Everything in front of Orochimaru turned into a raging inferno, devouring trees, stones, and the last remaining puppets. Izuo barely managed to create a water defense dome, but even it quickly evaporated under the onslaught of the blazing flames.
"Retreat!" the puppeteer shouted for the first time during the entire battle. But his companion didn't even respond.
Saido had already vanished, dissolving into the currents of air—once again. Orochimaru merely closed his eyes in irritation.
"You don't have to try so hard. I already know where you are."
Just as Saido decided it was time to strike, the ground beneath his feet trembled, and two snakes burst from it, immediately coiling around the jonin's body. He tried to break free, but the next second, the Kusanagi sword—floating in the air—pierced straight through his body.
"One down. Now for you."
The remaining Izuo was badly wounded after the last clash. His armor was scorched, his face covered in abrasions, and the three remaining puppets were either burned or shattered. He took a step back, then another, and with all his remaining strength, turned and fled.
With a flick of his fingers, Orochimaru set the blade in motion again. The sword that had carved through Saido's body shot upward and, like an arrow, rushed toward its new target, piercing Izuo's leg and pinning him to the ground.
"You did everything you could. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Still… you might yet prove useful to me."
The Sannin approached him and, forming a series of hand seals, struck the enemy's head with an open palm. The light instantly faded from Izuo's eyes, and his limp body collapsed to the ground.
Orochimaru stood over the nukenin with a spark of interest in his eyes, but then the sounds of battle nearby reached his ears.
The ground cracked beneath heavy impact as a massive blade slammed into it, carving a deep groove. A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by ragged breathing.
Memoru was massive, like a block of stone, yet moved with astonishing ease. His skin was dark, like baked clay, his hair cropped short, and in his hand gleamed a monstrous sword comparable to Zabuza's blade. The nukenin swung it effortlessly with one hand, as if it weighed no more than an ordinary kunai.
"I didn't expect the kids to be so persistent," he said in a hoarse voice, wiping blood from his split lip. "But even together… you're no match for me."
Mikoto stood with disheveled hair, a bright crimson glow blazing in her Sharingan. She was breathing heavily, the kunai in her hand cracked, but her gaze remained as hard as steel.
"He senses our rhythm too well," she whispered. "Even genjutsu barely helps."
"And his sword style," Nawaki stood beside her, his hands trembling slightly from overexertion, a deep cut bleeding on his cheek. "Fast, like sensei's. And those Wind techniques…"
As if on cue, Memoru raised his blade and swung it sharply. A compressed crescent of wind tore from the edge, instantly cleaving a nearby tree in half. Mikoto and Nawaki leapt in opposite directions, but even so, the blade's trail split the ground between them.
"If we can't fight as a team, he'll kill us quickly," the Senju exhaled, wiping dirt from his face. "We need a synchronized attack."
"We'll lure him," the Uchiha nodded. "I'll come from the left, you from the right. Don't let him use Wind Release."
"Agreed. Let's go!"
Mikoto rushed forward first, her blurred silhouette gliding across the field. She threw shuriken with tags that detonated in a series of blinding flashes, distracting Memoru. He reflexively dodged, and in that same instant, Nawaki attacked from the other side, coating his fist in chakra and trying to decide the outcome with a single punch to the stomach.
But the swordsman was no fool.
"Too slow!" he roared, spinning and knocking the youth away with a kick. The Senju's body slammed into a nearby tree, and the boy involuntarily spat out a mouthful of blood.
"Nawaki!" Mikoto shouted, rushing to his aid—but at that moment, a vortex rose behind her.
"Fūton: Severing Wave Blade!"
A sharp, howling blade of air rushed toward her. Thanks only to her Sharingan, she managed to duck, but even so, the attack left a deep gash across her shoulder, splashing the air with crimson blood.
When she rose, her chest heaved heavily, and anxiety was written across her face.
"He's…" she whispered. "He's playing with us."
Memoru smirked, making no attempt to hide his confidence. He raised his blade and casually swung it overhead.
"Show me what the youth of Konoha can do!"
Blood pounded in his temples. Nawaki struggled to his feet, his legs shaking, but he charged forward once more. His fists were wrapped in chakra, and every step sent pain through his ribs.
"Damn it! Pull yourself together!" he shouted, pouring all his remaining strength into the strike.
But the nukenin still parried the attack with ease. His sword met the Senju's blow head-on, and the crunch of bones echoed across the clearing. Nawaki was flung back like a rag doll and collapsed unconscious with a dull thud.
"One down," the swordsman said calmly, showing not a trace of emotion.
At that very moment, sparks flared at his feet—an explosive tag Mikoto had planted earlier activated, and the blast knocked the Sunagakure shinobi off balance. From the rising smoke emerged the Uchiha. She was exhausted, her clothes torn, her hair disheveled, her shoulder bleeding, yet her eyes still shone with the Sharingan.
"Katon: Flame Bullet!"
The technique tore from her lips. A wave of fire crashed toward Memoru from several directions, and dozens of kunai followed immediately after. This time, the enemy became instantly more serious. Using an air bullet technique, he repelled Mikoto's flames, then moved at maximum speed, appearing in front of her in an instant, raising his giant sword for the final blow.
"You lack strength, girl."
Mikoto did not retreat. She lunged forward, pouring all her remaining chakra into shunshin and aiming for her opponent's throat. Her desperate attempt was decent—but Memoru's blade was faster.
The edge, capable of cleaving a tree in half, had already slid downward, deflecting her attack and continuing its motion. Death was inevitable.
But in that very moment, the shadow beneath the swordsman's feet trembled.
"Oh? Looks like you need some help."
Everything happened in an instant. The descending blade suddenly stopped. The nukenin's body froze as if bound by invisible restraints, and his eyes widened in horror.
"What's happening to me?!"
From the darkness between the trees, step by step, Kuro emerged. His shadow stretched forward, connecting with the swordsman's shadow. A familiar ironic smirk played on the young man's face—one his friends knew well—but to Memoru, it looked icy.
"You played with your enemies for too long."
He clenched his fist sharply, and the shadow instantly surged up the enemy's body, tightening like a vice, forcing the nukenin to bend in agony. His giant blade slipped from his hands and plunged into the ground with a dull thud near Mikoto's feet.
"Kuro…" she breathed, only now realizing she was alive.
"Sorry I'm late," Nara said without even turning toward her, his gaze fixed on the enemy. "You held out long enough. Now it's my turn."
Memoru jerked furiously, trying to break free of the technique.
"You… insignificant… brat!"
"Oh, really?" Nara drawled sarcastically, tilting his head slightly. "And yet I'm the last thing you'll see in this life."
The shadow restraining the enemy tightened even more, twisting constantly like a living thing and climbing higher, constricting his chest, shoulders, arms, and neck. The nukenin began to wheeze, struggling to breathe.
"Damn it… let go…" he growled, tensing his muscles and releasing all his chakra, trying to break the connection.
"Useless," Kuro said calmly. "You lost the moment our shadows connected."
Nara began to walk forward, his steps slow and measured, creating a deadly rhythm in Memoru's mind.
"I'm glad you were so arrogant," the young man said quietly.
Kuro calmly drew a kunai—and in an instant, ended the battle. A dull, wet sound spread across the clearing.
Memoru jerked, his eyes widening, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something—but only a hoarse rattle escaped his throat. The shadow slowly released his body.
The nukenin collapsed to his knees, clutching his bleeding throat, then fell face-first into the ground. His giant sword remained stuck in the earth beside its owner.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Kuro straightened and exhaled deeply. The shadow beneath his feet returned to normal—obedient, as if nothing had happened.
Mikoto barely managed to stay on her feet, pressing a hand to her wounded shoulder. The Sharingan slowly faded, leaving behind only exhaustion. She looked at Nara with gratitude in her eyes.
"How did you—"
"We'll talk later," Kuro interrupted gently but firmly. "Right now we need to take care of Nawaki and Orochimaru-sensei."
He approached his teammate lying on the ground, quickly checking his condition, then nodded in relief.
"At least he's alive."
At that moment, a calm, almost lazy voice came from behind the trees:
"Not bad."
Kuro raised his gaze.
Orochimaru stepped into the clearing. There was not a trace of fatigue on him, not a single scratch—only his usual predatory smile and cold interest in his eyes.
"It seems," he continued, surveying the battlefield and the corpses, "you truly have grown."
Kuro merely smirked briefly.
"Did you really doubt us, sensei?"
"Just a little," the future Sannin replied with a smile. "But now I'm confident that the next trial won't be much of a problem for you either."
"The next trial?" Mikoto asked.