Year 5 of Konoha.
Four-year-old Uchiha Yinglang opened his eyes before dawn had fully broken.
"Spring sets the course for the year, and morning sets the course for the day. Up!"
Uchiha Yinglang stretched in bed, took a deep breath, and got up.
He moved quietly, without waking his mother in the next room.
Ever since Uchiha Yinglang had created his own chakra seed, his body had changed-his strength had increased considerably, and his physique had grown much stronger.
The most obvious change was that he no longer needed to sit cross-legged for ages like those ninja, forming hand seals and laboriously extracting chakra.
He just breathed normally.
With every breath, he could feel something warm stirring inside his body, slowly growing stronger.
In plain English, he now had an incredibly badass passive skill: passive cultivation! Even in his sleep, he could slowly gain strength, improve his physique, and increase his chakra reserves.
Yes! Passive cultivation.
Those two words would make Konoha ninja green with envy.
But Uchiha Yinglang knew perfectly well that this was no free lunch. He had earned it through three years of nurturing his "qi" and that near-fatal act of devouring in the cave. The new seed was rooted in his own life essence, not a chakra seed bestowed by the Sage of Six Paths. That was why it recognized him as its master; he did not need to bow and burn incense every day to beg it to work.
The difference between other ninja and Uchiha Yinglang was like the difference between tenant farmers and farmers who owned their land.
Other ninja received their land-their chakra seeds-from the great landlord, the Sage of Six Paths. They were exploited by that landlord, through things such as shortened lifespans, and after death, the fruits of their labor-the chakra they cultivated-could also be collected by him as their chakra flowed into the Pure Land. Uchiha Yinglang's land-his chakra seed-was his own, condensed by himself. He suffered no exploitation by the landlord and had no need to worry about lifespan issues, while the fruits of his labor-the chakra he cultivated-belonged to him.
It had all started in early spring that year.
That early spring, he had drawn a blade.
[Congratulations, host. You have obtained "Nichirin Blade (replica, from the world of Demon Slayer)."]
It was a fine blade, its black surface tinged with blue. When turned in the light, the words "Destroyer of Demons" would emerge. But for a child of only four, the blade itself was not particularly useful.
He could hardly wander around the Uchiha Clan Compound carrying it. Better to put it in the system space and take it out when he needed it.
What proved useful was the knowledge that came with it.
Along with the blade, the system had poured an incomplete set of conceptual fragments about "Breathing Styles" into his mind. These were the techniques used by Demon Slayer Corps swordsmen in the world of Demon Slayer to fight demons-specific breathing rhythms that greatly enhanced physical abilities and could even imbue slashes with attributes.
As Uchiha Yinglang stared at the blade, something seemed to click into place in his mind.
Breathing!
His Hibernating Dragon Breath was a gentle method, somewhat like tai chi in certain martial arts worlds.
The Breathing Styles in Demon Slayer, however, were designed for combat. They were forceful and direct, capable of instantly increasing strength, speed, and reflexes.
What if... he could combine the two?
He could use Hibernating Dragon Breath as the foundation to nurture a solid, pure new energy-dragon essence-then use a Breathing Style to turn that dragon essence into actual combat power.
Ordinary breathing would mean cultivation; combat breathing would mean explosive power.
He got straight to work!
From that day on, Uchiha Yinglang slipped into the most secluded corner of the backyard before dawn every morning and began his "breathing fusion experiments."
The process was far harder than he had expected.
On his first attempt, he tried speeding up the rhythm of Hibernating Dragon Breath-and nearly suffocated himself into unconsciousness. The two breathing methods followed entirely incompatible paths for circulating qi and blood. Hibernating Dragon Breath followed a circuit through the conception and governing vessels, flowing slowly like lukewarm water. Combat breathing, on the other hand, forced a breath straight into the lungs, compressed it into the blood vessels, and blasted it into the muscles like a flood bursting through a dam. Forcing them together was like making a tortoise and a hare run at the same pace: awkward no matter how they did it. Not to mention that their underlying principles did not even come from the same kind of world.
On his second attempt, he took a different approach. Rather than force them to merge, he would let them "work in shifts" inside his body-following the Hibernating Dragon Breath route normally, then switching to combat breathing when he needed a burst of power. But the switch jammed. Two streams of air collided squarely in his chest, making his vision go black. He had to crouch against a wall for a long while before recovering.
The third attempt, the fourth, the fifth...
Each failure taught his body more clearly which paths would not work, which angles were too forced, and which breaths had been exhaled too hastily.
By the fifth attempt, he could just barely complete a full explosive breath-though the price was spending an entire incense stick's worth of time afterward gasping like a fish tossed onto shore.
But he did not care.
Gaining great power inevitably demanded a great price. Even the Sunflower Manual required its practitioners to castrate themselves.
One predawn morning a month later, he sat cross-legged in the corner of the backyard as usual, closed his eyes, and began adjusting his breathing.
This time, he tried a different approach.
He compressed the rhythm of Hibernating Dragon Breath.
He did not speed it up. He compressed it-squeezing an entire circuit of Hibernating Dragon Breath, all the circulation of dragon essence that normally required long, sustained breaths to propel, into a single breath.
Inhale.
The dragon essence seed deep in his dantian suddenly lit up. The essential power nurtured over three years was drawn up in an instant and surged through his meridians-not at the speed of a river, but of a tsunami.
Exhale.
The instant that surging power reached every limb and bone, his will forcibly "fixed" it in place. This was not a release, but an "implosion."
Boom-
Uchiha Yinglang's entire body shuddered violently.
He opened his eyes and looked down at his hand-a fair, clean four-year-old's hand. But he could feel that it could now crush stone.
"It worked."
He spoke softly, his voice as rough as sandpaper scraping stone.
That day, he gave his newly created breathing technique a name.
Dragon-Slaying Breathing Technique.
The dormant dragon did not lie low merely to hibernate. It waited for the moment it awoke and punched a hole through the heavens.
Over the next few months, Uchiha Yinglang threw himself into creating "forms" as though possessed.
These "forms" were killing moves that released the dragon essence unleashed by the Dragon-Slaying Breathing Technique through specific movements. Each was an independent killing move, yet they complemented one another to form a complete system.
Drawing on concepts from countless martial arts stories, anime, and games he had seen in his previous life, he combined them with knowledge of meridians and weak points from the "taijutsu genius's training experience," developing, testing, and refining each form.
The old tree in the backyard suffered for it.
Every day after his mother left, he punched, chopped, elbowed, and kneed its trunk. When his fists struck the tree and split his skin, he made no sound. When he kicked its roots and tore his toenails, he took a breath and continued. When the pain became unbearable, he cycled his breathing once more, and the warmth welling from his dantian wrapped around the wounds, slowly healing them.
A month later, the trunk was covered in dents and pits. Afraid his mother would notice, he secretly smeared wet mud over the lower half of the trunk, disguising it as "naturally peeling bark."
By late autumn of Konoha Year 5, the nine forms had largely taken shape.
First form: Dragon Claw Strike.
The most basic opening move. Dragon essence gathered in all five fingers, and a single claw strike drove force through bone. Barehanded, it could split wood; with a sharp blade, it became a killing move that could rip open the belly. On the day he mastered it, he left five finger holes roughly an inch deep in the trunk.
Second form: Dragon Horn Charge.
The shoulder led the body, and the body drove the hand in a frontal charge, like a divine dragon baring its horns, pressing relentlessly forward without retreat. At its pinnacle, his entire body would become a battering ram.
Third form: Dragon Scale Guard.
A defensive counterattack. He spread dragon essence over his body, enduring the opponent's attack while finding an opening to strike back. With his current reserves of dragon essence, blocking two or three attacks was no problem.
Fourth form: Spinning Dragon Fang.
Using the centrifugal force of rotation, he poured his whole body's strength into one strike. Fists, elbows, knees, and feet could all serve as fangs. After striking, he followed through into a turn, gathering momentum for the next blow. This was the opener for a combo.
Fifth form: Wild Dragon Fist.
A pure, frenzied barrage with little regard for structure. Every punch carried the breathing technique's explosive power, each blow struck flesh, and the attacks flowed without pause. It was most useful when surrounded by enemies trying to kill him.
Sixth form: Hidden Dragon Blast.
He compressed explosive dragon essence onto his knuckles or a blade's edge, releasing it all at once upon contact with the target. Like a buried mine, it exploded at a touch. This move demanded extremely precise control over dragon essence, and it took him two full months to barely master it.
Seventh form: Wandering Dragon Skybreaker.
A lightning-fast slash or thrust. All the explosive power of his breathing went into acceleration, leaving an afterimage in an instant as he struck from an unexpected angle. This was currently his fastest move, but also his most exhausting-after using it once, he needed three gasping breaths to recover.
Eighth form: World-Shaking Dragon Hammer.
He concentrated all his dragon essence and weight into a single point, smashing down from above. Like a dragon extending its claw, one strike could shatter a mountain. He had yet to fully master this form, and his arm went numb for ages after every use. But he knew that when he grew up, this would be one of his killing moves.
Ninth form: Dragon Ruling the Nine Heavens.
This move went far beyond a simple burst of breathing power. To execute it, he needed immense reserves of dragon essence, a formidable physique, and complete control over his battle aura.
When unleashed, he would be like someone riding a dragon through the heavens, dragon-shaped force coiling around his body. Its pressure alone could crush an enemy's will, allowing him to sweep through an army.
He could not even grasp the rudiments of this form yet. But he was in no hurry.
He knew these nine forms were only the beginning. The true potential of the Dragon-Slaying Breathing Technique lay in its foundation being entirely his own dragon essence-no external restrictions, no curse that drained his lifespan. His power was limited only by his own physique, will, and time.
"I still have a long way to go," he murmured, standing before the half-dead tree.
But that was fine.
He was only four.
He had his breathing technique, and the nine forms had taken preliminary shape. Next, he just needed to practice day after day, carving every form into his bones and melding it into his blood until his body moved without needing to think.
Uchiha Yinglang looked up at the sky. A pale, fish-belly white was spreading in the east. Dawn was near.
He drew a deep breath and began his morning training.
First form: Dragon Claw Strike.
His five fingers curled into claws, and his strike drew a low moan from the air.
Second form: Dragon Horn Charge.
His shoulder drove his body, his body drove his hand, and a lunging punch slammed into the trunk, shaking the entire tree.
Third form: Dragon Scale Guard.
Qi and blood spread throughout his body as he endured the rebounding force.
Fourth form: Spinning Dragon Fang.
He turned, borrowed the momentum, and swept out with an elbow strike.
Fifth form: Wild Dragon Fist.
There was no structure, only speed and strength. Blurred fists flew wildly, scattering chips of bark everywhere.
Sixth form: Hidden Dragon Blast.
He pressed a fist against the trunk. The force penetrated it, exploding a moment later-the tree shuddered violently, and several long-withered leaves fluttered down.
Seventh form: Wandering Dragon Skybreaker.
He kicked off the ground, leaving an afterimage as he swept past the tree. His knife-hand traced a path through the air with a piercing shriek.
Eighth form: World-Shaking Dragon Hammer.
He leaped, raised his right fist overhead, and smashed it down with his full weight and explosive power-
Crack.
The tree that had held out for months finally snapped in the middle.
The broken section toppled crookedly to one side. The splinters at the break were stark white, like a snapped bone.
Uchiha Yinglang stood before the stump, panting and drenched in sweat. The skin over his fist had split in several places, and beads of blood dripped between his fingers.
He looked at the broken tree, then at his fist, and suddenly smiled.
"If Mom asks... I'll say the wind blew it down."
He shook out his hand, turned, and headed back.
After a few steps, he stopped and glanced back at the remaining stump.
The tree: "Speak up for me!"
The wind blew in from the direction of the Naka River, carrying the chill of early winter. The stump stood there, silently bearing witness to a four-year-old child's secret every predawn morning.
He looked away and continued back.
His pace was neither fast nor slow. His breathing gradually steadied, and the smile slowly faded from his face. Once again, he became that Uchiha Clan child who was "a little lively, but by no means precocious."
As he pushed open the courtyard gate, he heard his mother getting up inside.
"Langlang? Why are you up so early?" Uchiha Ning's sleepy voice drifted through the window.
"Mom! I'm playing in the yard!" He tipped his face up with a bright, innocent smile. "The weather's so nice today!"
Uchiha Ning opened the window and saw her son standing in the yard, his little face flushed red by the wind, his eyes bright, and his expression utterly innocent.
She smiled. "Come back in, wash your face, and eat."
"Okay!"
Uchiha Yinglang trotted inside.
In the corner of the yard, the remaining stump stood quietly.
A few days later, Uchiha Ning would discover that the tree in the yard had fallen, mutter something about how strong the wind had been, and ask Uncle Yutian next door to chop it up for firewood.
She would never know that her four-year-old son had punched that tree in half.
Just as all of Konoha would never know that, in this little house at the outermost edge of the Uchiha Clan Compound, a child named Uchiha Yinglang was building his empire brick by brick through his secret training before dawn each day.
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