Chapter 43

** The blast wave flattened every tree around them and blew a crater more than ten meters wide into the ground.

The Eight-Tails' massive body was forcibly shoved seven or eight meters back by the shockwave, its four feet plowing four deep furrows into the earth.

Before the smoke and dust had even cleared, Naruto had already charged forward. "My turn."

His voice carried on the wind, filled with an indescribable excitement.

The Eight-Tails shook its enormous head, flinging the rubble from its face.

It stared at the tiny figure charging toward it, and the contempt in its eyes finally vanished. "Human brat..."

Its deep voice echoed through the valley. "You're the first one who dared to take my Tailed Beast Ball head-on."

"Cut the crap!" Naruto pushed off the ground and shot into the air.

He clenched his right fist. Chakra gathered around it into a translucent layer of energy, wrapping his entire arm like a glove.

He was too fast.

The Eight-Tails could only see an afterimage.

It instinctively swung one of its tails, intending to swat him away like a fly.

But Naruto did not dodge at all.

He reached out and grabbed the tail, which was as thick as a water barrel.

The Eight-Tails froze.

Something was wrong.

The force coming from the brat's palm was nothing a human should possess. It was like being clamped in an iron vise, completely unable to move. "Your tail—"

Naruto grinned, a sharp gleam flashing in his eyes. "How many hits can it take?"

Before his words had faded, the hand gripping the tail gave a fierce yank.

The Eight-Tails' enormous body was actually dragged into a stumble. Its center of gravity slipped, and its four legs scrambled wildly against the ground. "What?!"

It was utterly shocked.

Before it could regain its footing, Naruto's other hand had already risen high. His five fingers came together like a blade as chakra condensed over them in a dazzling white light. "Sever!"

The hand blade came down.

Crack!

The Eight-Tails' tail was cleanly sliced into two in the middle.

Purple blood sprayed from the break, instantly staining the ground black. "Roar—!!"

The Eight-Tails let out a howl of agony. Its remaining tails thrashed wildly as it staggered back more than ten steps. "It hurts like hell!"

Its whole body was trembling, chakra continuously spilling from the wound where its tail had been severed.

Naruto casually tossed the broken tail to the ground and shook the blood from his hand.

He looked up at the Eight-Tails, which was clearly panicking now, and his smile grew even brighter. "That's one."

He said, "Seven more. You ready?"

The living room fell silent for several seconds.

Su Wan leaned against the kitchen doorframe, her apron loosely tied around her waist and exposing a stretch of fair collarbone. She still held a spatula in her hand, and the scent of cooking oil had yet to disperse, but her eyes were fixed directly on the man sitting on the sofa opposite her. "What are you spacing out for?"

She tilted her head, her tone light as though she were asking about the weather. "Are you planning to fill your stomach first, or..."

Halfway through, she deliberately paused. She pointed the spatula at the steaming dishes on the table, then slowly turned it back, her gaze settling on his Adam's apple. "...eat me first?"

Lu Chen's chopsticks hung in midair for a long time without moving.

He stared at Su Wan for three seconds, his Adam's apple bobbing once, before he expressionlessly slapped his chopsticks onto the table. "Su Wan."

"Yeah?"

"Who taught you to say things like that?"

Su Wan blinked, looking utterly innocent. "I saw it on TV. What's wrong?"

Lu Chen took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "...You can't just say whatever you want."

Su Wan curled her lips, carried her bowl to the seat across from him, picked up a piece of braised pork, and stuffed it into her mouth. "Hmph. Coward," she mumbled through the food.

The tips of Lu Chen's ears turned red. He lowered his head and shoveled rice into his mouth without replying.

Elsewhere.

Hinata Hyuga knelt at the edge of the training ground, both hands clutching the fabric over her knees so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

The wooden post before her was covered in kunai. Their marks were scattered and chaotic, with not a single one landing in the same spot.

She had practiced the Flying Thunder God Technique Naruto taught her for three whole days.

Three days, and she had not even crossed the threshold of the first step—spatial perception. "I can't..."

She bit her lower lip. Her bangs were soaked with sweat and stuck to her forehead, making her look disheveled yet stubborn. "Why am I so stupid?"

Sakura Haruno, passing by nearby, stopped and looked at her. With a sigh, she walked over and offered her a towel. "Hinata, take a break. If you keep practicing, your hands are going to be ruined."

Hinata shook her head and did not take the towel. Her voice was muffled. "Sakura, you go back first. I'll try a few more times."

Sakura opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately shut it and turned away.

Only after she was left alone on the training ground did Hinata slowly raise her head, her eyes rimmed red.

She stared at the crooked kunai marks on the wooden post and suddenly spoke in a low voice.

"...Naruto, do you...not want to teach me at all?"

As her words fell, only the rustling of wind through the leaves remained on the training ground.

No one answered her.

Boom—

The air currents throughout the entire cultivation arena suddenly exploded.

A bolt of black lightning surged up from the ground and tore straight through the protective barrier overhead.

Everyone around them staggered backward. Some lost their footing and fell straight onto the ground. "What the fuck is this monster..."

In a corner, a young man's lips trembled, his voice cracking.

He pointed at the figure in the arena **, surrounded by crackling arcs of electricity, his finger shaking like a leaf.

The figure slowly straightened.

He lifted his head, revealing a young face.

His eyes were filled with surging lightning. "That's it?"

He spoke in a tone as casual as if he were asking whether someone had eaten yet.

His voice was not loud, yet it drowned out the crackling thunderstorm filling the arena.

The surroundings fell silent for an instant.

Then the place erupted. "What did you say? That was a mid-grade Heaven-tier lightning art!"

"He took a Thunderous Myriad Bolts head-on and he's fine?"

"No...his clothes aren't even torn?"

The man looked down at the black smoke rising from the corner of his clothes. He brushed it with his hand, snuffing out the last ** spark. "Lightning art?"

He scoffed and pointed at the smoking hole in the barrier overhead. "You call that thing a lightning art?"

Among the crowd, a middle-aged man who had attacked earlier wore a livid expression.

He gritted his teeth, veins throbbing on his forehead. "You...who exactly are you?!"

"Me?" The young man tilted his head and smiled harmlessly. "I'm just passing through."

"You people insisted on dragging me into a spar, so I had to make some token effort."

"A token effort?"

The middle-aged man nearly choked on his breath.

The lightning divine art he had painstakingly cultivated for twenty years had been broken with a casual wave of the other man's hand.

And that was a token effort?

The people around them began whispering to one another, their eyes full of uncertainty and alarm.

Someone muttered quietly, "That move he used just now—I've never seen it before."

"Me neither... It looked like some kind of ancient lightning pattern..."

"Give me a break. You've seen ancient lightning patterns? You don't even know what lightning patterns look like."

Within the crowd, an old man narrowed his eyes and stared intently at the young man's hand.

That hand was held behind his back, with a faint thread of fragmented electricity still flickering at his fingertips.

The old man's pupils suddenly contracted.

The color of that electricity...

It was not the usual silver-white or deep blue.

It carried the faintest trace of gold.

That was a color that could only appear when one had cultivated lightning arts to perfection and touched upon a certain origin.

Who exactly was this young man?

In the arena, the young man stretched lazily, his bones cracking. "So, are we still fighting?"

He looked around. Wherever his gaze went, no one dared meet his eyes. "If not, I'm leaving."

As he spoke, he really did turn around and walk toward the exit.

After taking two steps, he stopped again.

He looked back with an irritatingly smug smile. "Oh, right. Next time you want to pick a fight, remember to use something stronger."

"That thing just now was too weak even to scratch an itch."

The middle-aged man's face turned the color of pig liver.

He could not say a word.

Only after the young man's back disappeared through the doorway did everyone seem to come back to life, gasping for air. "Who was he?"

"No idea...but I think the sky over this region is about to change."

Inside the dark dungeon.

Drops of water seeped from cracks in the stone, dripping onto the ground with soft pattering sounds.

The air was thick with the damp scent of rusted iron.

In the corner, a frail figure curled up, his body covered in whip marks.

His clothes had been shredded into strips, stuck to his wounds, and every movement tore at them with searing pain.

But he did not make a sound.

He merely buried his head in his knees, his shoulders trembling faintly. "Tsk, tsk, tsk."

A voice suddenly rang out, carrying mockery and amusement. "A proud genius ninja of Konoha, reduced to such a state?"

The figure abruptly looked up.

It revealed a delicate but scarred face.

Sasuke Uchiha.

He stared toward the source of the voice. His eyes were bloodshot, but filled even more with vigilance and killing intent. "Who?!"

A figure slowly emerged from the darkness.

Golden hair, a pale face, and snake-like vertical pupils.

Orochimaru.

That chilling smile hung on his lips, and his eyes gleamed with excitement. "Sasuke, it seems you need power very badly."

Sasuke said nothing, only glared at him.

Orochimaru did not care and continued on his own. "Uchiha bloodline, Sharingan, avenger..."

With every word, he took one step closer to Sasuke. "You hate him, don't you? That man called Uchiha Itachi."

"He killed **, leaving only you behind."

"Every night when you close your eyes, can you still see those **?"

Sasuke's breathing grew rapid.

His body began to tremble—not from fear, but rage.

Orochimaru crouched in front of him and lifted Sasuke's chin with one finger. "I can give you power."

"Make you strong enough to crush that man beneath your feet."

Sasuke's pupils suddenly constricted.

He stared fixedly at Orochimaru, his voice hoarse. "What's the price?"

Orochimaru smiled, like a venomous snake that had found its prey. "The price? Very simple."

"Your body."

He leaned close to Sasuke's ear, his voice as low as a snake's tongue brushing against skin. "Give me your body, and I'll help you **."

Sasuke remained silent for a long time.

Only the sound of dripping water and his breathing remained in the dungeon.

Then he raised his head, a trace of resolve flashing in his eyes. "Fine."

Orochimaru's smile instantly bloomed. "That's the Sasuke I chose."

He stood, turned, and walked out, speaking as he went. "I'll remake you from the ground up."