Chapter 48: War (Final)
Once again, A was disappointed.
When Senju Morin realized that the Raikage had stopped giving chase, he simply chose to remain where he was.
His gaze swept across the chaotic battlefield like that of a hawk—and in an instant, he locked onto a tiny pocket of danger. Two Kumogakure jōnin were working in perfect coordination, steadily forcing a Hyūga shinobi into a corner, leaving him with no room to retreat.
It was true that most of Morin's attacks thus far had been directed at clusters of chūnin. Genin were too weak—even elite genin were not worth his attention—and jōnin were strong enough that killing them outright usually required time and commitment.
But there were always exceptions.
"Wind Release: Self-Flow Wind."
Morin formed seals inside his sleeve with his left hand, while his right hand flicked casually through the air.
A gentle breeze passed by.
One of the jōnin suddenly felt a chill at the back of his neck—as if an impossibly fine senbon had pierced straight through him. His movements froze for a split second.
That instant was enough.
A Gentle Fist strike, heavily infused with chakra, lashed out like a waiting viper and slammed into his chest.
"Pff—!"
Blood mixed with shattered organs sprayed from his mouth. The light vanished from his eyes as his body toppled backward, stiff and lifeless.
His companion spun around in horror. He barely avoided the fatal strike aimed at his neck—but a burst of blood erupted from his wrist instead. Pain exploded through his arm, and the kunai slipped from his fingers.
Morin's method was insidious.
He shaped ultra-thin, transparent wind needles and let them drift naturally with the airflow, triggering them only when they reached their targets.
He never aimed for obvious vital points like the heart or eyes—areas constantly guarded by instinct and perception. Instead, he chose the nape, kidneys, wrists, ankles—places where awareness was dullest.
Unless one possessed extreme sensitivity to air currents, or specialized chakra perception, it was nearly impossible to detect such attacks amid battlefield chaos.
And in the very moment that confusion erupted—
Morin sank back into the earth once more, leaving A's furious counterattack to strike nothing but empty ground.
When he appeared again, it was near a small Kumogakure rally point by the mountainside.
"Earth Release: Rock Lodging Collapse."
Morin pressed one hand against the cliff face, chakra surging into the stone.
Rumble—!
The mountain groaned under unbearable strain before collapsing outright. Massive slabs of rock cascaded downward, burying the Cloud ninja below in an avalanche of stone. Not a single sound followed.
A arrived a heartbeat later, his violent Lightning Release blasting apart nothing but dirt and debris.
Morin was already gone.
He reappeared beside a muddy expanse created by earlier jutsu, where a squad of Kumogakure shinobi stood steady by channeling chakra into their feet.
"Earth Release: Quagmire."
Morin's palm touched the ground.
The earth turned into a living trap.
Viscous mud surged upward, wrapping around the Cloud ninja's legs like grasping hands, dragging them down with merciless force.
Konoha shinobi who noticed the opening hurled kunai and shuriken in unison.
Amid screams of despair, the trapped Cloud ninja were swiftly reduced to blood-soaked pincushions.
At last, A stopped.
He no longer chased Morin blindly.
His crimson eyes swept the battlefield as his chest heaved violently.
Suddenly, the Raikage charged again—not at Morin, but straight into Konoha's ranks. His hand-blades flashed, severing the heads of several shinobi in brutal succession.
Then A looked up.
Morin had seen it.
And he didn't care at all.
He stood calmly atop a sheer cliff, methodically spewing high-pressure streams of water from his mouth. Each jet was precise, lethal—executing Cloud ninja below with mechanical efficiency, like a killing machine optimized for mass slaughter.
Despite the distance, A could swear he saw a trace of mockery on Senju Morin's face.
That was the moment his reason finally burned to ash.
"SENJU MORIN—!!!"
A roared like a wounded beast and charged headlong toward the cliff. Halfway through the sprint, he leapt into the air, lightning exploding around him as he hurled a thunderous punch straight at Morin.
This time, Morin did not retreat.
Dense stone surged over his right arm in an instant, swelling outward into a colossal rock fist. He leapt down from the cliff, meeting the golden lightning head-on—no evasion, no hesitation.
BOOOOM—!!!
The massive and the compact fists collided.
Morin's stone fist shattered on impact—but A was sent flying, his body hurled violently through the air!
A's clarity returned at once. Protected by his Lightning Release Armor, he hadn't been injured—only stunned. He looked up in disbelief.
Morin, borrowing the recoil from the clash, flipped effortlessly back onto the cliff. Looking down at A, he bared his teeth in a grin.
The Senju physique, amplified by monstrous strength techniques, combined with the sheer mass of Earth Release: Rock Fist, allowed Morin to match the Raikage blow for blow in raw power. Against a man famed for his physical dominance, Morin had not yielded an inch.
Even if A managed to close the distance, the only attack Morin truly needed to watch for was Hell Stab: Four-Finger Pierce.
And besides—
Morin slowly reached behind his back and gripped the uniquely shaped Banana Palm Fan.
With this Six Paths relic, he could unleash devastating elemental attacks without forming seals.
The two stood a hundred paces apart amid the chaos of battle. Morin said nothing—but his meaning was unmistakable.
The cliff beneath his feet sat at the very heart of the battlefield—a vantage point created by Morin himself through Earth Release.
Following Morin's gaze, A looked around.
He saw the devastation.
He remembered every massacre Morin had engineered while the two of them were locked in deadly pursuit.
A was forced to confront a brutal truth—
Compared to himself, a master of taijutsu, Morin's killing efficiency as a ninjutsu artillery platform was terrifyingly high.
A handful of seals. One terrain-enhanced technique. Entire swaths of ninja erased.
And judging by Morin's expression, his chakra reserves were still far from exhausted.
A looked back up.
Morin's robes whipped in the wind. His face was calm. His crimson armor remained pristine. There was no sign of depletion—no fatigue at all.
Of course.
Every technique Morin used drew strength from the battlefield itself. Rivers, earth, wind—how much chakra could that possibly cost him?
Only now did A understand.
This battlefield had been deliberately chosen.
Deliberately constructed.
The fortified Konoha camp.
The roaring river at its side.
The overwhelming composite jutsu that reshaped the terrain.
All of it existed for this moment.
In this swamp-ridden, water-logged killing ground, Morin's mobility and lethality were maximized—while Kumogakure had no path to victory.
This wasn't a war.
It was a carefully engineered slaughter.
A finally calmed down.
The word retreat surged into his mind—
And then screams erupted around him.
He spun around—only to find Morin already gone from the cliff.
Like a stone dropped into water, Morin had vanished into the Cloud ranks, death rippling outward in widening circles.
A could endure no more.
Swallowing all rage, humiliation, and bitterness, he gathered chakra into his throat and roared:
"RETREAT!!!"
"ALL CLOUD NINJA—!"
"FALL BACK TO ME! COVER EACH OTHER—!"
A abandoned any attempt to restrain Morin. He knew it was impossible.
Instead, he plunged into the melee, carving through Konoha forces with raw force—using the most primitive method imaginable to tear open an escape route for his troops.
As the order spread, Cloud ninja began disengaging.
Many succeeded.
Many more died trying.
This was the unavoidable price of a forced retreat—and Kumogakure paid it in blood.
Morin immediately ordered pursuit.
Konoha forces clamped onto the Cloud army's tail like steel jaws.
Only after yet another wave of catastrophic losses did the Cloud main force finally break free, with A personally leading the rear guard.
Only then did Morin signal the halt.
He stood amidst the battlefield he himself had forged—air thick with blood, corpses strewn across mud and water.
He had not defeated the Raikage.
But he had won the war.
Decisively.
Brutally.
Absolutely.
Silence fell.
Only the wounded groaned. The wind whispered.
Every surviving Konoha shinobi turned their gaze toward the lone figure standing atop the cliff—
Their Hokage.
Morin slowly raised his right hand.
He did not shout.
Yet his calm voice, carried by chakra, reached every ear like an unassailable decree:
"Konoha—"
He paused, eyes sweeping across the hellscape, over the fallen Cloud ninja at his feet, and finally settling on the faces of his people.
"Has won."
Three simple words—
Like a boulder crashing into still water.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield was silent.
Then—
"OOOOOOHHHH—!!!"
"KONOHA FOREVER!"
"LONG LIVE THE HOKAGE!"
The roar was deafening.
Exhaustion, fear, grief—washed away in an instant.
Survivor's ecstasy.
Reverence for an unstoppable leader.
Unshakable faith in the village's future.
Shinobi screamed, laughed, embraced one another—clans forgotten, bloodlines irrelevant.
Morin smiled.
Turning away, he cast one final glance toward the retreating Cloud forces, his eyes deep and unreadable.
This victory elevated his authority beyond anything before.
From this moment onward, he was no longer merely the new Hokage who rose through strategy and clan power—
He was the man who led Konoha to triumph.
The true—
Third Hokage.