Focusing solely on taijutsu and ultimately reaching its absolute peak sounds like a natural progression—but in reality, it is anything but simple.
Take Might Guy's weighted training, for example. That kind of practice is not merely demanding; it is outright beyond human limits.
Living in a state of constant training, treating cultivation as a way of life—this was something Hagoromo simply could not do.
True, in recent days he had been carrying a massive iron gourd, filled with the Third Kazekage's special iron sand. In terms of sheer weight, that thing was unquestionably heavy.
Did that count as training?
Not really.
First, that iron sand was constantly infused with magnetic force—otherwise, it could not even maintain its form.
Second, it was precisely because of that magnetism, and Hagoromo's ability to manipulate it, that he could carry such a massive object so effortlessly.
Without magnetism, there was only one outcome.
He wouldn't be able to lift it at all.
To face Guy's Eight Gates, Hagoromo decided to rely solely on nintaijutsu—a fusion of ninjutsu principles and physical combat. Lightning Release, Fire Release, and other elemental techniques were deliberately set aside.
This was not because he underestimated Guy.
Rather, using overwhelming elemental techniques here would be meaningless.
He suppressed his arsenal, deliberately keeping the match balanced.
After all, this was not a battle to the death.
Hagoromo lightly clenched his hands in front of him.
Iron sand surged and gathered, forming a three-meter-long iron sand spear in his grasp.
Then he struck a pose—
Well, to be precise, he merely struck a pose.
Long weapons were not his specialty.
Bladed weapons longer than half a meter already felt awkward to him; anything exceeding one full meter was something he simply could not use proficiently.
No matter how high one's talent, no one can master everything. Certain skills demand long-term, specialized training—and Hagoromo had never trained seriously with long weapons.
Guy, having opened four of the Eight Gates, shattered the body's natural restraints on chakra, gaining extreme speed and strength.
Hagoromo was on full alert.
He needed to understand exactly how fast Guy was in this state.
With Lightning Release, Hagoromo himself could move extremely quickly—but fundamentally, his speed was about transition: fast movement from Point A to Point B.
His attack frequency per unit time was high, but not absurdly so.
Some shinobi were different.
Their limbs moved so fast that their strikes blurred together—like Killer B, who once turned Sasuke into something resembling a perfectly perforated honeycomb with a handful of blades.
Guy, empowered by the Eight Gates, could do both.
Guy's skin had turned red—not a bright crimson, but the deep, dry red of scorched earth. One glance was enough to tell he had entered an abnormal state.
Did the Eight Gates require talent?
Absolutely.
The idea that pure effort alone could unlock them was a fantasy. Anyone else training at Guy's intensity would not automatically succeed.
Taijutsu required talent just as much as ninjutsu—especially high-level taijutsu.
Guy looked ordinary, almost laughable at times—but in truth, he was a genius. Whether or not that genius was valued by the shinobi world was another matter, but genius he undeniably was.
The Eight Gates were a realm Hagoromo could not reach.
Lightning flickered along the iron sand spear.
The distance between them was less than ten meters.
Hagoromo loosened his grip slightly—then tightened it again.
He leveled the spear.
Twisted his body.
And hurled it.
The black spear, wrapped in blue-white lightning, tore through the space between them in an instant.
Due to limitations in size and output, this attack could never rival the speed of a true Electromagnetic Lightning Release—but it was far from slow.
Hagoromo was not worried about impaling Guy.
This was a spar, not a lethal duel. He had already restrained the attack's destructive power.
If Guy fell to something like this, then his death would truly be meaningless.
In a blink—
The iron sand spear reached Guy.
But it was not the spear that landed the blow.
Guy shifted his body to the right, bent his left arm, and clenched his hand like an iron hook—
Grabbing the spear mid-flight.
This was not an attack thrown by pure physical force; chakra and magnetism were involved. The momentum was immense.
Guy realized that the moment he made contact.
His bandage-wrapped left hand clamped onto the spear's center, while his arm and side locked down the front end.
Two points of contact.
Total suppression.
He stepped back to absorb the impact.
The force drove him backward more than ten meters before he finally stopped.
Lightning crackled across half his body.
And yet—
He showed no reaction.
With four Gates open, Guy was already enduring pain that reached deep into his bones. He resisted it while continuing to fight.
Years of extreme training had forged not just his body, but his will.
This, more than anything, was what defined a true shinobi.
"Fast," Guy said.
"And heavy."
Despite saying that, he casually bounced the iron sand spear in his hand—then swung it a few times.
It felt weightless.
"Here—take it back!"
Before Hagoromo could even fully react, the spear was hurled back at nearly the same speed.
What are you, did you come straight from the Seven Deadly Sins set?
Hagoromo flicked his hand.
A curtain of iron sand formed in front of him.
The spear struck.
The thin defensive layer shattered; the spear disintegrated, broke apart, and flowed back into iron sand once more.
Anyone with even a shred of aesthetic sense would refuse to acknowledge Hagoromo's chosen name for this technique.
This was no Raiden Mei(Iron Sand Technique ).
It was clearly something that wanted to strangle Mei—
A pitch-black, ugly, writhing tentacle monster.
The distance between them widened slightly.
"It's starting," Guy said.
His body sank low—
Then he charged.
Like a raging gale.
His chakra surged outward, clearly visible. Guy's body was like a boiling volcano, the heat distorting the chakra around him once again.
He looked as though he were moving through steam, his form blurred and indistinct.
It was obvious—this was likely the first time Guy had fought in this state. His control over the explosive power was far from perfect.
But that imperfection only made him more terrifying.
Every step shattered the ground beneath him into spiderweb cracks—whether it was dirt or stone.
Every step made his body blur further.
Every step made him faster.
Again and again.
Simple.
Relentless.
Unanswerable.
Both pursued ultimate speed, but Guy and Hagoromo walked completely different paths.
Hagoromo's Lightning Release relied on technique and precision.
Guy's Eight Gates were pure brutality.
No compromises.
No shortcuts.
Just tearing through the limits of the human body by sheer force.
If Guy's base speed was ten, then ten thousand repetitions might raise it to twenty.
A million repetitions might raise it to twenty-one.
So he trained a million times.
If his strength was ten, and ten thousand repetitions raised it to twenty—
Then he trained a million times.
And more.
This stubborn, relentless, painfully logical—and utterly unreasonable method was the foundation of Guy's power.
Anyone could do it.
And yet, no one truly could.
The earlier counterthrow had given Hagoromo a rough estimate of Guy's strength.
But it wasn't enough.
So he avoided close combat.
He retreated.
A defensive style similar to Gaara's should have been disadvantageous against a pure taijutsu fighter.
But that depended on whose taijutsu.
Give Guy a shaved head and he'd qualify as a hero-for-fun shinobi, punching through everything in front of him in a single blow.
The iron sand behind Hagoromo suddenly spread outward.
Lightning danced across it as it transformed into countless shuriken and kunai, blasting toward the charging Guy!
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
"Boom!"
Smoke and debris filled the air.
Guy's silhouette flickered in and out of view.
This—
Could probably be called a barrage.
But in truth, it was cosplay.
"Blood is iron, the heart is glass."
"This body is forged from infinite blades."
At this point, some incantation really should have been recited.
Because Hagoromo was engaging in the lowest form of imitation—
Copyright-free plagiarism.
Borrowing shamelessly from Gilgamesh, Emiya Shirō, and even Hitagi Senjōgahara.
PS: I've been releasing chapters daily . Honestly, it hurts seeing almost no support on Patreon after all that work.If you're enjoying the fic, even a little, supporting me would mean a lot. It helps a student stay independent .
complete fic (all chapters ) are already up on Patreon → patreon.com/Chakraflow789
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