Chapter 50: Aftermath
Rumble—
The distant sounds of explosions and shaking ground reached Ryuzen's ears as he walked through smoke-filled streets. Debris crunched beneath his feet, and the acrid smell of burnt wood and ozone filled the air.
"They've started counterattacking." He murmured to himself, listening to the shifting pattern of battle. "That means the war is almost over."
He understood the rhythm of the invasion. Once the Third Hokage fell, Orochimaru would flee Konoha. The Sound and Sand ninja would retreat in short order. And once Sunagakure discovered the body of their Fourth Kazekage—murdered by Orochimaru before the invasion even began—they would surrender to Konoha and blame everything on the Snake Sannin.
Before the coming era of chaos truly began, this small war represented his only opportunity. Every enemy ninja he killed brought him days, sometimes weeks, of experience toward Mihawk's template. Every second counted now.
He quickened his pace, leaping to a rooftop and running toward the area where the largest concentration of enemy chakra signatures remained.
When Ryuzen reached the active war zone, the situation had completely reversed from the invasion's opening hours.
ANBU forces had mobilized. Clan ninja from the Hyūga, Akimichi, Nara, and other families had joined the fight. The scattered resistance of the early hours had consolidated into organized counterattacks. Sand and Sound ninja, once the aggressors, now found themselves on the defensive, outnumbered and outmatched.
Ryuzen didn't hesitate because the battle seemed already won. He didn't pause because his allies might not need help.
He plunged directly into the largest concentration of enemies.
What followed chilled even the hardened ANBU watching from the shadows.
Ryuzen had found his swordsmanship. He understood now what the Breath of All Things truly meant for combat. And with that understanding, he no longer held back.
Every blade stroke tore through flesh. Every swing sent limbs flying. The cruel spectacle of severed bodies and spraying blood shocked even Konoha's own ninja. They stopped fighting, stopped moving, simply watched as this silver-haired boy harvested enemy lives with mechanical efficiency.
The invading ninja weren't weak individually. Some were chūnin. Some were jōnin. One or two might have approached elite status. But they faced a twelve-year-old that the Third Hokage himself had called "Kage level." They weren't on the same battlefield, let alone the same level.
From the moment Ryuzen joined the fight until the moment it ended, the engagement was one-sided.
Harvest was truly the only word for it.
"Retreat! Retreat immediately—!"
The call came from somewhere in the enemy ranks. Around Ryuzen, corpses piled in heaps. Severed limbs created a grotesque carpet across the ruined street.
In the distance, hostile ninja still engaged with Konoha forces suddenly stopped fighting in apparent unison. Without exchanging words, without covering each other, they simply turned and ran toward the village boundaries. Their Body Flickers carried them away faster than pursuit could catch.
Ryuzen knew why they fled. He knew the Third Hokage was dead, and Orochimaru had withdrawn. The invasion's leadership had collapsed, leaving only scattered soldiers to escape as best they could.
He didn't pursue.
Instead, he turned and walked toward home.
The tachi slid back into its sheath. He pulled the tie from his hair and combed his fingers through sticky silver strands, grimacing at the dried blood that caked them. His face felt tight with the same dried gore.
He wanted nothing more than to wash the evidence of this day from his body.
Minutes later, Ryuzen stood before his apartment door. Relief flickered through him as he took in the undamaged building. The three-headed serpent's rampage had come close, but his home had survived untouched.
Inside, he shed his kimono and walked into the bathroom.
Hot water streamed from the showerhead, washing over his silver hair and face. Clear water quickly turned pink, then red, as the accumulated blood of dozens of enemies swirled down the drain.
As he washed, he checked his system.
[Dracule Mihawk Inheritance Template: 60.8% Unlocked]
Sixty point eight percent.
He did the calculation in his head. Sixty-six enemies killed in this single engagement. 8.6% experience gained.
That represented four hundred thirty days of daily tasks. More than a full year of training, compressed into a few hours of combat.
A year of progress in one afternoon.
For a moment, Ryuzen felt almost dizzy. He had spent six years grinding daily tasks, slowly accumulating percentage points through endless repetition. And now, in a single battle against mostly weak opponents, he had gained more than an entire year's worth of progress.
What have I been doing all these years?
The question lingered as he finished washing, rinsed off, and stepped out wrapped in a yukata.
He lay on his futon, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
Outside, sounds filtered through the walls—rescue teams coordinating, commanders shouting orders, the mournful cries of those who had lost homes or loved ones. None of it touched him. The room seemed isolated from the outside world, a pocket of calm in the midst of chaos.
His eyelids grew heavy.
And then his soul traveled.
He was elsewhere. Elsewhen. Someone else entirely.
Through Mihawk's eyes, he experienced.
He challenged swordsman after swordsman, each duel pushing against his limits, each defeat teaching him something new. Some opponents brought him low. Some wounded him so severely that victory cost nearly everything. Some—a very few—exchanged friendship with him instead of steel.
The battles flowed like a river, carrying him from defeat to difficulty, from difficulty to hard-won victory, from victory to effortless domination.
The man with yellow eyes like an eagle climbed. He rose through ranks and titles, through kingdoms and seas, until at last he stood at the summit of swordsmanship. They called him a Great Swordsman. They whispered his name with respect and fear.
But he was not yet at the peak. One throne remained beyond his reach—the title of World's Greatest Swordsman.
Not yet. Soon. But not yet.
"Ryuzen-kun... Ryuzen-kun..."
Hinata's gentle voice pulled him from the spiritual world.
SHING—
His eyes snapped open.
Red light blazed from them like physical blades, piercing toward the source of the voice. The force of his gaze—the accumulated killing intent and spiritual pressure of Mihawk's countless battles—struck Hinata like a physical blow.
She collapsed.
Her body hit the floor with a heavy thud, her face pale as death, her limbs trembling uncontrollably.
Ryuzen woke fully.
He was out of bed and at her side in an instant, gathering her shaking form into his arms, holding her tight against his chest.
"Hinata! Hinata, are you okay?!"
She trembled against him, her body wracked with spasms she couldn't control. But she felt his warmth, heard his voice, and slowly—very slowly—the shaking began to subside.
"I... I'm fine." The words came out weak, breathless. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
Ryuzen said nothing. He simply held her, his palms rubbing gentle circles on her back, his chin resting on top of her head. He held her for a long time, until the last tremors faded and her breathing steadied.
When she finally pulled back enough to look at him, her face remained pale. But her lavender-white eyes held confusion more than fear.
"Ryuzen-kun... what happened to you just now?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"When you opened your eyes..." She struggled to find words. "It felt like all my strength just drained away. My mind felt so tired, so heavy. Like I was trapped in a genjutsu, but different. Worse."
Ryuzen's brow furrowed.
Killing intent? No, more than that. Spiritual pressure. The weight of Mihawk's existence bleeding through when my guard was down.
He looked at Hinata's pale face, at the exhaustion still evident in her features, and a cold realization settled in his stomach.
I hurt her. Without meaning to. Without even knowing I was doing it.
He pulled her close again, holding tighter this time.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry, Hinata."
She didn't understand what he was apologizing for. But she felt the sincerity in his voice, the guilt, the fear. So she simply wrapped her arms around him and held him back.
"It's okay," she murmured. "I'm okay."
Outside, the sounds of the aftermath continued. Inside, two figures held each other in the quiet dark, waiting for the world to settle.
Ryuzen's eyes, when they opened again, held a new determination.
I need to control this. I need to master whatever is growing inside me. I will never hurt her again.
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