Everyone with a Six Paths Physique, Ōnoki Still Going Strong Enough to Live Five Hundred Years

In the underground depths of Iwagakure, Orochimaru's secret research center reeked of something strange.

It was a mixture of aged disinfectant, the fishy stench of some unknown sea creature's innards, and something like burnt hair clippings.

Orochimaru casually flung the metal canister containing half an Ōtsutsuki arm into a corner. The dull thud it made as it rolled away was deeply unsettling.

His golden snake eyes were filled with undisguised greed.

The syringe in his hand, smeared with unknown green sludge, was aimed at the hundreds of sleeping clones before him as though he were picking ripe watermelons from a field.

"Tut, tut. This batch of genetic fluid is even more explosive than I expected."

Orochimaru stuck out his long tongue and licked his dry, peeling lips. The deathly pale flesh on his face twitched slightly with excitement.

He pointed at the neatly lined-up Iwagakure ninjas, whose exaggerated muscle definition was downright frightening.

Every one of them was wrapped in high-tech armor capable of letting an ordinary Genin physically withstand an Explosive Tag.

The sweat stains around their collars had already formed a thick white crust of salt, carrying a sharp sour stench that stung the eyes and brought tears streaming down.

Yoru strode into the oppressive underground chamber, stepping over metal scrap scattered across the floor.

His Mangekyō Sharingan narrowed slightly as he surveyed these people who were "evolving."

Just moments ago, these ninjas had been complaining that the training was too intense. Now, after receiving an injection of genetic fluid, every one of them was red-faced, with countless fiery red earthworms seemingly writhing beneath their skin.

The heat blasting from their pores turned the underground chamber into a giant steamer, making the air so humid and hot that it left the skin feeling sticky.

"Stop staring. These brats