The midday sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays struggling to pierce through the perpetual mist that blanketed most of Kirigakure. The air was thick with moisture, carrying the salty tang of the sea, and the ever-present murmur of distant waves crashing against the island's shores filled the background. Renjiro stood on the damp, compacted earth of the training ground, his keen eyes scanning his surroundings.
'I expected the training ground to be smaller since we're practically on an island, but it's surprisingly huge,' Renjiro thought to himself, taking in the scene before him.
Unlike Konoha's lush and varied landscapes, Kirigakure's training grounds were flat, mostly composed of stone and damp earth, with jagged rock formations scattered around like the remains of ancient battles. There were a few patches of grass, but they were sickly and sparse, struggling to survive in the ever-present mist.
A ring of weathered wooden posts stood at the edges of the field, possibly for weapons training or durability tests.
His gaze shifted to his opponents—three of the seven, now six thanks to Renjiro murdering Yuichi Date some time ago, Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist.
He narrowed his eyes as he activated his Sharingan, the three tomoe swirling to life. Standing before him were Sakurai Yuji, Kubota Jurou, and Kase Seiji—each a master of their respective swords.
Yuji stood with an easy confidence, the legendary Kiba blades resting in his grip. The twin swords crackled with an unnatural yellow lightning, their jagged edges designed to slice through flesh and bone like butter. The swords weren't just weapons; they were conduits for pure destruction. Yuji himself was a lean but well-muscled man, with a sharp jawline and an ever-present smirk, as if he found amusement in every fight he entered.
Kubota Jurou was built like a fortress—broad, heavily muscled, and towering over the others. His shirtless upper body was covered in scars, remnants of past battles. In his hands, he wielded Nuibari, the long, needle-like sword that trailed nearly invisible threads of reinforced chakra metal. The weapon was more than just a blade; it was a trap, a web that ensnared and controlled its victims like a cruel puppeteer.
Kase Seiji, on the other hand, exuded a different kind of menace. He was slightly shorter than the other two but lean and wiry, his eyes sharp and calculating. In his hands was Samehada, the monstrous sentient sword wrapped in bandages, already trembling as if eager to taste chakra. The faint sound of rough scales shifting beneath the cloth sent a shiver down Renjiro's spine. He was aware of the sword's capabilities which was not very entertaining. The sword wasn't just a weapon; it was a living thing with a hunger that could never be satisfied.
Juro, the Six-Tails Jinchūriki, stood at the edge of the training ground, arms crossed. His gaze flickered between Renjiro and the three swordsmen, assessing. "Are you all ready?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the mist like a blade.
All four of them nodded, and with a sharp inhale, Juro raised his hand. "Then begin."
Jurou moved first.
"Ninja Art: Hidden Mist Jutsu."
A thick fog exploded outward, consuming the entire training ground in seconds. The mist wasn't just dense—it was unnatural, an oppressive force that dulled vision and chilled the air. Renjiro exhaled slowly, feeling the fine droplets of water settling onto his skin.
'Not just mist… cold air,' he noted, closing his eyes and expanding his chakra field. He could feel the shift in temperature and the mist itself affecting his range, warping his sense of space.
'Tch! The mist is messing with my chakra field. I need to get this jutsu.'
His eyes snapped open just in time to see a burst of yellow lightning streak through the mist, illuminating Yuji's position. The crackling bolts surged into the ground where Renjiro had been standing moments ago.
'So that's where he is,' Renjiro thought.
Before he could move, a faint fluttering sound whispered through the mist—a sound almost too light to notice.
His instincts screamed at him.
A shadow clone materialized beside him in midair, allowing him to twist away just as something lashed out. The clone barely lasted a second before it was shredded into a cloud of smoke.
Threads.
Thin, razor-sharp lines of chakra-infused metal coiled around him, locking his arms and legs in place. Renjiro found himself suspended in midair, his body stretched in an uncomfortable position, almost as if he were being crucified. The mist swirled, and Jurou stepped forward, his fingers subtly moving as he manipulated the threads.
"This isn't a fight to the death," Jurou said, his voice like gravel grinding against steel. "Concede."
Renjiro barely spared him a glance. His focus was on the threads wrapped around his body. He tried flexing his fingers but found little room for movement.
"These threads of yours are durable," he mused, his tone calm despite his predicament. He tugged slightly, feeling the tension shift. "Ooh, chakra metal. Quite innovative."
Jurou's expression darkened. "I said, concede!" He snapped his fingers, and the threads tightened, biting into Renjiro's flesh.
Thin red lines appeared across his arms and torso, droplets of blood seeping into his clothes.
"You need to apologize for your disrespect!" Yuji's voice rang out as he stepped beside Jurou, the Kiba swords crackling with raw electricity.
Renjiro tilted his head. "Or else what?"
"Or else I'll feed you to my sword," Seiji replied, stepping forward with the Samehada, which twitched eagerly in his grip. The bandages unravelled slightly, revealing rows of sharp, jagged scales.
Renjiro smirked. "Then you should aim carefully. Striking someone who can't move is harder than you'd think."
Jurou scowled and flexed his fingers, the threads tightening further. Blood welled up, dripping to the ground in slow, rhythmic drops.
Seiji took that as his cue. He lunged forward, Samehada shrieking as its scales flared open. The monstrous sword arched toward Renjiro, its jagged maw hungry for chakra.
Renjiro closed his eyes.
The sword struck—
—but didn't meet flesh.
A metallic groan filled the air as the threads stretched unnaturally, holding the Samehada in place.
Seiji's eyes widened in surprise. 'How?!'
Renjiro's skin took on a reddish hue as his muscles bulged slightly. The wounds across his body closed at an accelerated rate. He had forced his left arm free. Uidng the threads to defend against the Samehada, holding it in place.
Seiji pulled, but the Samehada wouldn't budge. It then began absorbing the chakra behind the threads.
Renjiro opened his eyes, the Sharingan spinning as he exhaled. His voice was calm, almost amused. "Now that you've all revealed yourselves… let's begin."
His fingers curled into a seal.
"Fire Style: Burning Ash!"
A thick cloud of ash burst from his mouth, filling the air with an acrid scent before combusting. Seiji's eyes widened in realization a second too late.
"Fwoom!"
The explosion consumed him.
This was Asuma's jutsu that Renjiro managed to recreate after observing some Sarutobi clan members.
Renjiro felt a tug on the remaining threads holding him in place. He turned his gaze to Jurou, who was frantically trying to regain control. A smirk played on Renjiro's lips.
His right hand—still bound—began to glow.
The sound of a thousand birds filled the air.
The Chidori.
Jurou barely had time to react before Renjiro wrenched the threads toward himself, coiling more of them around his right hand. The lightning surged through the chakra-metal wires.
"Bzzzzt!"
Jurou let out a strangled cry as electricity surged through his body, his muscles seizing up. His fingers twitched involuntarily, and the threads lost their hold.
All of this—from Renjiro opening the first and third gates to electrocuting Jurou—had happened in under a minute.
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