Uchiha Souji's vision blurred. His knees weakened. The cold numbness climbing from his stomach to his chest told him one thing—death was seconds away. His eyelids drooped, his body preparing to shut down.
But the moment he was about to lose consciousness, Souji bit down on his tongue—hard.
The sharp, burning pain shot through his nerves like lightning.
He gasped sharply.
"I can't stop… I can't die here!"
If he closed his eyes now… if he accepted the darkness now… then this would truly be the end.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, Souji wrapped his trembling fingers around the hilt of the Third Generation Ghost Blade. Orochimaru watched with interest—this brat just refused to fall.
Then Souji did something unexpected.
He sheathed his sword.
Orochimaru blinked.
Why would he put the blade away at a time like this?
Then it happened—
"Ooooom—!"
A harsh screech, like metal claws raking across a blackboard, ripped through the air. The sound hit violently, vibrating the air like a shockwave.
This was ultrasonic resonance, directed from Souji's sword as it slid into its sheath. A sound engineered to break the semicircular canals of the inner ear—attacking one's sense of balance.
A dirty technique. A desperate technique.
But Souji had no other choice.
Orochimaru flinched involuntarily, instinctively kicking Souji away to create distance.
The blow sent Souji crashing across the ground again, rolling like a ragdoll. Dust rose around him, mixing with drops of fresh blood.
Orochimaru reached for his ear—and felt wetness.
He lowered his hand and stared at the crimson smear between his fingers.
Blood.
His eyes lit up with fascination.
Then he began clapping softly.
"Pa… pa… pa…"
"You're far more impressive than I expected," he said with a delighted smile. "If you were born in the Land of Iron, you could have become their next great Samurai General."
He admired the ingenuity.
Using the moment a sword enters its sheath—one of the smallest, most overlooked movements—and turning it into a devastating sonic attack… genius. Madness. Samurai and shinobi philosophy combined.
This kind of swordsmanship was not something Orochimaru had ever seen in the shinobi world.
It was Souji's own creation.
Meanwhile, Souji was sprawled on the dirt, coughing blood. He pushed the Third Generation Ghost Blade into the ground like a cane, struggling to get back up. The stones and gravel that tore into him earlier left dozens of small wounds across his arms, legs, and face.
And that wasn't counting the stab wound Orochimaru had driven through the side of his waist.
His whole body burned with the coldness of death—like icy water from the River of the Underworld had seeped into him.
He staggered to his feet anyway.
He looked at the distant trees, as if searching for hope… then sighed.
"Today really wasn't the day to go out," he muttered.
Then he raised his blade.
"Flying Sword Style: Dragon Cry Mountain!"
He explained weakly while spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva.
"The trick before… it uses chakra to create a thin sound membrane between the sheath and the blade. When the sword slides in, the membrane vibrates… creating the ultrasonic wave."
He breathed heavily.
"The original Flying Sword Style doesn't even need chakra… but without chakra, the sound is far weaker. In this world, as long as a shinobi protects their ears with chakra, they can resist it."
Souji laughed bitterly.
"In other words… my sword style was modified for this world. But my strength… it's still too low."
Even with all his training, tricks, and life-saving techniques—
He was, at best, an elite-level Chunin.
And that estimate was Souji generously overrating himself.
The only reason he lasted this long against Orochimaru was that:
1. Orochimaru wasn't trying to kill him at first
2. Souji's sword techniques were new and interesting to Orochimaru
But now Orochimaru had seen everything.
The curiosity was fading.
That meant only one thing.
"The next attack… will be fatal."
Souji took two shaky breaths.
His vision swayed. He could barely stay upright.
Blood dripped continuously from his abdomen. His limbs felt heavy, cold, and distant. His head was spinning.
He finally understood what Kakashi felt earlier when he was stabbed.
"Hey kid… are you still alive?"
The eerie voice of the Third Generation Ghost Blade echoed faintly.
Souji slightly unsheathed it, letting the cold metal reflect his face. Within the reflection, the faint outline of a black mist formed a mocking grin.
"So this is your limit? Just moments ago you were standing proudly against that sicko. And now look at you—a trembling child."
Souji ignored the spirit.
He calmly sheathed the blade again.
He took a stance.
Right hand on the hilt.
Breathing steady.
Eyes on Orochimaru.
"Senior Orochimaru… if nothing unexpected happens… this will be my last attack."
Orochimaru tilted his head.
"Last? Why so dramatic? You still have a choice."
He opened his arms as if offering salvation.
"I can take you with me. I can give you another chance."
His voice became warm—unnaturally so.
"Kakashi is barely alive. Give him a mercy kill, and come with me."
He stepped closer, speaking with a fire in his eyes.
"Konoha is a decaying place, Souji-kun. It rejects its geniuses. It rejected me. It will reject you too. Just like it rejected Uchiha Madara."
His lips curled.
"It won't accept Minato's child either. I left. Tsunade left. Jiraiya wanders without a home."
"So come with me, Souji-kun. Leave that rotting village behind. Walk a new path."
His tone was that of a preacher inviting a lost soul to salvation.
Holy, persuasive, manipulative.
But Souji didn't even blink.
He had already made up his mind.
He would rather die standing than live as Orochimaru's puppet.
"It's a beautiful offer," Souji said.
Then he tightened his grip.
"But… I refuse."
Orochimaru froze.
His smile vanished.
"…Why?"
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