"...If the windmill just stops like that, wouldn't it be such a waste—especially when danger comes?"
"Let me see how far your wind can blow."
Orochimaru's golden slit pupils never left Kiyohara for even a moment.
The wind kept howling, mixed with the increasingly close roars of incoming enemies.
"Then thank you, Orochimaru-sama," Kiyohara said.
The "White Snake's power" really was useful.
But Kiyohara wasn't about to inject it recklessly.
Who knew whether Orochimaru had left some of his own chakra inside, or some other bizarre safeguard?
Before Orochimaru defected, he'd already planted a curse mark on Mitarashi Anko.
And later, when Orochimaru was defeated by Uchiha Itachi, he was still able to revive—because of that curse mark on Anko's neck from years ago.
Only after analyzing what was in this vial and confirming there were no hidden dangers or backdoors would Kiyohara even consider using it.
If there was a backdoor, he'd only study the composition.
"It's too early to thank me. Go on—blow that windmill as hard as you can," Orochimaru chuckled.
He hated boring things. But when he saw something interesting, it made him feel alive.
"According to my main body's sensing, at least four elite Mist squads are infiltrating this flank region. Their goal is to cut off our retreat force and expand their gains."
Kiyohara's expression tightened.
If the Mist cut the retreat route, then the ones who left first—Kurenai and the others—would be in even more danger.
Orochimaru seemed to see straight through him and continued:
"My main body has to focus on the Six-Tails and Mist's main force. I can't spare more attention for the flank. But the retreat must remain orderly. Someone needs to slow those infiltration squads down and buy time for the main force to reorganize the second line."
His gaze settled on Kiyohara.
"You volunteered to stay behind. That's perfect timing. The mobility granted by the Magnet Release techniques you've developed makes you well-suited for delay tactics: use terrain and speed advantages to harass, mislead, and conduct small-scale blockages. Don't seek annihilation—seek delay."
Kiyohara immediately understood. That was part of his plan too.
Operate alone, use speed to kite and rotate—both "help comrades" (by dragging down pursuit) and "collect resources" (loot the battlefield, earn merit). Two birds with one stone.
"I understand, Orochimaru-sama," Kiyohara said solemnly. "I'll do everything I can to slow the enemy's pursuit of the retreating force."
"Heh heh—good."
Orochimaru's shadow clone wore a meaningful smile.
If Kiyohara died here, it would be far too boring.
And in Orochimaru's eyes, even Kiyohara's corpse would still be worth harvesting.
A Magnet Release specimen… not bad at all.
Poof.
The next moment, Orochimaru's shadow clone vanished into a puff of smoke.
Kiyohara took a deep breath and didn't waste time.
First, he swept his eyes over the wrecked camp.
A lot of tents and supply points hadn't been completely destroyed or cleared out in the shockwave of the Tailed Beast Bomb and the chaos that followed—this was a perfect chance to "fill the gaps."
He flashed through half-collapsed barracks, his figure flickering.
In a medical tent, scattered bandages and hemostatic agents remained. At a supply point, a few sealing scrolls had been left behind—possibly containing soldier pills or explosive tags.
On a weapon rack half-melted by acid, he even found two solid-quality kunai.
He stuffed everything still usable into his sealing scroll.
Thanks to Magnet Release's faint "metal sense," he could even pick out ninja tools hidden under debris or tucked into corners.
Just as he sealed away a chakra short blade, his perception caught chakra fluctuations—not from the distant main battlefield, but from the side-front forest rushing in fast, carrying that Mist-blood stench.
"They're here."
Kiyohara's eyes sharpened. He pocketed the scroll and formed seals as chakra surged through his tenketsu.
Under his clothes, his skin shimmered with a metallic sheen—like a flowing black film plating his body.
Steel Release.
A bloodline limit similar in effect to Earth Spear, but without Earth Spear's built-in weakness of being hard-countered by Lightning Release.
What truly limited Steel Release was the user's understanding… and chakra.
Then—
The magnetic field began to rotate.
Chakra turned into magnetism, calling to the planet's natural magnetic field and drawing it into resonance.
That meant Kiyohara could burst into terrifying physical power at will.
His Magnet Release domain spread under his feet.
Before, he could only "borrow" the magnetic field within a few meters.
Now, he could expand that range to twenty meters.
Leaf Body Flicker!
As he activated it, repulsion detonated under his feet—air blasting outward in a ring as the ground kicked up.
Kiyohara became a blurred afterimage, shooting straight into the side-front forest.
Three Mist squads burst from the trees—just in time to see a black line slam toward them.
"Watch out—Konoha shinobi!"
The warning barely made it halfway out.
Kiyohara was already inside the first squad.
He was so fast the Mist shinobi could only see a smear of motion… and then blood blossoming.
A blade flashed.
Sand iron clung to his sword, extending the edge by dozens of centimeters—turning it into a black "extra-long" ninjatō.
The chakra-metal blade hummed under Wind Release, translucent currents spiraling around it with a shriek—if you looked closely, you'd even see a layer of crackling electric arc.
Kiyohara gripped the hilt, dropped into a bow stance, and loaded power into his hips.
Lightning and Wind shared the same trait:
sharpness.
He'd used them on copper wire back when he was refining shuriken control.
Now he layered them onto his sword.
Chakra-metal's terrifying conductivity flared to life.
Wind and lightning screamed together atop the sand-iron-coated blade.
Whoosh—!
The earth shuddered. Kiyohara became a blurred streak.
A Mist chūnin tried to form seals—Kiyohara's blade had already passed his throat.
A genin panicked and threw shuriken—Kiyohara slipped past, then reversed his blade, severing both the kunai and the arm holding it.
The squad leader—experienced—had already used Substitution at the instant Kiyohara appeared.
The wooden log was split in two.
The real body reappeared five meters away, sweat pouring down his temples.
Substitution was only good for one instant—forcing chakra to spike so your movement could "swap" your body out.
But just now… he could feel that if he'd been even a fraction of a second slower, he'd be dead.
The surviving Mist jōnin didn't dare underestimate him. He wished he had two more hands just to form seals faster.
"Water Style: Water Dragon Bullet!"
A roaring water dragon formed behind him and crashed toward Kiyohara.
But at this range, Kiyohara's speed still let him slip clear.
In the shocked stares of the Mist shinobi, Kiyohara withdrew to fifty meters away—and casually stabbed a stunned Mist genin in the rear line on the way out.
Thk—
Blood burst.
"What the hell is that speed?!"
"Who is he—did the 'Yellow Flash' arrive?!"
"Is this even human—are we watching someone run or someone fly?!"
"Stop him!"
One of the Mist squad leaders barked.
Mist had fought Minato before—more accurately, this was the third time they'd run into a nightmare "flash-step" shinobi.
The first was the Yellow Flash, Namikaze Minato.
The second was the rising star who'd recently earned a name of his own: Shisui the Body Flicker.
"You're… too slow."
Kiyohara's black eyes reflected their faces.
Anger, shock, contempt, hatred—every shade of human emotion.
Life was like that.
"And this still isn't my limit," he murmured.
Even if his dynamic vision couldn't perfectly keep up, his nervous system could still react at this speed.
That was what it meant to stack absurd mental energy—layered again and again by "future gifts."
As long as he had chakra, Kiyohara could become an arrow loosed from a bow, sprinting freely across the battlefield.
Meaning: unless he ran into something especially tanky, or a high-tier opponent who could actually track him, he was now qualified to farm.
If you weren't faster than him—if you couldn't react—then you were nothing but grass to be cut.
Now he was about to start a "budget battlefield musō."
Not Madara-level "dance across the war," but bullying flank-side chūnin and genin?
That, he could do.
Grab them—
Refine them—
Turn them into merit and loot.
The next instant, repulsion exploded under his feet again. His path snapped into a sharp angle, a black line ricocheting toward the second squad.
"Scatter!" the second squad's jōnin shouted.
Too late.
Kiyohara's speed created absolute suppression.
He wasn't Minato—he didn't have Flying Thunder God's true teleportation.
But in straight-line acceleration and direction changes, he was already brushing the limits of ordinary shinobi eyesight.
Another flash of steel.
This time, he didn't pursue instant kills.
A sand-iron blade swept wide, forcing three back at once. At the same time, his left hand flicked open his sealing scroll and produced a stack of explosive tags, slapping them onto nearby trees and rocks like thrown birds.
"Detonate."
One word.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!
A chain of blasts ripped up dirt and splinters, smoke surging.
The Mist formation was forced to defend—instantly disorganized.
Kiyohara was already moving for the third squad.
"Arrogant!"
The third squad's Mist special jōnin, Yamagami Haku, roared—one of the few on this flank with truly elite reflexes.
Because he could react to Kiyohara's speed.
Haku wielded a broad-bladed greatsword.
"I'll cut you down!"
The blade came down with a tearing whistle.
Kiyohara didn't dodge.
His previously pale hand turned black.
A Steel Release–hardened right hand rose and grabbed the blade edge.
CLANG!
~~~
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