If that guy dared to jump out and reap the benefits, he would not mind giving him a solid Fire Fist first.
The dense fog was completely torn apart by the fierce wind riding the waves. More than a hundred black figures landed on the sea like phantoms, their chakra steadily supporting them without stirring even the slightest extra ripple.
Uchiha Fugaku walked slowly at the front of the group, his Mangekyō Sharingan turning gradually in its sockets. Its intricate scarlet patterns exuded a heart-pounding pressure beneath the smoke-filled sky.
The more than one hundred clansmen behind him were all, at the very least, genuine Jonin-level fighters. Every one of them had activated their Three-Tomoe Sharingan, their scarlet eyes locking onto the Marine fleet ahead like a hundred blades poised to strike.
They stood in a staggered formation, shielding Yashiro and the other two behind them. Chakra flowed slowly through their meridians, and even when facing five Marine Headquarters warships loaded with cannons, they showed no trace of fear.
The sea, which had been churned endlessly by cannon fire and ninjutsu, gradually calmed beneath this tangible, murderous aura.
Aboard the warships, every Marine held their breath.
The lookout nearly dropped his telescope onto the deck. The staff officers on the bridge stared at the field of scarlet lights on the sea, their faces pale as their hands trembled uncontrollably around their pens.
Gion had already spread her Observation Haki to its limit, but when she clearly sensed more than a hundred presences no weaker than elite Headquarters colonels—and more than a dozen powerful auras comparable to rear admirals—her grip on Kompira tightened instantly, her expression turning grave.
The middle-aged man at the front possessed an aura as steady and profound as an abyss. The instant his Mangekyō Sharingan swept over