Yet the vice admirals of this sea were all veterans who had spent decades locked in mortal combat within the purgatory of the Grand Line. Their physical bodies had been tempered by Armament Haki until they were as hard as steel, and their stamina recovery had reached an extreme, terrifying level.
After fighting for so long, the cigar in Hōshō's mouth had not even gone out, Momonga's breathing remained steady, and even Onigumo, who had gone mad, had not lost a fraction of the force behind his sword strokes.
Yet his clansmen could no longer hold on.
Kei's hand holding his blade was already beginning to tremble slightly, Yashiro's hand seals were a full half-beat slower, and Tekka's chest was heaving violently, every breath carrying a chaotic flow of Chakra. Even for the steed-fast twins, the intervals between casting their Genjutsu were growing longer and longer.
Their Chakra was still sufficient to sustain ninjutsu releases, but the exhaustion of their physical bodies could no longer be concealed.
Even if the Sharingan could anticipate every attack from the opposition, the reaction speed of their physical bodies was gradually failing to keep up.
Drag this out any longer, and the only end would be getting worn down and picked off one by one by the enemy.
Back in Konoha, he had failed to protect the Uchiha Clan, letting his clansmen fall in the dark alleys of the village.
Now, he absolutely would not allow the same tragedy to repeat itself upon this unfamiliar sea.
The crimson in the depths of Fugaku's eyes suddenly surged, his clenched knuckles turning white. The hundred-meter-tall Susanoo instantly emitted a deafening hum, its majestic purple Chakra exploding forth like a volcanic eruption.
He moved.
Without the slightest warning, the arm of the Susanoo holding the massive Tachi