Chapter 47

This young man had overturned the game board he had spent centuries laying out in just half a month. "What exactly are you...?"

"What I am isn't important." Ling Rui rose to his feet and looked down at him. "What matters is that your road ends here."

Black Zetsu wanted to laugh, but the instant the corners of his mouth twitched, the golden chains abruptly tightened, nearly crushing his bones.

He stared into Ling Rui's eyes, and a thought suddenly surfaced in his mind—

This brat isn't a product of this world.

But the thought had barely formed before Ling Rui's casual words shattered it. "Stop guessing. You'll never guess it."

A chill ran through Black Zetsu, as if someone had seen straight through him from head to toe, leaving not even his thoughts hidden.

Ling Rui returned to the system space. Before he had even steadied himself, a system notification popped up. "Congratulations, Host. You have completed a stage mission and received one chance to draw a random advanced inheritance."

Ling Rui raised a brow and casually opened it.

The light screen flashed, and rows of lists scrolled across it. He glanced over them, intending to pick one at random.

Just as his finger touched the screen, the interface suddenly froze.

Then a line of red text appeared—

"Sorry, Host. Your permissions are insufficient to draw an inheritance of this level."

Ling Rui paused. "What the hell?"

Another line appeared on the interface. "This inheritance involves higher-dimensional rules. The Host's current permission level is B-rank and does not meet the requirements to unlock it."

Ling Rui narrowed his eyes. "Permissions? Since when was that a thing?"

The system fell silent for two seconds before slowly answering, "The system permission framework was automatically loaded after the previous version update. Since the Host did not actively inquire, the relevant information was not pushed."

Ling Rui's mouth twitched.

Fine, so it was playing disclaimer games with him. "Then how do I raise my permissions?"

"Complete higher-level world-class missions, or accumulate more than ten S-rank target kills."

Ling Rui thought about it. That did not sound too difficult. "Fine. Give me something I can draw first."

The light screen shifted, displaying a whole selection of B-rank inheritances.

Ling Rui scanned them, and his gaze landed on a name—"Advanced Conqueror's Haki." "Don't I already have this?"

The system answered, "The advanced version can materialize Conqueror's Haki, directly inflicting physical impact on the material world while also intimidating souls."

Ling Rui's eyes lit up. "I'll take it."

The light screen shattered, and a scarlet pillar of light descended from the sky, slamming directly into his body.

That power surged through his limbs and bones. His muscles felt as if they were being wrung out, and heat seemed to seep from every gap in his bones.

Ling Rui took a deep breath and clenched his fist.

A faint thread of dark red energy coiled around his fingertips, and even the air quivered slightly.

He looked up at a training target in the distance and casually waved his hand.

Boom!

The blast of energy never even touched the target, yet it split apart on its own.

Ling Rui smiled in satisfaction. "That was worth it."

Just as he was about to leave the space, the system displayed another message. "Friendly reminder: the Host has already attracted the attention of certain higher-dimensional forces. It is recommended that you raise your overall combat power as soon as possible."

Ling Rui stopped walking. "Higher-dimensional forces?"

The system did not respond again.

He scratched his head and grinned. "Interesting."

Now this was what it meant to be alive.

The square was packed with people.

A sea of heads shifted in the crowd, while the noise crashed against their eardrums like waves. "I heard an expert is coming today?"

"Of course. They say that person is here too."

"Which person?"

"Who else? The one who crippled the Zhang Family in the western part of the city last month."

Whispers spread through the crowd, information flying everywhere as though it had grown wings.

The iron frame on the platform creaked in the wind.

Several men dressed in black carried wooden crates up the steps. When the crates hit the ground, they made dull thuds.

The people below craned their necks.

Some stood on tiptoe, while others clung to the shoulders of those in front of them, terrified of missing anything. "Make way! Make way!"

A bald man forced his way to the front row, knocking the people beside him stumbling in every direction. "What the hell are you shoving for?"

"Get lost! I was here first!"

The scene descended into chaos.

Then footsteps sounded from behind the platform.

Everyone fell silent at once.

It was a strange sort of silence, as if someone had grabbed them by the throat.

An elderly man in a gray robe stepped onto the center of the platform, followed by two young men.

The old man coughed. "There is only one rule today."

His voice was not loud, but every word struck clearly against everyone's ears. "Of those who step onto this platform, only one person will remain standing."

A commotion rose from below.

Some people took half a step back, while others squeezed half a step forward instead.

Someone stood in the corner.

No one had noticed when he appeared.

He merely leaned against the wall, his arms dangling at his sides as limply as if he had no bones. "Who is that?"

"Can't see his face..."

"Don't look around. Looking at some things brings bad luck."

The murmurs were hushed.

The gray-robed old man swept his gaze over the crowd before finally landing on the figure in the corner.

He frowned. "You're participating too?"

The person did not speak.

He merely lifted his chin slightly.

The gray-robed old man's expression shifted, but he quickly regained his composure. "Then get on the platform."

The man moved.

There were no unnecessary motions. One step, two steps, three steps.

He walked slowly, but each step sent an incredibly faint tremor through the ground.

Those with sharp hearing turned pale. "Th-this... is he even human?"

The black-clothed men on the platform exchanged glances, their hands unconsciously moving toward their waists.

The man reached the front of the platform and stopped.

He raised his head.

Only then did everyone see his face—expressionless, with eyes as hollow as two deep wells.

Most terrifying of all were his hands.

They were truly gone.

His sleeves hung empty beneath his arms, like two bags puffed up by the wind.

The entire place fell deathly silent.

Itachi stood within that distorted space, the light around him like muddy water being stirred.

He stared into Sasuke's eyes. Reflected in those Sharingan was no longer the image he knew. "You think you've won?"

Itachi's voice was soft, but every word pierced the air like a nail.

Sasuke froze slightly.

The next second, he found himself seated in a chair in Konoha, holding a steaming bowl of miso soup.

Across from him, Itachi leisurely picked up food with his chopsticks, wearing the gentle smile Sasuke had only seen in childhood. "Eat. When you're done, I'll take you to the training ground."

Sasuke's pupils suddenly constricted.

Something was wrong.

He clearly remembered fighting Itachi for his life. How had he returned home in an instant?

He tried to move, only to find that his body would not obey him. His hand automatically lifted a spoon and brought a mouthful of soup to his lips.

The taste was real.

The warmth was real.

Even the flavor of mushrooms and tofu was exactly the same as in his memories. "Don't space out." Itachi looked up, the corners of his lips curling. "The Third Hokage is going to test your shuriken skills later. Don't cry if you lose to Naruto."

Sasuke clenched his fist.

Fake.

It had to be fake.

But he had clearly awakened the Mangekyo Sharingan. His eye power was stronger than Itachi's, so why had he still fallen for it?

"Brother." He suddenly spoke, his voice sinking. "What exactly are you trying to show me?"

Itachi's smile froze.

The surrounding space cracked like a mirror, fragments clattering down.

Their gazes collided in midair, their ocular techniques clashing like two blades tearing into each other.

Sasuke gritted his teeth.

The pain in his eyes grew increasingly clear, as if someone were stabbing needles into his pupils. "Izanami." Itachi's voice came from every direction. "This technique is not for attacking. It is for correction."

"Correcting what?"

"Your obsession."

Sasuke abruptly rose to his feet, and the surroundings transformed into that dark Uchiha Clan shrine.

The clan crest hung on the wall, and those familiar faces lay across the floor.

Itachi stood among the bodies, gripping that bloodstained blade. "If you truly hate me, then don't let me trap you here." Itachi raised his eyelids. "Use your eyes. Break it for me to see."

Sasuke clenched his teeth as the pain in his eyes intensified.

He saw himself return to that night once more.

The blood on the ground was still warm, while the air carried the smell of burning oil and charred flesh.

His father lay before him, the wound in his chest clean and precise.

His mother shielded him, her body bent into a twisted arc. "Why did you kill them?"

Sasuke's voice churned in his throat, as though something had blocked it.

Itachi stood in the shadows, with only those scarlet Sharingan shining. "Because you were too weak."

Every word pierced Sasuke's mind.

He wanted to argue, but no sound came from his mouth.

His body felt pinned against a wall, unable to move. "You think awakening the Mangekyo Sharingan makes you my equal?" Itachi slowly approached. "Your eyes contain nothing but hatred."

Sasuke stared at him.

That was right.

Hatred was what had carried him this far.

Ever since the night of the massacre, every time he slept, all he saw was Itachi's cold, indifferent eyes. "Then what about you?" Sasuke gritted his teeth. "What is in your eyes?"

Itachi stopped.

In that instant, Sasuke seized the opportunity, and his eye power suddenly exploded.

The surrounding space tore apart like paper, fragments scattering everywhere.

The shrine vanished.

The blood vanished.

The two of them returned to that damp cellar, water dripping steadily overhead.

"Not a bad reaction," Itachi said flatly. "But you still haven't learned the essence of it."

Sasuke snapped, "Stop putting on that act!"

He charged forward, gathering a Great Fireball in his hand and hurling it at Itachi's face.

Itachi sidestepped it, moving far faster than Sasuke had expected.

The next second, Itachi's hand clamped around Sasuke's wrist with enough force to make his joints crack. "Your eyes need a deeper understanding of this darkness."

Before Sasuke could react, a piercing pain shot through his right eye.

Itachi's fingers were reaching toward his eye socket. "Your Mangekyo Sharingan belongs to me."

Naruto stood atop the ruins, his entire body wrapped in golden chakra.

Six black orbs floated behind him, each one humming loudly.

Sasuke narrowed his eyes from across the way, his Sharingan spinning rapidly. "This is the Six Paths Mode you mentioned?" Sasuke asked.

Naruto did not answer. The instant he raised his hand, one of the black orbs shot out like a missile.

The ground exploded, gouging out a trench more than ten meters long.

Sasuke dodged sideways as shattered rocks grazed his cheek. "It's not just Six Paths Mode." Naruto's voice changed, as though two people were speaking at once. "The Sage of Six Paths gave me this—Jinchuriki Six Paths Mode."

With a flick of his finger, all six black orbs scattered and arranged themselves into a ring in midair.

The next second, the black orbs shot toward Sasuke in unison.

Sasuke drew his sword to block. The instant the blade collided with the black orbs, his entire arm went numb.