The Touch of the Crescent Mark and the Clash Across Space

The sinister, chilly Chakra was like an invisible, slender ice snake. It followed Orochimaru's pale fingers and silently burrowed into the center of Tayuya's brow.

The sensation was cold and clammy.

This was his greatest specialty—mental infiltration and memory theft. He was like the most experienced surgeon, preparing to elegantly dissect the little white mouse's brain in search of the "lesion" he wanted.

Kabuto Yakushi stood to the side and pushed up his glasses. His gaze behind the lenses was focused and composed, while the Scroll in his hands was already spread open, ready to record every discovery made by Lord Orochimaru.

Orochimaru's Chakra surged straight in, and Tayuya's sea of consciousness lay defenseless before him.

Chaotic. Fragmented.

The first thing to enter his "field of vision" was countless pairs of cold, emotionless white eyes. Those eyes filled the entire space without a single blind spot, forming an inescapable net and radiating suffocating pressure.

Next came the afterimages of the Gentle Fist.

There were no flashy Ninjutsu, only the plainest and most lethal taijutsu. Every Pressure Point Technique and every severed Meridian was precise enough to belong in a textbook. Sakon and Ukon's prized Fusion Secret Technique was torn apart with ease under that perfectly coordinated encirclement. Before Kidomaru's webs could even lock onto their target, they were blasted into dust by a storm of "Eight Trigrams Vacuum Palms."

These fragments of memory were filled with bloodshed, despair, and the humiliation of being crushed one-sidedly.

"Kukuku..."

A playful curve tugged at the corners of Orochimaru's lips.

What a convincing performance, Lord Baishi.

He was far too familiar with this feeling. Although these memories were filled with genuine pain, their logical chain was too complete, like a meticulously arranged stage play. Every Hyuga clansman's expression and every attack angle was perfect,