"Hiruzen Sarutobi." Utatane Koharu's voice interrupted his thoughts, "There is another way."
Sarutobi Hiruzen looked at her.
"Uchiha."
Utatane Koharu had a complicated expression on his face when he said these three words.
There is helplessness and reluctance, like swallowing a fly, but you have to swallow it.
"Although Uchiha Shaoyu moved away with most of the clan members, those left behind are still there. Although the old guy Uchiha Setsuna followed Shaoyu to Kumogakure, Fugaku himself is still at Konoha."
"Although Uchiha Clan's strength is not as good as before, among the remaining few hundred people, there are still seven or eight Jonin, and Chunin has dozens more. If they are incorporated into the defense line on the east coast--"
Sarutobi Hiruzen Silence.
"Let Homura and Uchiha go together."
Mitokado Homura.
This existence has always been underestimated in Konoha.
In the formula book, he is at the same level as Sarutobi Hiruzen.
Among them Konoha f4, the strength ranking is probably Sarutobi Hiruzen is greater than Mitokado Homura is greater than Danzo is greater than Utatane Koharu.
Only Mitokado Homura can feel at ease with Uchiha and Sarutobi Hiruzen.
Sunagakure's outer defense line was torn apart like paper in Amegakure's first charge.
Ebizo stood on the high ground behind the position, looking at the wilderness devoured by the war in front of him, with an expression on his face like a stone that had been weathered for a long time.
In front of him are the Sunagakure defenders of less than a thousand people, and behind him are Sunagakure.
The village he had lived in and guarded for decades had become too old and toothless.
Among the defenders were teenagers who were pushed to the battlefield when they were just thirteen years old, retired veterans who came to report on crutches, female logistics soldiers who couldn't even hold a Kunai firmly, and a few Chunin who should have been lying in hospital beds recovering from their injuries.
They used everyone who could use it, pushed everyone who could hold a knife up, and packed everyone who could breathe, stand up, and walk into this paper-thin defense line.
But not enough. Far from enough.
Amegakure's vanguard troops have torn a hole in the center of the defense line.
What Hanzo brings is not just a mob, but the elite of Amegakure.
Those veterans who survived Second Shinobi World War, those ninjas who grew up in the rain of Land of Rain, those warriors who are colder than the desert of Sunagakure and more ruthless than the storm of Sunagakure.
They came up like a tide, one wave after another, each wave stronger than the previous wave, each wave more fierce than the previous wave.
Ebizo closed his eyes and opened them again.
Next to him stood three puppets, which were all his belongings.
His Puppet Technique is not as good as Chiyo, far behind.
Chiyo can control ten puppets with ten fingers, but he can only control three.
Chiyo can install dozens of mechanisms and poisons on the puppet, but he only knows the most basic ones.
Chiyo is the pillar of Sunagakure, he is just the stone next to the pillar.
It's inconspicuous, but it plays a role.
"Master Ebizo!" A Chunin covered in blood ran up, his voice trembling.
"The first line of defense has been breached! People from Amegakure have already rushed over, and the village is ahead!"
Ebizo didn't speak. He just raised his hand and moved his five fingers slightly.
The three puppets raised their heads at the same time, making a clicking sound. It was the wooden joints that were rubbing, rotating, and preparing.
"Stand back." Ebizo said, his voice hoarse but calm, "Leave this place to me."
That Chunin was stunned for a moment and wanted to say something, but when he saw Ebizo's cloudy but determined eyes, he swallowed his words. He bowed, turned around and ran down the high ground.
Ebizo stood there, the wind blowing his gray hair and his dusty combat uniform.
In front of him are three puppets, behind him is Sunagakure, on the left is the crumbling defense line, and on the right is the endless desert.
He has no way out.
Hanzo is here.
He didn't even wear a gas mask, and his old face was exposed to the sun.
He was holding the scythe in his hand, and the blade was still stained with blood, but it was not his own blood.
He walked up to the high ground without anyone following him.
He came alone, as if to see an old friend.
"Ebizo." When he read the name, his voice was calm.
"Where's your sister?"
Ebizo looked at him and didn't answer.
"Leaving?" Hanzo's mouth moved slightly, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or sigh, "Returned to help? Too late?"
He shook his head and turned the sickle in his hand, making a whirring sound.
"It's a pity," he said, "I wanted to fight her. I've been thinking about the unfinished fight a few years ago."
Ebizo moved his fingers. The three puppets rushed out at the same time.
The first puppet attacked from the front, two short knives popped out from both arms, and the blades were directed at Hanzo's throat.
The second puppet walked around from the left and shot out a row of poisonous needles from its hands, the tips of which glowed blue in the sunlight.
The third puppet surrounded him from the right, opened his arms, and popped out ten daggers from his ten fingers at the same time, like ten teeth, biting Hanzo's waist and abdomen.
Three directions, three attacks, arriving at the same time.
Hanzo Stay there.
He just stood there, waiting for the attacks to get closer, and then his body moved.
The movement was so fast that Ebizo's eyes couldn't follow it - the sickle drew an arc in the air, the blade cut through the neck of the first puppet, and the wooden head flew out, rolled several times on the ground, and stopped in a piece of sand.
The chain of the scythe wrapped around the second puppet's wrist before its poisonous needles were shot. Hanzo pulled it, and the puppet was pulled over and blocked in front of him. All the poisonous needles were pierced into the puppet's body.
With a flash of blue light, the wooden surface of the puppet began to turn black, crack, and break into powder.
The ten daggers of the third puppet stabbed Hanzo at the same time.
No, it was the air that was stung.
Hanzo's body slipped through the gap of the dagger like water, and the blade of the locking sickle was raised from bottom to top. The puppet was split in half from the chest to the top of the head, and sawdust flew and fell to the ground.
Ten seconds.
Three puppets, ten seconds.
Ebizo's fingers were frozen in mid-air, maintaining the control posture, but their fingertips were trembling.
He stared blankly at the remains of the puppets on the ground.
Scattered pieces of wood, broken joints, and slightly trembling fingers.
Those puppets that he spent more than ten years making bit by bit, those puppets that he polished and polished, repaired and repaired, those puppets that he thought could accompany him to the end, were just broken.
Hanzo looked at him and did not pursue the victory.
He just stood there, with the sickle hanging by his side and a piece of sawdust hanging on the blade.
"Ebizo." He said, "You are far worse than Chiyo."