Ebizo has no answer.
He lowered his head and looked at his hands.
The hands were very old, the skin was loose, the backs of the hands were covered with age spots, the knuckles were thick and deformed, and the nails were yellow and thick.
These hands cannot make a puppet like Chiyo, and these Teuchi are no match for Hanzo, but these hands have not given up yet.
He pulled out the short knife from his waist and held it in his hand.
The blade was not long, shorter than his forearm. The edge was a little blunt, and the rope on the handle was black with sweat.
This is his last weapon. There are no puppets, no poisons, and no mechanisms.
There was only a dull dagger and an old body that was about to fall apart.
He rushed towards Hanzo.
Hanzo watched him rush over without moving.
He just stood there, watching the old man holding the dagger, not running fast, and even staggering a little. The sand under his feet was too soft, and his legs were not strong enough. With every step, he sank in a little, pulled it out, and sank in again.
When the short knife stabbed over, Hanzo's lock scythe moved. The blade passed through Ebizo's right arm, creating a long gash from shoulder to elbow.
The blood spurted out and sprinkled on the sand, where it was quickly absorbed by the dry sand, leaving a dark red mark.
Ebizo's right arm hung down, and the short knife was still in his hand, but he could no longer lift it up.
He didn't stop.
He changed his left hand and moved the short knife from his right hand to his left hand. His movements were a little awkward and the knife almost fell to the ground.
He gripped the handle of the knife tightly and rushed towards Hanzo again.
The lock sickle moved again. This time, the blade struck Ebizo's right shoulder. It didn't scratch, it cut.
The sound of broken bones was very brittle, as brittle as breaking a dead branch.
Ebizo's entire right arm fell off his shoulder and fell to the ground. His fingers were still twitching slightly, as if he was grabbing something.
Blood gushed out from the fracture, dyeing the sand on the ground bright red.
Ebizo's body shook.
He did not fall. He still held the knife in his left hand, and the knife was still there.
He gritted his teeth and rushed towards Hanzo again.
This step is slower and heavier than the previous step, like a ship with a leaky bottom, still moving forward, not because it can still move, but because the person at the helm refuses to stop.
Hanzo looked at him and raised the sickle.
This time, the blade did not slash at his arm, nor at his leg, nor at any place where he could escape alive.
The blade stabbed straight into his chest, piercing through the left chest and exiting through the back.
Ebizo's body stopped.
He lowered his head and looked at the knife on his chest. The blade was stained with blood. His own blood, hot, flowed down the blade and dripped on the sand, one drop, one drop, and one drop after another. He raised his head and looked at Hanzo.
Hanzo's face was very close to his, so close that he could see his own reflection in those small eyes.
An old man with wrinkles on his face, gray hair, clothes full of blood, a broken arm, and a knife stuck in his chest.
He smiled.
"Hanzo." His voice was so soft that it was almost inaudible, "You are getting old too."
Hanzo's eyes narrowed slightly.
Ebizo's body slowly slid down, slid off the blade, and fell to the sand.
He still held the short knife in his left hand, with the blade stuck in the sand and the handle pointing upward, like a small tombstone.
Hanzo stood there, looking at his body, silent for a long time.
Then he pulled out the scythe and shook off the blood on the blade. The blood dripped on the sand, dried by the sun, and turned into a small black spot.
He turned around and looked in the direction of Sunagakure.
"Attack," he said.
The Amegakure army behind him surged up like a tide, rushing towards the defense line that was no longer defended, and towards the village that no longer had defenders.
But at this moment, Chiyo has returned.
Chiyo fell from the sky. She was still wearing her frontline combat uniform. The clothes were stained with the ashes of Konoha and the sand of Sunagakure. Her hair was messy in the wind, and there was still sweat on her face that had not been wiped off.
She was holding two puppets in her hands, which were the two newly made puppets she had made recently. One was called Father and the other was called Mother.
When she landed on the ground, the first thing she saw was the line of defense.
It has been broken, Amegakure's vanguard troops are rushing in, and Sunagakure's defenders are being defeated, running away, and being hunted down.
Her heart sank, but she had no time to worry about that.
She must first find Ebizo, find her brother, confirm that he is still alive, and confirm that he is okay.
Then she saw it.
On the high ground, a man was lying on the ground.
The man's clothes were very familiar to her. It was the combat uniform she had sewn for him herself. It was gray and had a small word "" embroidered on the collar.
She embroidered for a whole night, the stitches were densely packed, as if she was afraid that the word would run away.
The man's right arm was gone, and there was a neat cut on the shoulder. The blood had dried up, and the wound was black and purple, as if it had been burned by something.
There was a hole in the man's chest, the hole pierced by the blade, and blood flowed from there, dyeing the whole clothes dark red.
The man had his eyes closed and a smile on his face.
Chiyo stood there, motionless.
She was still holding her father and mother in her hands, and the arms of the two puppets were still open, as if they were waiting for her instructions.
She was still wearing the combat uniform, and the clothes were still stained with dust from the front line.
There was still undried sweat on her face. The sweat flowed down her cheeks and dripped on the sand. It was quickly dried in the sun without leaving any traces.
She looked at Ebizo, his face, his smile, and his left hand still holding the dagger.
"Ebizo." She shouted, her voice was very soft, as if she was afraid of waking him up.
Ebizo has no answer.
"Ebizo." She shouted again, the voice louder and sharper, as if something had broken in her throat.
Ebizo Still no answer.
Chiyo's body began to tremble. Her fingers were trembling so much that she couldn't even lift the puppet.
The father and mother slipped from her hands and fell to the ground with a dull sound.
"Ebizo." Her voice was trembling, shaking badly, "Ebizo, look at me. My sister is back. Look at me."
Ebizo didn't look at her.
She lost her son and daughter-in-law, and her grandson disappeared.
And now, she has even lost her last brother.
What is left of her?
She raised her head.
Her eyes were as red as hot coals, her face was covered with tears and sand, and her lips were so chapped that they were bleeding.
She looked in the direction of Sunagakure, at the village that was devoured by the flames of war, at the collapsing houses Kazumasa and the burning trees.
The wind blew from the desert, picked up the sand, and hit Chiyo's face, the wood of his father and mother, and Ebizo's already pale face.
"Hanzo!"
"You really deserve to die!!!!"