c157 — Incomprehensible Operations
Since obtaining the Thunder Blade Fang, Uchiha Gen spent every spare moment researching how the blade could attract and shape thunder and lightning. He approached it in the manner of a shinobi who studies chakra natures: observation, decomposition, then attempted integration with his own chakra circuits.
After repeated experiments he reached a clear conclusion: although the blade's material was an exceptional chakra-conductive alloy, its metal alone could not create lightning. The metal provided a superior medium for conducting and holding lightning-style chakra, but the phenomenon of summoning and shaping thunder had to come from a technique bound to the sword itself.
If the secret was not material but a technique inscribed or fused with the blade, then analyzing it would be a different problem entirely. The runic-like flow of lightning chakra embedded in the weapon resembled a high-level sealing or a locked jutsu; without power approaching the Six Paths realm, fully decomposing the technique was virtually impossible. Of course, once you could reach such a level you would not need analysis you could simply remaster and even improve the technique. The difficulty lay in not being at that realm: it was far safer to try to transfer the sword's technique into a vessel already under his control.
After careful thought, Gen decided to test whether the essence lodged within the Thunder Blade could be transferred not by dissecting the blade itself, but by having Wu Sheng attempt to absorb and hold the sword's technique within his own soul-space.
That afternoon, inside his tent, Uchiha Gen sat cross-legged. Three lightning-edged daggers the smaller thunder knives taken from the Thunder Blade's forging fragments lay across his thighs. The atmosphere hummed; the tent's lanterns flickered as if responding to the latent electricity.
"Wu Sheng, endure the pain," Gen said calmly.
"Master, I will endure," came the single-toned reply.
Gen placed his right hand on Wu Sheng and activated the soul-separation technique that he had refined over months. Wu Sheng did not resist; his will bent and folded in the way a properly trained sword-spirit should when guided by its wielder. Soul splitting is a brutal strain the sword trembled, and two pearl-sized motes of white light fragmented and rose from its blade. With a single wave of Gen's hand the two motes merged and folded into the shapes of the thunder knives again.
"Wu Sheng, try to gather the rune-patterns in the Thunder Blade into your soul-space," Gen instructed.
"I will attempt it, Master."
Three identical voices answered the layered tone of blade and summoned technique echoing together. The sound was strange but steady. This was Gen's chosen method: because Wu Sheng could already control the Sora no Tachi's baseline attributes, the hypothesis was that the sword-spirit could be taught to enfold another blade's technique. The key was the depth of control. If Wu Sheng could resonate with the Thunder Blade's rune-chakra at the technique level, they could succeed.
Unlike ordinary forged weapons, the Sora no Tachi held no secret jutsu within its core; its prowess derived largely from a unique material matrix and the wielder's skill. The Thunder Blade, however, showed clear traces of embedded technique. Time trickled by as Gen restrained his breathing and poured chakra into the soul-binding. Fifteen minutes passed in silence; the tent's stillness hummed electric.
"Master it's successful," Wu Sheng's layered voice broke the quiet, and excitement bled through the normally flat cadence.
Gen opened his eyes. A pleased expression softened his sharp features. Zhu Róng the red dragon-like homunculus that usually lingered near him flickered into being and began to circle Gen's shoulders delightedly. Gen stroked the hilt of the thunder knives; two orbs of light coalesced again.
This time the light was no longer pure white. Dark filigree had threaded itself across the orbs: black rune-lines on a white field, a dense lattice of technique-seals. The pattern was so intricate that staring at it made one's mind swim. What Gen had managed to do was reintegrate part of Wu Sheng's split soul and bind the Thunder Blade's technique-pattern into the Kusanagi-like core of the Sora no Tachi. Using the soul-separation method, he folded the temporary stores of runic energy into the sword's soul-space, following the precise order they had been arranged in the Thunder Blade.
Another quarter hour passed. When the final lock settled, a blue-white corona of static danced along the silver-white edge of the blade. Gen casually set the thunder sword aside and grasped the hilt. The air itself answered: stray charges leapt and attached to the blade, crackling with a hissing like a storm in miniature. The tent lit and dimmed in rhythm with the sword's faint thunder.
Zhu Róng peered curiously with red dragon eyes. Gen allowed himself a small, private grin. If this worked properly, Wu Sheng would no longer be limited to strictly close-quarters cutting. The sword could now emit mid- to long-range arcs of lightning chakra without the wielder needing to rely on extending the blade physically. With the integrated technique strengthening the weapon, its cutting power and elemental lethality would both be improved.
Later, Gen thought, he could craft homunculi tuned to thunder attributes and synchronize them with Wu Sheng for combined assaults. He also considered the possibility of integrating other high-grade tools the Six Paths instruments, the Ten-Fist Swords, or even the Eight Tatami Mirrors should they prove to be technique-bound rather than purely material. If those artifacts held sealed jutsu, there could be enormous potential for fusion. Conversely, living tools like a sentient blade or a creature-sword would be difficult to force into conformity. Weapons such as Samehada, which are essentially living things, resisted that kind of assimilation. Meanwhile, war-forged blades that relied mostly on form and shape rather than embedded technique might gain little from this process.
"Don't just play in the tent all day. I'll go handle the fieldwork," Gen said, rising.
"Yes, Master," the twin-toned voice replied obediently.
Once Gen left the tent, Wu Sheng and Zhu Róng began their routine play-combat chase and practice that looked like juvenile sparring but contained actual blade conditioning. It was a way of sharpening reflexes and synchronizing intent, the duet of weapon and wielder.
A few days later the Kirigakure covert force began to move. Their small detachment assembled to slip behind the Konoha lines started its clandestine march in accordance with the plan. On the surface, the Mist camp increased its activity to give the impression that Kirigakure was ready to move into a head-on conflict. Meanwhile their true infiltration force took circuitous mountain and border routes intended to mask their approach.
Uchiha Gen monitored these shifts closely. He gathered reports at his desk, collated the intelligence, and ordered a meeting of Konoha jōnin. He also decided personally to inform Orochimaru at the research base not because he doubted his own judgment, but because the situation required coordination between tactical command and experimental resources.
Konoha's senior officers assembled in the command tent, sitting in the prescribed ranks. Gen summarized the situation and then ceded the floor to Orochimaru.
"It's clear," Orochimaru said in his thin voice, "Kirigakure intends simultaneous assaults on both front and rear lines."
"No matter their motive, we must blunt them both in synchrony," Gen replied. "If we defeat them at both points, they will have gained nothing."
"Leave the rear to the deputy commander. I will command the front." Orochimaru's voice was cool and precise.
Gen, calm and composed, answered: "If the enemy detachment matches the force description, I need the strength of a detachment to deal with them. Four jōnin, twelve special jōnin and chūnin under my command. I'll neutralize them quickly and return to reinforce the front."
Orochimaru's thin smile betrayed no surprise. "Very well. Let us choose those who will go."
The decision was made swiftly master and apprentice in accord. No one in that tent dared obstruct their verdict. Gen named four jōnin known for their distinct skills, then assigned the remaining special jōnin and chūnin from the roster. Without wasting time, he departed.
Three minutes later the detachment assembled. Gen led them out of the camp at a rapid pace, boots and sandals vanishing among the mountain shadows.
By now the snows had melted and shoots sprouted green at the forest floor: the late-spring chill would soon give way to warm, color-drenched growth. The soldiers moved like shadows through that budding life, legs and lungs honed by years of campaign.
Gen directed his unit toward Konoha's material transfer station rather than tracking the Kirigakure team. In his judgment, if the enemy aimed to cripple Konoha logistics, the transfer station was the most direct and efficient target: damage there would immediately affect supply throughput. Attacking the supply lines themselves would be slower, needing repeated harassment; but putting the transfer hub out of commission would produce rapid supply starvation at the front.
Still, traveling the mountain paths invited ambush. So when Gen ordered a halt, he took the opportunity to slip away from the column under some plausible pretext. He activated his spiritual reconnaissance jutsu, unfolding part of his soul into a translucent scout to probe ahead.
As the soul-projection traveled, it registered other soul-signatures on the road faint, deliberate, and waiting. Gen's perception of soul-strength allowed him to distinguish rank: the gap between genin, chūnin and jōnin was obvious to a practitioner of soul techniques. A lesser sensor such as Kato Dan could merely tell friend from foe; Gen could judge attainments and class by the texture of their soul-breath.
Beneath the canopy, Konoha's transfer station was defended by jōnin and sturdier fortifications; escorts for materials were usually genin-led rotations with chūnin oversight. Such a post was not expecting a heavy strike, only routine patrols and guarded movement. That was why Kirigakure's covert arrival along indirect borders through the Land of Tea and the Land of Waves was so dangerous: it bypassed the obvious coastal and river approaches and sought to slip behind the front.
Gen's spiritual scout climbed higher, eventually hovering above the transfer station. There was no need to descend. From that vantage he assessed quantity and quality: the guarding jōnin, the chūnin rotation, the patrol rhythms.
"Strange," his spirit-thought breathed. "Why are there additional souls behind the station?"
The extra signatures were neither Konoha nor stray travelers. They had Kirigakure markings of intent: five jōnin and a cohort of special jōnin mixed with chūnin. The pattern read like an approaching detachment.
Gen released his reserve and widened his perception until the surrounding terrain lay bare to him. The range of soul-perception far outstripped ordinary sensory jutsu; in a spiritual state it required no external aid. Where Kato Dan would struggle to detect Tsunade's aura at a distance, Gen could map the northern and southern approaches with a single breath though doing so consumed significant soul-power.
Counting quietly, he confirmed the numbers. "One, two, three… thirteen. Five jōnin, eight special jōnin, chūnin." Their disposition suggested deliberate infiltration rather than a full frontal breach.
"These Kirigakure ninjas did not cross our seas," he thought. "They took the indirect route through the Land of Waves and Land of Tea. If they reach the station, they could seriously disrupt supplies."
He realized the primary objective of the infiltrators was not merely the transfer station; it was himself Uchiha Gen and the secondary aim the station and connecting supply lines. That knowledge brightened a cold spark in him. With that insight, the soul-stream returned to its body.
"Move out. Now." Gen's voice cut the air.
"Master Xuan!" the men answered. As deputy commander, his orders carried weight; seventeen Konoha elite rose and retreated through the forest at speed, leaving no trail for a hurried enemy to follow.
Along the way, one of the jōnin an Inuzuka veteran named Inuzuka E asked plainly, "Master Xuan, why not a direct march?"
"If we go straight, Kirigakure will ambush us. Their force isn't a single detachment; intelligence suggests a strengthened detachment thirty shinobi with ten jōnin in total. One unit is set near Lion's Head Mountain to block paths; thirteen are near the material transfer station." Gen kept his pace steady as he spoke, his eyes scanning shadowed ridgelines.
A hush moved through the column. The men were anxious, but Gen's certainty steadied them.
"How did you know?" Inuzuka asked, respect tinged with awe.
"Perception." Gen dismissed the explanation with a single word. "Follow orders. Everyone who fights bravely will receive credit. I will shoulder the responsibility."
They pushed on in haste. In little time they arrived at the transfer station. Except for the five jōnin who had been stationed farther forward, the rest of the unit staggered, breathless with exertion.
At first glance the station was intact. Everyone except Gen breathed in relief.
Gen, however, felt a dissonant thread through the air. According to Kirigakure's reported speed, the enemy should already be assaulting the place. Yet there was no overt movement. Where were they? What were their tactics? How could they delay while waiting so close by?
He exchanged the response code with the station guard, then deployed spirit-perception once more. The answer came back: the Kirigakure main group had consolidated at Lion's Head Mountain instead of launching an immediate assault. Their posture was patient and concealed. Gen felt both bafflement and wariness.
He had been campaigning for years; experience had taught him how to read an enemy's intent. This Kirigakure operation was strange indeed: a group with at least a fifty-percent chance to storm the transfer station now sat back and waited. They had the strength to take the station outright if they wanted. Why the hesitation? What game were they playing?
Gen tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and prepared his men. He would not be baited. Whatever the enemy's aim, Konoha would not cede its lifeline without a fight.
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