This technique worked by sealing a continuous flow of chakra into the summoning circle itself, enabling it to remain perpetually active. As a result, it constantly maintained the connection to its designated human target, ready to summon them at a moment's notice. In the beginning, the sensation of being under this constant summoning influence was jarring—even irritating—for Shanks and the others who had mastered it. The subtle tug of chakra, always present in the background, was difficult to ignore.
But over time, they adapted. What had once been a distracting pull faded into background noise. Now, it barely registered in their consciousness, as natural as breathing. Because the technique functioned so closely to the original Flying Thunder God jutsu—and was considered its preliminary foundation—they named it "Flying Thunder God: Stage Zero."
Antares, still visibly concerned for his brother, quickly said, "I'll go call Erza Onee-chan. She'll be able to heal you."
Shanks gave a tired nod, leaning back against the cool stone wall of the cave. Without another word, Antares turned and rushed out.
A few minutes later, Erza arrived, sprinting into the cave with hurried footsteps. Her eyes widened at the sight of Shanks, but after quickly examining his injuries, her expression softened with relief. The wounds, while concerning, were not nearly as severe as she had feared. Just superficial burns, bruises, and a few minor lacerations—nothing life-threatening.
Had the situation been worse, she would have offered her own body for him to bite—an emergency healing method. But thankfully, it wasn't necessary this time.
Of course, a disturbance of this magnitude was impossible to keep hidden from the others. The children of the Uzumaki clan—most of whom were trained shinobi in their own right—were always alert. Living in hiding within this secluded valley demanded vigilance from everyone, regardless of age. So when Antares and Erza had rushed out, it hadn't gone unnoticed.
Soon, several of the clan's younger members arrived at the entrance of the cave, concern etched on their faces. Word had spread through Antares: Shanks had returned injured.
By the time they arrived, Erza had already begun healing him with her advanced medical ninjutsu. Thanks to her efforts—and Shanks' naturally high recovery rate as a member of the Uzumaki clan—he would need only a couple of days of rest before he was back to full strength.
A quiet sense of relief settled over everyone.
Then, finally, Antares voiced the question that had been weighing on his mind.
"Brother," he asked cautiously, "what kind of ambush did you face that forced you to use the Flying Thunder God to escape?"
Shanks exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the cave ceiling, as though recalling the events in his mind.
He began recounting everything—how he had entered the Land of Hot Water, his objective of tracking and eliminating Kirigakure shinobi for bounty missions, and how it had all taken a deadly turn. He described the expected appearance of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist and the intense battle that ensued. But the most disturbing part came afterward: a sudden ambush by a mysterious group of masked ninjas who showed no hesitation in using innocent children as pawns—expendable decoys meant to shield their retreat.
Everyone in the cave listened in silence. Anger stirred in their hearts. Some couldn't hold it in and showed their fury openly. Others remained quiet, their rage buried deep, festering into silent resolve—a grudge that would not be easily forgotten.
Erza looked at Shanks, her expression darkening with concern. "Onii-chan... could those masked ninjas be...?"
She left the sentence unfinished, her tone laced with suspicion and dread. She didn't need to say the name aloud—Shanks understood exactly who she was referring to. The Root.
Without a word, Shanks gave a slow, deliberate nod. That single gesture was all the confirmation Erza needed.
Shanks didn't speak the name "Root" in front of the others. He didn't need to. The silent exchange between him and Erza said more than enough. The moment passed like a subtle signal, but its meaning struck deep.
The younger Uzumaki children standing nearby sensed the gravity of their conversation. And with it, old memories came flooding back.
It had been three years ago, during their desperate flight from the ruins of Uzushiogakure. That night, Shanks had slaughtered a group of masked attackers in cold blood—an encounter burned into their memories by the blood and fire that had accompanied it. Later, both Shanks and Erza had learned the true identities of those masked shinobi.
But when the children had questioned him back then, demanding to know who those enemies were, Shanks had made a promise.
"When you grow strong enough to match a Jonin," he had said, "then I'll tell you."
No sooner, no later.
Since then, they had devoted themselves to training relentlessly. Over the past three years, every one of them had reached the level of a Chunin. Some, when paired strategically with their clanmates, could even hold their ground against a Special Jonin. They had grown in power, in discipline, and in understanding. But they also knew—they weren't there yet.
And now, after hearing Shanks recount the ambush, and seeing the way Erza subtly referred to the group without naming them, they could guess the truth: this was the same organization. The same masked threat.
They didn't ask again. There was no point.
Shanks was a man of his word. And when he made a vow, he upheld it without exception. Until they fulfilled the condition he had laid down—true Jonin-level strength—he would not speak a word about the masked shinobi or the organization behind them.
But that vow, once again brought to the forefront of their minds, burned like a brand in their hearts.
Someday soon, they would become strong enough.
And when that day came, they would demand the truth.
Shanks turned his gaze toward the ten children gathered before him, his expression solemn, his voice steady.
"What happened to me today," he began, "might one day happen to you."
His words hung heavy in the air.
"When you begin to walk freely in the outside world," he continued, "you'll face the same kind of ambushes, the same hatred, and the same enemies I faced. And when that time comes, I don't want any of you to move through the world like frightened shadows, forced to hide your Uzumaki identity. That would be a disgrace to our clan, and to yourselves."
The children remained silent, listening intently.
"That's why," Shanks went on, "I set the standard for you all to reach Jonin-level strength before revealing the truth about our enemies. Only then can you survive with pride, and act without fear. Once you reach that level, you'll earn the right to roam freely—and to face the truth."
He gestured to the large summoning scroll behind him.
"And this will be our trump card—the Flying Thunder God technique. Just as it brought me back safely today, it will bring you back too. If there ever comes a time when you can't win… then don't throw away your lives. Use the technique and return. This way, none of you will have to fear death."
The weight of his words settled deeply into each of them.
One by one, the children nodded.
Satisfied, Shanks dismissed them. "Go get some rest. You'll need it."
As they turned and quietly made their way out of the cave, he added one final note: "Once I've fully recovered, I'll test each of you myself."
The message was clear. Their training wasn't over—it had only reached a new level.
After the others had left, Shanks finally allowed himself to lie back. The toll of the battle and the healing process weighed on him. Tonight, he didn't enter his mental space to challenge the red-haired emperor—a battle that had become a nightly ritual. Instead, he allowed himself the rare mercy of uninterrupted sleep.
––––
The next two days passed in quiet recovery.
Shanks' formidable Uzumaki vitality, enhanced by Erza's healing techniques, allowed him to regain his strength swiftly. And as promised, the moment he felt ready, he began the individual sparring sessions with the ten children.
The first to step forward was Yoko.
Yoko had made impressive progress. His unique whipping techniques had evolved, and he now demonstrated the ability to manipulate leaves with such precision that they could pierce targets like sharpened kunai. He had also begun to produce thorny vines—a natural extension of his abilities. However, his control over the vines was still inconsistent. They reacted more like wild instincts than trained extensions of his will.
Shanks fought him seriously, assessing both potential and flaws. Yoko's strikes were quick, but Shanks was quicker—especially with Observation Haki guiding his movements.
Next came Mereoleona.
She was fierce and relentless, charging in with fists wrapped in blazing fire. Her punches exploded with heat and force, and at times she even cloaked her legs in flames to propel herself forward, increasing her speed and agility in close combat.
Though Shanks only had one arm, his unarmed combat was exceptional. His years of experience, combined with mastery over Observation Haki, allowed him to evade, counter, and redirect her attacks with fluid precision. Still, her raw power and aggression impressed him.
After the match, he gave her a rare smile and offered his thoughts. "Your close-combat instincts are outstanding. And your fire control is improving—you're no longer just swinging with brute force. Those fireballs you created mid-fight? They're a good start. But you still have a long way to go. Fire is not just rage—it's control."
She nodded, her pride tempered by the desire to grow stronger.
----
Want to get daily updates and read chapters on a daily basis? Then join my Patreon!
Patreon Link: https://[email protected]/Hkj822
Join Discord Link: https://discord.gg/Ab9HdNbK