"Why… Why hasn't he disappeared even though the blade went through his body?"
"Damn it, this guy's a demon… Why the hell did I mess with him?"
"It's over. It's all over. We're all going to die here…"
Screams echoed without end, hammering the fragile nerves of the few survivors.
Despair spread like wildfire. Faced with ten seemingly unkillable versions of Hoshiyomi, the Iwagakure shinobi had completely lost hope. Even the captain of their sensory team now wore a grim expression.
He wasn't as panicked as the others, though—not exactly. He simply found the situation… illogical. Even if this Gekkō Hoshiyomi had used some secret jutsu to make his shadow clones immortal, what about the original?
The real body—there was no reason it couldn't be killed.
That's impossible. I must be missing something…
In that moment, the sensory captain felt as if he'd been possessed by Shikamaru—his brain spun rapidly, analyzing the situation.
No technique is without a weakness. If these unkillable Hoshiyomis were something like shadow clones, then logically, there should be one true original somewhere. That would be the one they needed to eliminate.
But all ten Hoshiyomis had taken damage already—which meant none of them were the real one.
Suddenly, the captain remembered something Hoshiyomi had said earlier. This move… he'd called it "Oboro Urazuki: Eleven Forms."
Eleven Forms.
That bastard had told them the answer from the start. There were ten visible figures—meaning there was one more, hidden in the shadows.
Given the current state of things, the eleventh—the one still unseen—must be the original body!
Realizing this, the captain immediately shouted:
"Everyone, don't panic! These aren't the real body! That means the original must still be hiding somewhere. If we can find him—if we can take him down—all of this ends!"
But… it was already too late.
Of the original thirty-seven Iwagakure shinobi, fewer than ten still lived. And even those survivors were in varying states of injury.
Some had exhausted most of their chakra in the previous barrage of jutsu.
Even if they now realized the truth—what could they do? They no longer had the strength to stop Hoshiyomi.
Seeing the dazed expressions of the survivors, the captain tried to rally them, grasping at the last shred of hope:
"If we all sense together, we can still find him, right? We don't have to just sit here and wait to die!"
He looked around, eyes full of desperate hope, begging for any kind of response.
But the only thing he heard… was a voice whispering from directly behind him.
Soft. Cold. Icy enough to freeze his soul.
"No need to search anymore… because I'm already behind you."
The words had barely finished when Hoshiyomi's Mikazuki Munechika swept cleanly across his throat.
A large head flew into the air, spinning a few times before landing at the feet of another Iwagakure shinobi.
And if that severed head still held consciousness, perhaps its final thought would've been:
People always have to pay for their actions.
Even though the Oboro Urazuki: Eleven Forms had expired and the clones had vanished with time, the few survivors were still frozen in fear, haunted by the massacre they had just witnessed.
Without so much as a glance at the headless corpse, Hoshiyomi sheathed Mikazuki Munechika and stepped forward toward the remaining shinobi.
Each of them wore a different expression.
Some had already broken down, slumping to the ground in hopeless surrender.
Some tried to flee, scrambling wildly like animals—but were cut down mid-flight, cleanly split in two by a single arc of Hoshiyomi's sword energy.
Seeing the gruesome fate of the runners, the others who had just begun to escape instantly collapsed to the ground, limbs trembling as they crawled and scooted backward, tears and snot streaming down their faces.
"D-Don't come any closer!!" one screamed.
…
The swamp was a blood-soaked ruin. Severed limbs, charred flesh, and death littered the battlefield.
A one-sided slaughter had just ended.
Hoshiyomi Gekkō, alone, had annihilated all 37 Iwagakure shinobi.
Not one was left alive. All of them had become fertilizer for the swamp.
And the one responsible? Hoshiyomi strolled casually back toward Tsunade and Lobo, who had been watching from afar. His blade cleanly sheathed, his expression calm and even cheerful.
Not a single speck of blood stained his clothes—as if all the carnage behind him had nothing to do with him at all.
And in a way, that was true.
He hadn't really lifted a finger. The ten shadow clones had done all the work. He'd remained invisible in his Transparent Escape Technique, watching the whole thing like theater.
If he had gotten blood on himself while dealing with a few broken-down survivors at the end, all his training in swordsmanship would've been for nothing.
With a playful smirk, Hoshiyomi looked toward Tsunade.
"Let's go, raccoon-face. Time to head back to camp."
Lobo, standing off to the side, shook his head in mock disapproval.
"I swear, next time you're just gonna show off without needing me, don't bother dragging me out. Watching you flex and flirt is a waste of my time—I could be home watching the kids."
With a puff of smoke, Lobo vanished.
Tsunade's cheeks turned a little pink. She reached up to wipe some dirt off her face and mumbled, a bit embarrassed, "You're the one with the raccoon face."
Tsunade rarely acted like this—shy, feminine. It stunned Hoshiyomi a little.
Come to think of it, there was something different about her right now.
Her usually commanding aura was gone. Her clothes were torn, her body smudged with dirt, her expression softened. Combined with this rare girlish demeanor, she radiated a charm completely different from the Tsunade he usually knew.
Hoshiyomi stood there, dumbstruck.
Seeing his dazed expression, Tsunade's embarrassment deepened. She tossed a chunk of wet mud at his feet and snapped, "What are you staring at?"
Hoshiyomi, for once, teased her.
"Just admiring a beautiful woman."
Tsunade rolled her eyes and stood up.
"Come on."
"Back to camp?"
Tsunade furrowed her brows, mock-annoyed.
"You expect me to show up at camp looking like this? Let the whole camp laugh at me? There's a river nearby. I'm going to wash up first."
Hoshiyomi chuckled and stepped forward to offer his arm.
As he helped her walk, Tsunade suddenly leaned in and kissed his cheek, then pouted softly.
"Carry me."
The coyness in her voice made Hoshiyomi feel like half his body had turned to jelly.
One thought echoed in his mind:
My Tsunade couldn't possibly be this cute…
Grinning like an idiot, he carried her toward the riverbank.
Tsunade first washed her face, revealing her naturally beautiful features. Then she sat on a rock by the water and began carefully cleaning the wounds on her body.
She'd recovered a good portion of her chakra by now. With the danger passed, she could finally relax enough to treat herself.
Hoshiyomi just sat nearby, watching in silence.
Maybe it was because he'd just saved her—but somehow, Tsunade looked even more beautiful than usual today.
Her golden hair hung loosely, half hiding her face.
Without thinking, Hoshiyomi reached over and gently tucked a strand behind her ear.
Tsunade looked up, locking eyes with him.
For a second, a blush bloomed across her cheeks.
But she didn't look away.
Instead, she leaned in… and softly kissed him on the lips.
A quick, fluttering peck—like a dragonfly on water.
Her face turned crimson as she pulled back and said, flustered:
"Don't get the wrong idea. That was just a reward… for doing a good job today."
Seeing the goofy grin still stuck on his face, she instinctively gave him a light punch.
Maybe it was because her chakra was still recovering, but… that punch felt surprisingly soft.