Orochimaru's snake-like eyes were fixed intently on that ballistics diagram.
The whites of his eyes were filled with crisscrossing red blood vessels, like a dense red spider web.
He reached out his right hand to grab the parchment. His hand was trembling violently.
A finger joint scraped against a thick glass beaker on the edge of the table. "Clang!"
The beaker rolled halfway on the iron plate. Black machine oil seeped out.
Engine oil dripped down the rusty edge of the table, leaving a thick, black line.
A drop fell on Orochimaru's dusty straw sandals.
He didn't even glance at it.
Orochimaru grabbed the parchment and gripped the edges tightly with both hands.
The paper rustled as he crumpled it.
"Strike beyond visual range..."
Orochimaru's throat was parched. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently on his thin neck.
This small hut, partitioned off with thin sheet metal, has never been dark again.
A full two weeks.
Orochimaru never closed his eyes.
When he got sleepy, he would grab the cheap Military Rations Pill on the table, chew them dry, and swallow them.
He choked so hard his eyes rolled back, so he drank a mouthful of machine tool cooling water.
His stomach churned. He vomited bile three times next to the waste bin in the corner.
After spitting out and wiping his mouth, he continued to lie back down on the metal plate to calculate formulas.
A pile of waste paper, about half a foot high, was stacked on the table.
The surface was covered with densely packed aerodynamic curves and Chakra decay equations.
Orochimaru bit the tip of a charcoal pencil, his teeth clenching tightly.
"Snap." The charcoal pencil broke, leaving a mouthful of graphite dust.
He spat out the pen in frustration and ran his left hand through his once-smooth, long black hair.
He scratched his scalp hard twice.
His scalp itched. He ran his fingers through his scalp.
A whole clump of black hair was forcibly pulled out.
Orochimaru paused, staring at the greasy, broken hair in his palm.
He casually tossed his hair into the wastepaper basket at his feet.
He had been working too hard for the past two weeks. His energy and blood were completely depleted.
There's a bald patch right in the middle of my head.
A coin-sized patch of scalp was exposed; it was red and oily.
His originally cold and aloof demeanor was completely ruined by this bald patch, making him look like a down-on-his-luck middle-aged blacksmith.
The thrust-to-weight ratio is incorrect.
Orochimaru switched to a charcoal pencil and drew a big X on the paper.
The paper was punctured by the pen tip. It struck the metal plate below, making a sharp scraping sound.
To send several tons of high explosives into the sky, the Chakra jet thrusters must be operated at maximum power.
But once the power increases, the metal casing starts to wobble.
The load is unbalanced. The center of gravity keeps dropping.
Orochimaru was biting his thumbnail. The nail was pitted and bleeding.
"Lengthen the tail wing? No way. Too much air resistance."
He crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and slammed it hard against the thin iron wall with a loud "bang".
"What exactly is the problem?"
"Squeak."
The iron gate was pushed open, its hinges making a strained sound.
Shu Shiraishi walked in. He was wearing a gray jacket with the zipper open.
He walked to the iron plate table.
I spotted the shiny bald spot on Orochimaru's head at a glance.
Shu Shiraishi twitched the corner of his mouth but didn't say anything.
Orochimaru raised his head. His eye sockets were sunken like two black holes.
" Lord Shu," his voice was weak, "The direct thrust of the propulsion system is too intense. The projectile will spin in mid-air."
He pushed a piece of scrap paper covered in corrections towards him.
"I can't figure out how to balance its center of gravity."
Shu Shiraishi glanced at the messy array of force arrows on the paper.
He picked up the broken charcoal pencil from the table.
Four small inverted triangles were drawn at the tail of the cylinder.
Right at the location of the jet nozzle.
"Jet direction control," Shu Shiraishi said.
The charcoal pencil tapped twice on the inverted triangle. "Tap tap."
"Who told you that fire can only spew straight out?"
Orochimaru froze.
"Add four high-temperature resistant special steel plates to the tail nozzle."
Shu Shiraishi drew four diagonal lines on the nozzle.
"Create a movable flow guide surface, connected to the Chakra mechanical lever at the front end."
"If one side is tilted, let the steel plate block that half of the jet. Use the reaction force to correct the direction."
Orochimaru's mouth gaped open, and he instantly stopped breathing.
He stared intently at the four diagonal lines.
The dead end in my mind was pierced by these rough charcoal lines.
Thrust vector. The direction of the flame is used to control the balance.
"I understand."
Orochimaru suddenly stood up. Because he stood up so suddenly, his knee slammed heavily against the metal table.
Ignoring the pain, he grabbed a charcoal pencil and began frantically drawing on another piece of paper.
"Plus the valves of the Four Symbols Seal... connected to the internal gyroscope by thin steel wires..."
He muttered to himself, completely absorbed in his frenzied deductions.
Shu Shiraishi tossed the half-burnt charcoal pencil back onto the table, turned, and walked out the door.
I'll give you five days. I want to see the actual product.
Five days later.
In the open space behind Workshop No. 1, the wind whipped up yellow sand.
A ten-meter-tall cast iron launch pad rose from the ground. The frame was roughly welded, with black welding slag covering the joints.
A huge iron pillar was wedged in the middle of the launch pad.
The first prototype Chakra missile.
The entire surface is coated with a rust-preventive red base paint. It hasn't been polished or shot-blasted, Menma and uneven.
The warhead is cone-shaped and filled with 500 kilograms of high-pressure Chakra detonation crystals.
At the tail of the missile, four huge blue steel tail fins are firmly planted on the ground.
Four movable guide steel plates are clearly installed at the nozzle.
Several thick black cables were connected to the missile's belly. The other end was connected to a semi-underground concrete bunker in the distance.
The observation window of the bunker is made of thick, blast-resistant glass.
Orochimaru stood inside the bunker.
He was wearing a canvas helmet, which conveniently covered his comical bald patch.
His white coat was covered in yellow mud.
Shu Shiraishi leaned against the glass window, his hands in his pockets.
My gaze pierced through the bulletproof glass, fixed on that red, metallic lump in the distance.
Orochimaru placed his hands on a huge red power switch.
His palms were sweaty. He wiped them vigorously on his trouser legs twice and gripped the insulated plastic handles tightly again.
"Ignition procedure preparation."
Orochimaru's voice was hoarse, echoing in the cramped bunker.
Outside, several Uchiha Jōkan responsible for dismantling the scaffolding ran frantically towards the windbreak forest.
If this thing were to explode on the spot, everything within a half-kilometer radius would be reduced to ashes.
"Nineteen."
Orochimaru stared at the second hand of the wall clock, his teeth clenched.
"Three, two, one."
"Ignition!"
Orochimaru exerted force with both arms, gripped the red handle, and pressed down hard.
Click.
The bottom of the launch pad outside the bunker.
The Four Symbols Reactor instantly broke through the critical point.
"Boom--!!!"
A deafening explosion shook the heavens and the earth, more deafening than a summer thunderclap.
A huge, orange-red fireball exploded directly from the missile's tail nozzle.
The raging, high-temperature flames slammed onto the concrete floor, scattering wildly in all directions.
A blast of air rose into the air.
The bunker's blast-proof glass vibrated and hummed. Fine cracks even appeared on the surface of the glass.
The ten-meter-high cast iron launcher swayed violently in the sea of fire.
The red iron pillar struggled for half a second in the Kakkō.
It trailed a long, dark blue tail flame tinged with orange-red.
It rose abruptly from the ground.
Extremely fast.
With a piercing whistle, the missile pierced straight into the gray clouds.
The four guide plates at the tail deflected frequently in mid-air, effectively suppressing the swaying center of gravity of the projectile.
It flew very steadily, drawing a straight trail of white smoke in the overcast sky.
"It flew up! It flew up!"
Orochimaru pounced on the bulletproof glass, crushing his nose.
He was so excited he was trembling. He didn't even bother to pick up his helmet, which had fallen onto the muddy ground, leaving his bald head exposed to the air.
The missile flew higher and higher, clearing the windbreak ahead.
They flew towards the rolling mountains to the northwest. That was the direction of Iwagakure ).
We were about to cross the ridge of the first high mountain.
Sudden.
The trail of white smoke in mid-air twisted slightly.
The missile's warhead plummeted downwards without warning.
The jet stream at the tail was still spraying out wildly. But this thrust had now become a death sentence.
It drew an absurd "S" shape in the air.
Like a fly whose head has been chopped off, completely disoriented.
"No... stay calm! Stay calm!"
Orochimaru's hands gripped the glass tightly, his nails scraping and making a harsh "sizzling" sound.
The missiles didn't obey him.
It trailed a long, fiery tail and plunged headlong into the deep ravine behind the mountain.
The speed of descent is twice as fast as the speed of ascent.
"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"
A few seconds later.
A terrifying, muffled thunderclap echoed from the ravine behind the mountain.
The earth trembled. The concrete walls of the bunker crumbled and fell onto Orochimaru's shoulder.
A blinding flash of light appeared.
Immediately afterwards, a huge black and red mushroom cloud rolled and rose into the sky from the ravine.
Thick black smoke shot straight into the sky, obscuring half of the heavens.
It exploded.
We're still a long way from our target Iwagakure.
Orochimaru's knees buckled, and he knelt on the muddy ground of the bunker.
He grabbed his already sparse, messy hair with both hands and forcefully tore and pulled out a few strands.
"Why!"
He roared in despair, blood trickling from the corners of his eyes due to extreme congestion.
"Enough thrust! The balancing system is working!"
Orochimaru slammed his fist into the concrete floor. His knuckles broke, and blood flowed.
"But it has no navigation! It has no idea where to fly! It can't aim accurately!"
Inanimate objects, in the end, cannot outmaneuver the complex wind directions and turbulent air currents at high altitudes.
Shu Shiraishi stood by the window.
He gazed at the enormous mushroom cloud rising in the distance.
Black ash drifted in with the wind, striking the thick glass with a soft, rustling sound.
He didn't look at Orochimaru was collapsing and pounding the ground.
He pulled his left hand out of his pocket and tapped on the bulletproof glass.
"Machines don't have navigation."
Shu Shiraishi's voice was cold, without a trace of frustration at the failed experiment.
"Then use live animals."