's full might, and Madara would unveil the Mangekyō Sharingan and Susanoo. Even now, Raizen felt the pressure of time.
"Four years in, and I've plateaued," he muttered quietly, standing on the frozen surface of a lake, reflection of the sky shimmering across the ice. "Detonating clay, Ice Dun, Flying Thunder God… strong for now, maybe. But in five years? Those abilities won't cut it. I have to get stronger. Fast."
Even as he trained, traveled, and honed his arts, Raizen understood his place. Against ordinary ninjas, he could dominate. Against true legends? His current arsenal was petty, insufficient for the wars to come.
Time was ruthless. And Raizen, for all his cynicism and sarcasm, knew he would have to match it—relentlessly, cleverly, and without mercy.
...
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