Who's the Toughest Fighter Here?

"Hey, kid!"

Enma King did not pursue Shinichi. He stood where he was with his arms crossed, his golden eyes studying the boy, who was still catching his breath a dozen meters away.

"From now on, you can use ninjutsu."

Shinichi paused. For nearly a month of hellish training, they had cast aside every trick and clashed using only the purest Taijutsu, strength, and ability to take a hit.

Enma King had told him plainly that the body had to learn the nature of power before anything else could follow.

And in their no-holds-barred sparring, he had felt firsthand just how extraordinary the boy's physique was.

Such astonishing strength, recovery, and endurance hardly seemed human.

If Sarutobi Hiruzen had not told him that Shinichi was a civilian orphan, Enma King might have suspected the boy possessed some unknown Kekkei Genkai, or had ties to the Senju Clan, famed for their formidable physiques.

"Don't you want to create a Nintaijutsu technique of your own?" Seeing Shinichi's expression, Enma King explained, "I can't offer you much guidance on ninjutsu training. The hand seals and ninjutsu you humans use aren't the way of the Enma Clan."

He paused, then continued, "But combining the powers you already have, learning to flow between them quickly in battle, until Taijutsu and ninjutsu are no longer separate things but one whole, as natural as breathing... that might be something a fight can force out of you."

His meaning was clear: Shinichi was free to use any ninjutsu he knew in their sparring from now on.

The goal was no longer simply to endure or evade. Under the immense pressure Enma King brought to bear, Shinichi would try to link the release of ninjutsu, its use to constrain and cover, with the movement, openings, and explosive timing of Taijutsu. He would search for the feeling of the two becoming one, laying the first practical foundation for the Nintaijutsu he hoped to create.

"Come on," Enma King said, his voice low and utterly confident. "Attack me as if you mean to kill me. Don't worry about hurting me. Nothing in the Shinobi World today can."

Some time later.

The training ground was in worse shape than ever. Scorch marks from Fire Release and fresh craters lay everywhere, showing that the fight had entered a new stage.

With an ear-piercing hum of energy, Shinichi seized a fleeting opening and drove the brilliant blue sphere of Chakra—the Rasengan—straight at Enma King.

Enma King reacted instantly, raising his right palm at the last possible moment to stop the high-speed, whirling sphere. It held not only terrifying piercing power, but also a dense, crushing force.

Even Enma King's mountain-like frame could not remain steady under the impact. He slid backward, his feet sinking into the ground and carving two furrows before he finally stopped seven or eight meters away.

Dust stirred.

Enma King raised his eyes to the black-haired boy panting hard nearby, then looked down at the right palm he had used to catch the Rasengan.

A large patch of the tough fur that blades ordinarily could not cut had been torn away. The resilient skin beneath was broken, and a thin line of crimson blood slowly seeped out.

He stared at the blood and fell silent.

"Enma King, sir... are you all right?" Shinichi asked, steadying his breath.

In the fight just now, he had used nearly everything he had, weaving several ninjutsu together to create an opening. Only then had he found the chance to strike up close and force Enma King to take his full-power Rasengan head-on.

Enma King's body was famed for its "Indestructible Adamant Body," but that did not mean it was literally impossible to harm. In the original future, the Kusanagi Sword wielded by Orochimaru had once cut his palm.

And that reputation for being indestructible was tied to another talent unique to the Enma Clan: transformation.

They could transform their entire bodies into weapons to suit the battle, freely taking the form known as the Adamant Staff.

In that unique weapon form, their hardness and strength leaped to another level.

They could clash head-on with a legendary weapon like the Kusanagi Sword without taking the slightest damage, and a single blow could send the rampaging Nine-Tails flying out of Konoha.

During the Fourth Shinobi World War, the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, had even used Enma King in that form to smash through the Ten-Tails' dense barrage of Wood Release attacks and save Naruto Uzumaki.

Perhaps only in his Adamant Staff form did Enma King truly deserve to be called indestructible.

His ordinary ape form, by contrast, was better described as having steel bones and iron sinews.

In that form, he could shrug off the vast majority of conventional ninjutsu and Taijutsu attacks. His defense was monstrous.

Yet powerful ninjutsu or a legendary blade like the Kusanagi Sword could still break through his defenses and wound him.

"Very good..." Enma King's low voice broke the silence. He shook his hand, scattering blood across the ground. "Well done."

Perhaps because his claim that nothing could hurt him had just been disproved, his tone held a trace of embarrassment.

"We'll end today's training here," Enma King said.

Before Shinichi could respond, Enma King's massive body vanished with a poof, leaving a thick cloud of white smoke behind.

At the center of the training ground remained only more wrecked earth, fallen trees, and... where Enma King had stood, a few dark red bloodstains on the dust and gravel, not yet fully dried. They stood out sharply.

Shinichi's gaze lingered briefly on the bloodstains, and something flickered in his eyes.

But he did nothing. As he had after every grueling sparring session before, he let out a long breath, heavy with fatigue and heat.

Then he silently began tidying the ruined ground, gathering the broken wood and roughly filling the most obvious craters. Everything looked no different from usual.

A month later, in Forging Town on the southern border of the Land of Iron.

This border town adjoining the Land of Fire was known for its mines and forges. A faint smell of metal and charcoal lingered in the air year-round.

Inside an izakaya called the Sakura View Pavilion, business was bustling.

Low-hanging curtains could not contain the heat and clamor within.

Rough earthenware cups clinked together. People in all manner of tunics and traveling clothes sat around low tables, most of them ronin, merchants, and local craftsmen. The salty aromas of sake, grilled fish, and soy sauce mingled in the air.

They talked about recent ore prices, what the border patrols had seen, and which workshop had landed another large order.

Raucous laughter and boasts rose and fell through the din.

Just then, the tavern's heavy wooden door creaked open, letting in a gust of cold air.

A tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. After a brief hush, a clear voice rang over the noise, brimming with eagerness and undisguised confidence. Everyone heard it:

"Excuse me, everyone."

"Who's the toughest fighter in Forging Town?"