[send power stones please]
On the Kikyō Mountain defensive line, Uchiha Feiyu turned the short blade in his hand, watching cold light flicker along its edge. Chakra flowed smoothly through the metal, humming with quiet power.
He couldn't help sighing.
"Orochimaru's really generous, huh? If this Grass Cutter Sword hit the open market, it'd go for… what, tens of millions of ryō at least?"
"The village has deep foundations," Sakumo's soul replied mildly. "Outfitting you with a blade that can fully draw out the White Fang style's power is only appropriate."
He paused, as if remembering something.
"My White Fang tantō back then was also custom-forged through the village."
"Not the same thing," Feiyu said immediately. "The White Fang tantō doesn't hold a candle to this Grass Cutter. At best it was an excellent top-grade weapon. It still doesn't compare to this kind of legendary blade."
"And besides, this sword is Orochimaru's personal treasure. Konoha didn't provide this—he did."
Feiyu smirked.
"And even if the village helped you forge your tantō, you still had to chip in for materials and labor, right? I got this completely free. Reward in advance, before the mission even starts."
Sakumo fell momentarily silent.
When he thought about it that way, Orochimaru really was being a bit overgenerous.
Feiyu, on the other hand, had a few suspicions.
Orochimaru was obviously trying to reel him in.
Did he see Feiyu as a future "vessel" for his experiments?
Or as a useful piece in his own bid for the Hokage seat?
Hard to say. Feiyu couldn't read Orochimaru's exact mindset at this stage.
But one thing was certain:
Orochimaru was interested in him.
"Honestly, joining 'Uncle Snake's' camp wouldn't be so bad," Feiyu thought. "His research ability is insane, his morals are practically nonexistent… perfect conditions for someone walking the demonic path."
But all that was business for after the Third Great Ninja War.
Right now, there was only one priority:
Stop the Suna army charging toward them.
On the horizon, something golden surged into view—a distant flood glinting under the sun, rolling forward with a deep, rumbling roar like an oncoming tide.
"Gold Dust Technique, huh," Feiyu muttered. "What a big show. This Fourth Kazekage sure loves to flex."
The dazzling wave of gold looked magnificent and overwhelming, but Feiyu knew better. This wasn't true pure gold—just metallic sand with a trace of gold mixed in.
If Rasa could actually manipulate full-purity gold in these quantities, he wouldn't just be feeding Sunagakure.
He could feed all five great villages.
"Face of the Kazekage," Orochimaru said with a cold smile. "He has to put on a performance."
For once, he was dressed in a proper jōnin flak vest, his long hair tied back neatly—practical, clean, clearly ready for serious combat.
As the golden tide thundered closer, Orochimaru didn't hesitate.
He formed a rapid series of seals.
A plume of white smoke exploded outward—
And a colossal serpent's shadow loomed over the battlefield.
Manda.
The giant snake still bore patches of charred, blistered scales—souvenirs from the recent battle against the Four-Tails Jinchūriki. If anything, the scars only made him look fiercer.
"Orochimaru… who's the opponent this time?"
Manda's voice was lazy, almost bored. He'd been summoned out for several major battles in a row lately, and every time, Orochimaru had asked him to "clean up" afterward.
He'd eaten so many Chunin and genin corpses he'd practically been force-fed.
"Sunagakure," Orochimaru replied. "Same deal as before. If we win, all the Suna lower and mid-rankers without valuable intel are your offerings."
"Suna… those sand-slinging trash?"
A cruel grin twisted across Manda's reptilian face.
"Fine. Looks like I'll be eating well again today."
He lifted his massive head, letting Orochimaru stand atop it, and surged forward straight into the rolling sea of gold sand.
The golden wave shuddered and halted.
On one side: Orochimaru, standing on Manda's head.
On the other: Rasa, the Fourth Kazekage, standing calmly atop the glittering sand.
The two forces crashed together, like needlepoint against whetstone.
At the same time, dozens upon dozens of Suna squads and Konoha squads emerged from concealment across the ridgeline and valleys.
In an instant, Kikyō Mountain became a chaotic, sprawling battlefield.
Feiyu let out a soft breath.
Then his body faded, presence dissolving into nothing.
The Suna shinobi rushing toward him stiffened mid-step.
A single red line blossomed across each of their throats.
Their heads tumbled from their shoulders and rolled across the ground.
"Forget Chiyo for the moment," Feiyu said lightly. "Might as well kill a bit first. Every corpse is profit."
And so an invisible storm of blades swept through the Suna ranks.
In the space around him, shinobi were decapitated one after another, necks blazing crimson for an instant before blood sprayed like fountains. Heads rolled, bodies dropped.
Those who witnessed this scene felt the blood drain from their faces.
"It's the ghost of Konoha… the ghost is here!!"
"I can't see him—I can't see anything! I can't even hear him—run!"
Even Suna shinobi, known for their brutality and discipline, couldn't keep their nerves steady facing a killing intent they couldn't see, hear, or touch.
They didn't rout—shinobi battlefields were too spread out for a full collapse here—but their fear and scattered movement did slow Feiyu's killing efficiency.
"Ghost of Konoha?!"
On another part of the battlefield, Pakura had just finished incinerating a Konoha shinobi, her eyes flashing as the cry reached her ears.
"That coward is finally out?"
Her expression sharpened. She shot like an arrow toward Feiyu's position.
A golden fireball spun in the sky above her, splitting with a thunderous boom into countless smaller motes of incandescent flame, sweeping across an area the size of several training grounds.
"You can't hide," she shouted. "Come out and die, you damned ghost of Konoha!"
Feiyu's form slowly shimmered into view, frowning slightly as he patted at the glowing sparks smoldering on his shoulder.
He hadn't expected her to be the one he attracted.
Sorry, he thought dryly, looking at Pakura. You look great and all, but my target's the old lady, not you.
More importantly—
Scorch Release was one of the worst possible matchups for someone like him.
A single touch could turn him into a dried-out corpse. Just standing under that huge fireball's radiant heat made sweat pour freely, draining his stamina.
The extreme temperatures also warped the air, distorting his Camouflage Concealment and making perfect invisibility impossible to maintain.
Under those conditions, even with Sakumo overlaying him and his "hard power" arguably a notch above Pakura's, Feiyu had zero interest in a frontal fight.
Chiyo, on the other hand, was much more agreeable.
Puppet masters were naturally oppressed by high-speed melee specialists, and White Fang was a nightmare made flesh for them. Sakumo had clashed with Chiyo before; her puppet corps still shook at the mention of his name.
With his current power?
Killing her practically didn't require thinking.
Unfortunately, Pakura wasn't interested in "ideal matchups".
She hadn't forgotten.
She remembered very clearly the way Feiyu had used a shadow clone to lure her into a pointless hunt, how she'd spent over a month eating sand in the Wind Country while never managing to even brush his cloak.
Now that she had him in front of her—
She had no intention of letting go.
The moment she saw him appear, the Scorch Release hero said nothing more.
She simply raised her hand—
And hurled another blazing fireball straight at him.
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