Chapter 37 - The Raid on the Supply Convoy (3)
A blade swept through the space he had just occupied.
Cold steel cut through the empty air, missing its target by less than a breath. Had he reacted even a fraction of a second later, it wouldn't have been a near miss. It would have been his end.
Daishi's breath came sharp and ragged, his pulse pounding in his ears. He turned his head—just enough to see the new figure standing where his death had nearly met him.
Kazane.
A single step away. Three swords drawn.
And eyes locked onto him with a look that sent a different kind of chill down Daishi's spine.
"You can see me? Where's Mahiru? How did you end up here?"
Ōishi's mind raced, his shock barely concealed behind a tense expression. His Camouflage Concealment Technique was flawless, designed to make him blend seamlessly into the environment, rendering him practically invisible even to skilled shinobi. Yet Kazane had seen through it with terrifying ease and had nearly cut him down before he even realized the danger.
A cold chill crept up his spine.
Then the realization struck him.
Kazane was Mahiru's opponent. If Kazane was here, standing before him, that could only mean one thing.
Mahiru was dead.
But how?
Mahiru was an elite jonin, one of Iwagakure's strongest. He was Ōishi's equal, if not stronger. A battle between two warriors of that level should have taken far longer. Yet here Kazane stood, calm and unscathed, as if dispatching Mahiru had been nothing more than routine.
"You should tend to your wounds first. Leave him to me," Kazane said to Izumi.
Ōishi's gaze shifted to the side. Izumi.
The Uchiha was barely standing. Her breath was ragged, her body trembling from blood loss, and her back bore a deep, gruesome wound, so severe that even the faintest sliver of white bone was visible beneath the torn flesh. He was in no condition to fight.
Kazane reached into his pouch and casually tossed a roll of bandages toward Izumi. "Wrap your wounds. Try not to die."
Then he turned his sharp, unyielding gaze back to Ōishi.
"Of course, if I'm here, that means he's already dead."
The words were spoken with such casual finality that it sent another wave of unease through Ōishi.
"Impossible!" Ōishi blurted out. "There's no way you could have killed Mahiru!"
But even as he said it, doubt gnawed at him. He knew better than to rely on blind hope. Reality was staring him in the face. If Kazane had cut down Mahiru that quickly, then Ōishi had no chance in a direct fight.
Retreat. That was his only option.
Without hesitation, Ōishi turned on his heel and bolted toward the Iwa-nin encampment.
This wasn't about pride or stubbornness. This was about survival. If Mahiru was truly dead, then Kazane was too powerful for him to handle alone. He had to return to camp and call for Kitsuchi. Only the son of the Third Tsuchikage would stand a chance of stopping this monster.
The camp was far, but not too far. If he ran at full speed, he could reach it in under ten minutes.
"Young people these days… no sense of honor," Kazane sighed, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment as he watched Ōishi flee without a second thought.
Then, without another word, he activated Eight Gates along with Lightning Release Chakra Mode.
A surge of raw power flooded his body. Muscles tightened, veins pulsed, and an electric crackle filled the air around him. The ground beneath his feet shattered as he kicked off, launching himself forward at a speed that blurred the space between them.
Ōishi had barely made it fifty meters before Kazane vanished from sight.
Izumi, still standing weakly in the distance, could only watch in stunned silence.
Kazane's speed was unreal.
Even though she was an Uchiha, her clan famed for their ability to track movement with the Sharingan, she had barely been able to follow Kazane's movements. In an instant, the swordsman had become nothing but a flicker of lightning streaking across the battlefield.
Izumi gritted her teeth, forcing herself to remain conscious.
There was no time for admiration. Her body was reaching its limit, and if Kazane had been even a few seconds later, ahe would have died—not from an enemy's blade, but simply from bleeding out.
With trembling hands, she unraveled the bandage Kazane had tossed him and began wrapping her wounds, hoping to slow the blood loss.
Meanwhile, Ōishi could feel it.
A presence closing in behind him. Fast. Too fast.
His eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He wasn't slow. He was one of Iwa's finest shinobi, capable of outpacing most jonin in a straight sprint. And yet, despite using every ounce of his speed, Kazane was closing the distance.
Dread settled deep in his gut.
He wasn't going to make it.
His mind screamed at him to move faster, but his body had already reached its limit.
And then—
Kazane appeared in front of him.
The Iwa-nin skidded to a stop, his heart hammering in his chest. His body screamed at him to react, to fight, to run, to do something, but his instincts told him what his mind refused to accept.
There was no getting away. His only option now was to fight.
Kazane stood before him, blade in hand, calm and unhurried.
"You were running just fine," Kazane said, tilting his head slightly. "Why stop now? Keep running! C'mon, run!"
For the first time, Kazane truly understood why villains in stories always wasted time taunting their enemies. Because it felt amazing.
But he couldn't afford to get carried away. The battle was still ongoing, and he had no idea how Fugaku was holding up against Hikari. The sooner he finished this, the better.
His grip on his blade tightened. Then, without warning, he lunged.
"Ninja Art—Camouflage Concealment!"
Ōishi's voice rang out as he weaved a single hand seal, vanishing from sight.
He knew Kazane had seen through this technique once before, but desperation clouded his judgment. Maybe last time had been a fluke. Maybe this time, it would work.
But Kazane didn't need his eyes to see.
The moment Ōishi disappeared, Kazane let out a disappointed sigh. He had already locked onto his opponent. Observation Haki was more than enough to track his every movement.
Ōishi had met his worst possible opponent.
Neither his swordsmanship nor his specialty technique had any effect. Kazane was simply built to counter him.
In the world of pirates, there was an admiral named Fujitora, a blind swordsman who could move and fight as if he had perfect sight, relying purely on his advanced perception. Kazane wasn't at that level yet, but against a low-tier invisibility technique like this, he didn't even need to try.
He took a step forward.
"Three-Sword Style—Tiger Hunt."
In an instant, Kazane became a blur of motion, his form enveloped in crackling blue lightning. With a single fluid strike, he cut through Ōishi and dashed past him, never once looking back.
Ōishi froze. For a moment, silence fell.
Then, red lines spread across Ōishi's body, deep wounds carving through him like tiger stripes. Blood erupted from the countless cuts.
His body swayed.
And then, he collapsed, lifeless.
Kazane had already moved on, speeding back toward the battlefield, when he suddenly halted mid-step. He hadn't checked for the supply scroll.
Letting out an annoyed sigh, he turned back, striding toward the corpse. He crouched down, flipping the body over and searching every pocket.
Nothing.
Just 300 ryō and a few explosive tags.
"...Seriously? This is an elite jōnin? What a broke-ass ninja."
He clicked his tongue in disappointment.
As part of the Hatake Clan, Kazane and Kakashi had no major family assets or businesses to rely on. Their clan had dwindled to just the two of them, and maintaining their swordsmanship training was expensive. They survived on the village's stipends and the last of White Fang's savings.
And yet, an elite jōnin from Iwagakure, one of their top warriors, had nothing but loose change and a few disposable tools?
Pathetic.
Shaking his head, Kazane pulled out a kunai and severed Ōishi's head. Proof of the kill. Then, without wasting another second, he sprinted back toward the battlefield.
---
On the other side of the battlefield, the fight raged on.
Uchiha Fugaku stood panting heavily, blood dripping from numerous deep wounds. His Sharingan spun wildly, analyzing every movement of his opponent.
Across from him, Hikari remained unscathed, his breathing steady and controlled.
The difference was clear—Fugaku was losing.
Hikari had initially engaged in a battle of genjutsu, but after realizing Fugaku's mastery over it, he had switched to a more direct approach. He no longer needed deception. He could win with sheer strength.
"Earth Release—Ruptured Earth Palm."
Hikari's hands blurred through a rapid sequence of seals before he slammed one palm against the ground.
The earth beneath Fugaku split apart with a deafening crack, a jagged fissure opening beneath his feet. The sudden tremor threw him off balance, forcing him to stumble forward, dangerously close to the gaping chasm.
Boom!
But Fugaku wasn't so easily caught.
At the last moment, his fingers moved in a practiced sequence of seals.
His body flickered.
In his place stood a crumbling stone clone—Substitution Jutsu.
The real Fugaku had already repositioned himself.
He reappeared behind Hikari, chakra surging through his lungs as he inhaled deeply. His fingers formed the familiar seal.
"Fire Release—Great Fireball Jutsu."
A massive fireball roared forth, its heat distorting the air as it barreled toward his opponent.