Kiyohara had only used Steel Release to harden his torso—protecting the densest and most vital parts of his chakra network, especially around his heart—so his body could endure more.
He didn't harden his limbs, because that would consume far more chakra.
The harsh screech of metal-on-metal rang through the woods.
Yamagami Haku's pupils shrank violently. The blade he'd swung had been seized—by a bare hand.
Not "blocked."
Grabbed.
How was that possible?!
Earth Spear?!
In the instant Haku froze in shock, Kiyohara's left-hand blade stabbed into his ribs.
"Kh—!"
The Mist jōnin staggered back; his sword slipped from his grasp and hit the ground.
Kiyohara didn't even look. Anything he touched could be magnetized—unless the enemy immediately washed off his magnetization with their own chakra.
With a tug of magnetic force, the broad-bladed greatsword spun back into motion, whirling through the air. It crossed with the black ninjatō in Kiyohara's hand in a single scissoring sweep.
Two chūnin who'd been trying to sneak in were cut clean in half at the waist.
From the moment he plunged in to the moment he broke three squads, the entire sequence took less than fifteen seconds.
Kiyohara stopped and breathed lightly.
The constant high-speed movement and fighting had drained him more than a little.
But it was worth it.
Mist shinobi were converging rapidly on his position. Kiyohara knew his objective was already achieved.
But it wasn't enough—he needed to create bigger chaos and harvest more merit.
While there were still lots of bodies on the field, he needed to rack up more.
With his current speed, swordsmanship, and the forgiveness Steel Release granted him, he was basically a human-shaped weapon.
Which meant high-speed harvesting.
Most shinobi were glass cannons.
Like two eggs fighting with a hammer: whoever got hit would shatter.
These shinobi were the same.
And now, he could make that efficiency even higher.
"Alright," Kiyohara smiled at the Mist shinobi staring him down. "Let's start the next round."
He bit his finger, formed seals, and pressed the blood bead onto the ground.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
Poof!
Smoke exploded outward—and then a faint, nearly imperceptible wriggling presence emerged, blending into the environment so well that even Kiyohara might not have locked onto it instantly without their contract.
A chameleon about four to five meters long appeared at his feet. Its skin rippled like water, rapidly mimicking the scorched earth, broken timber, and smeared blood around it—almost perfectly invisible.
Its eyes had lost their original wildness, replaced by fear tempered by "training."
A beating makes a dutiful child.
And it could make a passable summon, too.
"Spread this evenly—dust the whole area. The moment you see the haze thinning, top it up."
Kiyohara quickly pulled several thick sacks from a sealing scroll—each stuffed with quicklime powder. There was enough here for the entire area… and it had cost him plenty.
He pulled on a specialized black mask so the powder wouldn't blind him too.
The invisible chameleon nodded silently, clamped the sacks in its jaws, and moved.
Summons were far tougher than humans. The quicklime stung, but it was within tolerable limits.
Almost at the same time, two more Mist squads flanked in from left and right—over ten shinobi total, including at least two jōnin. Seeing Kiyohara alone, killing intent flashed in their eyes.
"Surround him—don't let that summon—"
Before the sentence finished—
A burst of white dust detonated in the air on the left.
"Cough—what is this?!"
"My eyes—my eyes!"
Under the chameleon's precise spray, three shinobi were engulfed.
Quicklime boiled on contact with moisture—sweat, tears, anything. In the middle of combat, that meant instant misery.
"It's lime powder! Watch out for the invisible summon!"
A jōnin on the right reacted fast, forming seals. "Wind Style—!"
A gust cleared part of the haze… and also scattered it wider.
More shinobi were forced to clamp their eyes shut or cover their faces.
Kiyohara moved in that instant, cutting into the left-side confusion.
A flash—one chūnin clutching his eyes opened his mouth, and a bloodline bloomed at his throat.
A reverse cut—another shinobi swinging blindly had his chest pierced.
Kiyohara didn't linger. One strike, then he was gone—already scooping up anything useful and sealing it away.
The chameleon sprayed again from another angle.
Another cloud erupted.
"There!"
"Water Style: Water Wall!"
Mist shinobi started panicking into defense, but the powder seeped everywhere. Worse, they couldn't predict which direction the next hit would come from.
Only sensory-type shinobi could still track Kiyohara with their eyes closed.
But even if they found him, they couldn't stop him.
Under the lime haze, Kiyohara picked off chūnin and genin like he was pruning a field.
One Mist chūnin wiped his eyes and looked up—
The black blade tip filled his pupil.
Blood blossomed. Again. Again.
Kiyohara's speed created absolute suppression.
He was a dragon swimming through a sea of fog; every flick of his tail painted the air red.
"Damn it—he's only killing the weak!"
"Form up! Don't split!"
"Find the invisible summon!"
Mist command calls turned frantic.
They'd lost more than ten men and hadn't even touched his sleeve.
What made it worse was that Kiyohara wouldn't hard-brawl the jōnin.
The moment he sensed a strong chakra signature closing in, he pivoted—straight into the soft targets elsewhere.
"Coward! Fight me head-on!"
A Mist jōnin roared, hands flying. "Water Style: Twin Water Dragons!"
Two intertwined water dragons surged at Kiyohara.
Kiyohara didn't even look. Magnetic force burst under his feet; he slipped away—and with his left hand he flicked three kunai with explosive tags into the side where a chūnin squad was forming seals.
BOOM! BOOM!
Screams again.
"Chase him—his chakra can't be infinite!"
Another jōnin snarled.
They weren't wrong. Kiyohara could feel the drain.
High-speed movement, maintaining Steel Release, Magnet Release control, layering Wind and Lightning—each one was expensive.
If he didn't have three-times-jōnin-level chakra reserves, he'd have collapsed already.
Even so, he was down to a little over half.
"About time…"
Kiyohara sprang back more than ten meters, briefly disengaging.
He shoved several soldier pills and three blocks of special compressed jerky into his mouth, gulped down half a canteen, and let his consciousness sink inward.
At this point, his body really did feel like a memorial hall—multiple "future selves" stacked inside.
He found Steel-Release Kiyohara's urn and rapped it with intent.
Wake up, Future Me—time to work.
Steel-Release Kiyohara emerged—only to see Kiyohara stuffing his face, his belly visibly puffing.
"…?"
He took in the battlefield: corpses, scattered ninja tools, scorched earth, broken trees, toppled tents, and the constant roar of war around them.
Past Kiyohara was—right in front of a pack of Mist shinobi—eating?
Steel-Release Kiyohara stared like he'd just been pranked.
"What are you doing?"
"Replenishing stamina. Refining chakra," Kiyohara replied mentally while chewing. "Like the Nine-Tails does for Naruto—speed the process up."
Steel-Release Kiyohara went silent for a beat. When he possessed someone, he could force the body to run at 100%—including pushing digestion and metabolism toward the theoretical limit.
"You sure? That'll strain your gut."
"Better than running dry and dying here."
Kiyohara swallowed the last chunk of jerky.
If Steel-Release Kiyohara didn't help, he'd have to withdraw now. If he did… Kiyohara could keep farming merit.
"They're closing in."
"Fine. As you wish."
Steel-Release Kiyohara fused into him.
Instantly, Kiyohara felt the change: his stomach churned faster, food broke down and absorbed at a ridiculous speed, nutrients turned to energy, energy surged into cells, and—mixed with mental energy—became chakra that refilled his nearly drained chakra pathways.
Fatigue peeled away.
Chakra came roaring back.
"My chakra's recovering…"
A Mist jōnin shouted in disbelief:
"What the hell?! He was about to collapse!"
"Even soldier pills need time to digest!"
"It's a secret art—don't let him recover again!"
"Kill him!"
The remaining Mist shinobi finally abandoned the idea of capturing him and flooded the flank with jutsu and steel.
Kiyohara moved like a predator in tall grass.
Strong opponents? Avoid.
Weak opponents? Cut down.
Blood bloomed.
"Why is there a monster like this on the flank?!"
"Who is he?!"
"KIYOHARA! It's Kiyohara—the new Magnet Release genius!"
"Genius? This is a freak!"
Far off, on the main line, Orochimaru—standing atop Manda—tilted his head, golden slit pupils seemingly peering toward the flank.
He saw Kiyohara "dancing" through the battlefield… and that near-illegal recovery speed.
"Heh… did he use what I gave him?"
Orochimaru's smile turned playful.
"How interesting."
His attention returned to the main line: the Six-Tails' roar was fading, and another massive chakra signature was racing in—Jiraiya had arrived.
All they needed now was to help the bulk of Konoha forces retreat in order and prevent the Mist from pushing deeper.
But Orochimaru's mind stayed half on the flank.
That boy—more than any tailed beast clash—was what made Orochimaru feel alive.