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The battlefield had stopped breathing.
Every soldier, every weapon, every bird in the trees—it all stilled, as if the very air was too afraid to move between Ryuzen and Shinro. They stood apart by only a dozen paces, yet the space between them felt wider than the world itself.
Ryuzen's chest heaved with each breath, lightning crackling faintly across his skin. His eyes glowed with the same storm that churned above—dark, roiling clouds, the promise of thunder waiting to fall. Across from him, Shinro held his blade in silence, but its edge whispered louder than any roar: a line of steel that could sever chakra itself, humming with a death that no technique could mend.
For a moment, the war vanished. Konoha and Kiri shinobi alike stood frozen, caught in the gravity of something greater than human combat. They were watching a clash of legends—two men so far beyond their measure that words like jōnin and commander no longer applied.
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The Forbidden Cut
Shinro broke the silence. His voice was low, but it carried through the dead air like a funeral bell.
"Once, I thought you were my shadow," he said. "But shadows cling to light. You've chosen to be lightning instead—beautiful, yes, but always burning itself away."
His stance shifted. The blade tilted downward, humming deeper, and then—
The world bent.
The edge of Shinro's sword cut through space itself, a single stroke that split the chakra flow around him. The earth beneath his feet cracked as if it, too, had veins of chakra being severed.
"Kassatsu no Kiri—The Severing Mist Cut."
The name rolled out like a curse.
Ryuzen moved instinctively. His body blurred sideways, lightning exploding from his soles as the strike tore through the air he'd just occupied. The space behind him didn't simply break—it died. Chakra-rich soil turned to lifeless dust, birds overhead fell limp mid-flight, their energies snuffed out by proximity.
Gasps erupted from the watching troops. A Konoha chūnin whispered, trembling, "That cut—it killed their chakra. It's like he erased life itself."
But Ryuzen had no room for fear. He could already feel the echo of the slash biting into his left arm. Not flesh, but chakra itself—the pathways in his forearm stuttered, sparks crackling wildly, refusing to flow. His entire hand threatened to go numb.
Shinro had not been boasting. That blade did not just cut bodies. It cut the very energy that made shinobi possible.
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Ryuzen's Answer
Ryuzen clenched his teeth, forcing chakra into his ruined arm. Pain flared white-hot, but the storm above roared louder. He spread his stance, breath hissing out between his teeth.
"You always thought cutting things apart was strength," he growled. "But storms don't sever, Shinro. Storms consume. They take everything into themselves and make it theirs."
His hands flew through seals, the sky blackening further with each sign. The earth trembled as thunder answered him. Then, both palms slammed into the ground.
"Forbidden Art—Storm Devours Heaven!"
Lightning ripped down from the clouds, but it didn't strike him. It poured into him, spears of raw storm plunging into his body until his outline blazed with incandescent white. The air howled, chakra surging in a torrent so violent that Konoha's own shinobi stumbled back in terror.
He was drawing not just from himself but from the very storm above. Borrowing its rage, fusing it into flesh. A technique so raw it threatened to burn out his own life-force.
When he looked up again, his eyes were no longer just glowing—they were the storm incarnate, pupils drowned in rolling thunder.
Shinro's gaze hardened. "So… you'll shorten your life to extend your reach. How predictable."
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Clash of Ideals
They moved at once.
Ryuzen blurred forward, the ground shattering beneath each step. His fist swung like a hammer of thunder, arcs of white-blue lightning chasing the motion. Shinro met him head-on, blade slashing in perfect, lethal simplicity.
When fist and sword met—
The battlefield cracked.
A deafening explosion ripped outward, flinging shinobi from both sides into the dirt. The ground cratered, torn as though a meteor had fallen. For a heartbeat, it was impossible to tell who had struck whom—until Ryuzen roared, lightning burning through the chakra-severing force, and drove Shinro back three staggering steps.
Troops whispered in awe. Some cried. Others simply stared, too afraid to blink.
But Shinro was not done. Blood trickled from his lip as he steadied himself, blade trembling with suppressed fury.
"You fight for loyalty," he spat. "For a village that chains you. Do you not see it? Konoha is a machine—it grinds you down, feeds on your strength, and when you're spent, it will discard you like ash."
Ryuzen's answer came with another strike, his voice carrying through the storm.
"No, Shinro. Loyalty is the storm. It destroys, yes—but it also shelters, nourishes. Without it, we're nothing but mercenaries with no bonds, no meaning."
Each word was punctuated by blows—sword against storm, philosophy against philosophy.
And neither gave ground.
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The Breaking Point
Their duel stretched into eternity. Every strike became less about winning and more about proving. Soldiers watching felt their own hearts pulled, some nodding with Shinro's bitterness, others clinging to Ryuzen's fire.
But Ryuzen was burning faster than he could contain. His forbidden storm art ate at his body, veins glowing dangerously as his skin blistered beneath lightning's embrace. His left arm hung limp, chakra pathways shredded by Shinro's earlier strike.
Shinro saw it. He pressed harder, blade movements tightening into the rhythm of inevitability.
"Fall, Ryuzen!" Shinro roared, bringing his sword down in a cut that screamed like the sky itself.
And for a moment, Ryuzen nearly did.
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The Counter
But in the instant before impact, memory surged—his training with Might Dai, the laughter of comrades, the unyielding eyes of Duy standing against impossible odds.
He planted his foot, lightning erupting so violently it fused stone into glass beneath him. His good hand clamped against Shinro's blade, skin splitting open as chakra-severing energy carved deep—yet he held it.
The storm above answered his defiance.
"Not… yet."
He twisted, fist exploding forward, and the punch was not aimed at Shinro's body but at the storm within his own. Lightning, compressed to a singular point, detonated as it left his hand.
The impact engulfed Shinro, throwing him across the battlefield in a column of light that turned night into day.
When the brightness faded, Shinro was on his knees, blade embedded in the dirt for support. His chest heaved, blood dripping freely—but his eyes still burned with unbroken fire.
"You've won this clash," he admitted, voice hoarse. "But storms pass, Ryuzen. Shadows remain."
And before Konoha shinobi could close in, mist swallowed him. His chakra signature vanished, retreating into the unseen.
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Konoha's Council
Far from the battlefield, news arrived in fragments: a storm splitting the frontlines, an enemy commander wielding chakra-severing jutsu, Ryuzen standing against him.
In the Hokage's council chamber, silence hung heavier than stone.
Hiruzen Sarutobi's pipe smoldered in his fingers, eyes shadowed. "If these reports are true… Shinro is not just another missing-nin. He is a threat on par with our greatest."
Danzo's gaze narrowed, voice sharp. "And yet it is Ryuzen who terrifies me more. He unleashed a forbidden storm technique that nearly broke him. Such power cannot be left unchecked. Hokage-sama, if Konoha is to survive this war, that boy must be guided—or controlled."
Murmurs from clan heads followed. Some called Ryuzen a savior. Others whispered of danger. The village itself was split, mirroring the duel that had just taken place.
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Aftermath
On the battlefield, the storm finally quieted.
Ryuzen stood in the center of the crater, his body trembling, steam rising off blistered skin. His comrades reached for him, but he staggered forward on his own, blood trailing from his lips.
Every shinobi who had witnessed the clash—ally or enemy—stared at him as if he were something no longer entirely human. Not a man. Not a soldier.
A storm given flesh.
And as Ryuzen finally collapsed to one knee, vision narrowing, a single thought burned in his mind:
This is not over. Shinro will return.
The storm inside him agreed.
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Chapter 35 End
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Author's Note –
This chapter was about escalation and aftermath. I wanted to show not only the physical climax of Ryuzen vs Shinro, but also the ideological duel—loyalty vs disillusionment—and how their philosophies cut just as sharply as their blows.
By letting Shinro retreat instead of die, I ensured he remains a recurring rival. A shadow Ryuzen can never fully escape, which gives the story a long-term thread of tension.
The council scene was crucial: it shows that battles aren't only fought with fists and jutsu—politics will decide what Ryuzen becomes to Konoha: hero, weapon, or threat.
The stage is now set for Chapter 36: the war expands, Ryuzen is weakened from his storm technique, and whispers of his power spread across nations. Shinro is out there, waiting. And Konoha's trust in Ryuzen may be beginning to fracture.
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