The light of day seeped out little by little amidst the fierce tug-of-war and howls.
As the first streak of gray-white tore through the inky blue of the eastern sky, the grating sounds of collisions, the explosions of Ninjutsu, and the dying wails on the battlefield finally began to fade away.
It wasn't that the battle was over, but rather that the attacking Iwagakure, like the receding tide, once again carried their casualties and disappeared in an orderly fashion into the jagged rocks and lingering morning mist of the north.
What remained was a scene of devastation: scorched earth, still-warm blood, and mutilated bodies.
The Sunagakure held out, but at a terrible cost.
Inside the cave, which was being used as a makeshift medical station, the air was thick with the pungent smells of blood and Yakumi, as well as suppressed groans of pain and heavy breathing.
The light was dim, and everyone's face was shrouded in a layer of desolation and the numbness of surviving a catastrophe.
Shira regained consciousness later. No, to be precise, he was abruptly pulled back to reality amidst violent coughing and burning pain in his chest and abdomen.
At first, the light and shadow flickered blurry before my eyes, then gradually focused, revealing the rough ceiling of the cave and a blood-stained, concerned face approaching—it was Asuka.
"Awake? Don't move!"
Asuka's voice was terribly hoarse, and one hand pressed tightly against Shira's uninjured left shoulder. "Your internal organs were concussed, and your bones are fractured. The medical-nin just treated you, so don't move around!"
Shira tried to speak, but only a hoarse sound came from his throat, and his mouth was full of the taste of rust. He struggled to move his eyes, and all he could see was desolation.
Captain Reppu lay on a felt mat not far from him, his face as pale as paper, his chest wrapped in bandages soaked with blood, and his breathing weak and rapid.
A medical-nin was sweating profusely as he sprinkled a glowing powder onto the wound, but blood still seemed to be slowly seeping out.
That tough guy, who was always as silent as a rock, looked as vulnerable as a crumpled piece of paper at that moment.
"Captain..." Shira tried to call out, but couldn't utter a proper sound.
"Captain Reppu took three heavy blows to block that big guy..."
Asuka's voice lowered, choked with sobs, "And Sada, his ' Ibuse ' puppets were all destroyed. To cover our retreat, his left leg was hit by a rock and the bone was broken..."
Shira's heart sank, and her eyes searched frantically.
In another corner, he saw Sada sitting upright, his left leg fixed in a simple splint, his face ashen. His Sasori, was kneeling silently beside him, futilely trying to piece together a puppet's broken arm, his fingers trembling.
His gaze shifted again, and he saw the Sunagakure Chunin had been setting the trap with him earlier lying on his back, a terrible blood hole in his chest that had stopped bleeding, his eyes staring blankly at the top of the hole, devoid of any life.
Beside him, a young Genin was gripping his still-warm hand, his shoulders heaving violently as he let out a beast-like howl.
" Kuroiwa, Brother Kuroiwa! Wake up! Wake up, you fucking idiot! We promised we'd have a big meal together when we get back this time!"
The sobs were suppressed and desperate, piercingly loud in the silent cave.
Many more people, some lying down, some sitting, all bore wounds to varying degrees. Some silently wiped the Kunai of their kunai, while others stared blankly out of the cave.
Ryoma Jonin against the rock wall at the cave entrance, closing his eyes to regulate his breathing. Several deep wounds, deep enough to expose the bone, were on his bare arms and cheeks, but he simply wrapped them with strips of cloth, his face as cold and hard as iron.
Iwagami Jonin sat on the other side, a gash on his exaggeratedly bald head, blood smearing half his face. He was gulping down water, but his knuckles were white from gripping the water pouch.
There was no joy of victory, only the heavy silence of death. Outside the cave, someone was silently collecting the body, their movements slow and solemn.
The wind continued to blow, but it couldn't dispel the suffocating smell of blood and wounds.
"How many of us died?" Shira finally found her voice, hoarse and unpleasant.
Asuka wiped his face, his hands stained with dried blood mixed with fresh dampness. "Six confirmed. Nine are seriously injured and incapacitated, including Captain Reppu. The rest are all wounded."
He paused, his voice lower, "Over from Iwagakure, there are eleven corpses left, the extent of their injuries is unclear, but they definitely have more than us. But they outnumber us, they can afford to wait."
Six... nine...
Shira closed her eyes. Yesterday, she had marched, laughed, and been on high alert with these living, breathing people, but today they had become cold, lifeless numbers and eyes that could never be opened again.
That Chunin named Kuroiwa, I gave him half a piece of rations yesterday, and he said with a smile that the kid from Sunagakure was getting more and more decent...
His chest felt even tighter, not just from the injuries, but also from a heavy, suffocating pressure that made it hard for him to breathe.
It is sadness, anger, helplessness, and also a cold, sharp question—in the face of a true, brutal border war of attrition, what can one's own cultivation, one's own sword, one's own enlightenment truly change?
He fell before he could even truly defeat a single enemy, and almost dragged the captain down with him...
Self-blame, frustration, and a deeper yearning for power, like poisonous ivy, entwined his heart.
A dull ache shot through his right arm, a protest from the wound torn open by the recoil, or perhaps a mockery of the powerlessness of his sword strike.
Fatigue and pain surged back like a tide, and consciousness began to blur.
Before sinking into darkness, the last thing he saw was the figure of Jonin Baki walking into the cave.
The elite Jonin's uniform was also torn, and his face was covered in soot, but his back remained straight.
He silently surveyed the horrific scene inside the cave, his gaze lingering briefly on Reppu and Sada before he walked to the center and said in a low but clear voice, "Gather your strength, treat the wounded, reinforce the fortifications, and assess the losses. Iwagakure won't give us much time."
"Yes..."
The responses were sparse and listless.
Then, darkness completely engulfed Shira.
There is no emptiness in the darkness.
There were no wounds, no pain, no smell of blood, and no chill of the cave. Only a bottomless, tranquil darkness, and himself.
Shira "felt" that he was floating, or perhaps he simply existed. He forgot about the border, forgot about the battle, forgot about his wounded comrades and fallen soldiers.
Everything in the outside world is like a faded oil painting, blurry and distant, eventually sinking into the deepest part of consciousness and gently covered by a veil of tender oblivion.
At this moment, his entire "existence" is focused on one thing—his breath.
It's not the familiar, powerful, and invigorating rhythm of the Seven Heavens Breathing Method, but a more essential, more primal kind of "movement."
One breath in, one breath out. The breath comes from nothing and goes back to nothing, carrying something warm, flowing, existing in every corner of the body.
It was "qi." He clearly "saw" it, or rather, "felt" it. Guided by his breath, wisps of warmth arose from his lungs, flowing with his blood through some more mysterious channel to his limbs and bones, nourishing his muscles, bones, and internal organs...
This is the foundation of the Seven Heavens Breathing Method, the source of active energy.
But that's not enough.
In the dream, or rather, in the depths of his subconscious, that "he" was thinking. Thinking about the battle, thinking about the feeling of that sword thrust, thinking about the powerlessness when he was struck by the recoil, thinking about the sensation of the airflow cutting through his skin and carrying away the rubble...
The flow of "qi" is passive, a natural overall enhancement brought about by breathing techniques. But combat requires ever-changing responses, localized bursts of energy, and precise control.
Just like when he wanted to use his leg to Kazekage the stone bullet, he had the intention and his body made the movement, but the coordination of "qi" was slow and weak, and he could not perfectly transform the power and intention of that kick into a sufficiently strong and controllable airflow.
Could we make the flow of "qi" more "obedient"?
It's not about disrupting the overall rhythm, but rather about creating some temporary, subtle "tributaries" outside the "main channel" of this rhythm?
Or, to put it another way, is it about using intention to temporarily "guide" and "converge" more flowing "qi" to a specific place when needed?
For example, legs that want to explode, arms that want to block, and eyes and ears that want to have ultimate perception...
As soon as this thought arose, the "vision" in my consciousness changed. The warm current that flowed evenly throughout my body began to ripple slightly.
Shira tried to concentrate her mind on her "right arm." She imagined that the "qi" generated with each breath, while flowing throughout her body, also had a slightly stronger and more active qi that trickled towards her right arm along a vague path (like blood vessels, or the texture of muscles, or more like a channel between reality and illusion).
It was very strenuous. It was like trying to forcefully steer a portion of the water in a calm river, changing its direction. A faint sense of mental fatigue crept in.
But it seemed to have a slight effect? In my mind's eye, the "warmth" in my right arm area seemed to have become a little stronger.
Then he tried focusing his mind on his legs, imagining the "qi" gathering there. This time the "feeling" was a little clearer, as if his legs had become "lighter".
It's not about actual weight reduction, but rather a "lightness" that's more explosive and easier to drive.
But when he tried to gather the "qi" in his arms and eyes at the same time, the entire "flow" suddenly became chaotic, like conflicting streams of water colliding together. His consciousness became dizzy, and the feeling of "warmth" became hot and cold, extremely unstable.
It just didn't work out. Trying to do too much at once is counterproductive. Trying to control multiple things simultaneously is beyond our current capabilities, or rather, it violates a certain balance.
Perhaps focusing on one thing at a time is the feasible approach at this stage?
Moreover, this kind of "guidance" and "convergence" seems to consume a lot of mental energy, or rather, "Intention." In the brief attempt just now, the mental fatigue was far greater than that of physical exercise.
This is probably not a standard method; it should only be used as a "secret technique" for critical moments, for sudden bursts of speed, or to deal with special situations.
So, how can this "secret technique" be made more effective? A mere crude "gathering" seems insufficient. Thoughts in the dream continued to drift, recalling the battle, the instantaneous burst of Chakra beneath the enemy's rock armor, the solidity of Captain Reppu's earthen wall as it rose, Jonin the ferocity of Ryoma's thunderous attack...
Is it "quality" or "state"?
Can the convergence of "qi" also take different "forms"?
For example, to achieve stronger defense, one could make the gathered "qi" more "solid" and "substantial," like building a wall of soil. To achieve greater speed, one could make the "qi" more "light" and "explosive," like walking on air.
To achieve stronger penetration, make the "qi" more "sharp" and "concentrated," like striking with an awl.
This thought caused the "vision" in his consciousness to shift once more. The warm current flowing towards his right arm, driven by his will, began to attempt to "compress," becoming "dense." It was difficult, as if he were pushing viscous glue; his mental exertion increased sharply, but the "feeling" from his right arm seemed to have gained a touch more "stability."
But when he turned his attention to the imagined "legs" and tried to make the "qi" "active" and "bursting forth", he experienced a completely different and more "restless" feeling.
Different thoughts seem to guide the "qi" to produce different tendencies? Although extremely weak, the direction seems correct.
This is just a very rudimentary attempt, far from practical application. The path is unclear, the control is crude, the consumption is huge, and the effect is unknown.
But at least, in the realm of dreams, a realm purely composed of thoughts, a door seems to have been pushed open a crack.
He didn't know what was behind the door, but the faint breeze blowing out from inside gave his heart, which had grown cold from failure and helplessness, a subtle warmth called "possibility."
Just as he was immersed in that mysterious exploration, trying to further touch the "quality" and "state" of that "qi", a distant and indistinct call, mixed with violent shaking and physical pain, came as if through a thick curtain of water, becoming clearer and clearer...
"... Shira! Wake up! Shira!"
It was the sound of Asuka, filled with anxiety.
The dark dream, along with the vague perceptions within it about breathing, airflow, and the manipulation of power, vanished as quickly as the tide receded.
The excruciating pain, the smell of blood, the cold touch of the rock face, and the oppressive atmosphere pulled him back to reality.
With difficulty, Shira opened her heavy eyelids. What came into view was Asuka's face, which was filled with worry and bloodstains, and the pale, weak light of daylight outside the cave.
A new day has begun... What kind of storm awaits Shira and the others? Stay tuned for the next episode!