---
The battlefield froze.
Not because the jutsu stopped flying, not because steel no longer clashed, but because for the first time in years… the White Fang of Konoha bled.
A thin crimson line trailed down Sakumo Hatake's jaw, cutting across the gleam of his blade. To any ordinary shinobi, it was just a wound. But to friend and foe alike, it was a shattering of something far greater.
The man who carved valleys with his tanto.
The man whose very name made Iwa and Kumo squads scatter.
The man who seemed untouchable.
Sakumo staggered half a step, and the valley erupted.
"White Fang is down!" the enemy commander's voice cut through the dust and blood. "Push! Break them here and now!"
For Konoha's troops, disbelief rippled like wildfire. Some faltered. Some froze. And some—those who had only ever believed in Sakumo's invincibility—felt terror claw at their throats.
I felt it too. But mine was different.
It wasn't fear of defeat. It was something uglier. Something raw.
Because the moment I saw blood on Sakumo Hatake, I saw a thread unraveling—the thread that tethered Kakashi's future, Minato's rise, and even Konoha's fragile stability.
I couldn't let it break.
---
The Storm Breaks
My chakra storm surged before I could think. It wasn't the calm, measured current I had trained to maintain. It was wild, crackling arcs ripping into the air, shaking the ground, and making even allies take a step back.
Lightning licked across my skin, thunder rolled from my lungs, and my voice came out as something between a growl and a roar:
"You dare… lay a hand on him?"
The nearest enemy squad didn't even answer. They just died—swept aside by a cyclone of raw chakra that split rock and tore flesh. I felt their screams rattle in my chest before they even escaped their throats.
For the first time, even Minato looked at me—not as a comrade, not as a fellow soldier, but as a storm he might one day have to stop.
But he didn't flinch.
He didn't hesitate.
He simply moved.
Golden light blurred beside me, kunai marking arcs through the chaos as Minato coordinated Konoha's squads with impossible precision. Where my storm ripped, his flash stitched the gaps. Where I obliterated, he protected.
Yet I could feel it—the divide between us. He fought like a scalpel. I fought like a tempest.
And in the middle of it, Sakumo bled.
---
The Enemy's Trap
The ground shook. A sound—low, rumbling, unnatural—rose from beneath the valley. My storm flared instinctively, lightning striking into the soil, and for a moment I thought the earth itself was screaming.
Then the explosion hit.
The valley floor erupted, pillars of flame and stone tearing upward as buried explosive tags—hundreds of them—ignited in perfect sequence.
The enemy hadn't just attacked us. They had built a battlefield meant to kill one man.
Sakumo.
Dust choked the air, screams filled the night, and suddenly the White Fang was cut off—surrounded by collapsing terrain and enemy elites converging like vultures.
I saw him raise his tanto, blade gleaming even through the haze, but his left side faltered. The wound had slowed him. And the trap had been built to exploit even the smallest crack.
---
The Choice
My storm howled in my veins.
I could feel it—an instinct, a whisper from the very chakra coils inside me. A technique half-formed in training, one I had sworn not to use yet. Too dangerous. Too costly.
If I unleashed it, the storm would tear through not just enemies, but possibly myself. My chakra network, my muscles, my lungs—they weren't built to handle that kind of current yet.
But if I didn't… Sakumo Hatake would fall.
And history would splinter in ways even I couldn't predict.
I clenched my fists, lightning splitting the skin across my knuckles.
Not today. Not him.
---
The Unleashing
I roared, and the storm answered.
Chakra poured out of me in torrents, arcs of lightning spiraling upward into a cyclone that swallowed the valley. My body screamed with it, every nerve alight, but I didn't care.
"Ryuzen—!" I heard Minato shout, but his voice was already lost in the thunder.
I slammed my palms together, forcing the storm into a single pulse, and then unleashed it forward.
Raiton: Shiden no Arashi — Violet Thunderstorm!
A wave of crackling purple lightning surged across the battlefield, vaporizing enemy squads and splitting the stone between Sakumo and his hunters. The air itself tasted like iron and ozone, and for a heartbeat, even the enemy commander's voice faltered.
The storm carved a path. A chance.
But it came at a price—my lungs burned, my vision blurred, and I felt blood drip from my nose. My chakra coils screamed as if they were tearing apart.
Still, I didn't fall.
I couldn't.
Because Sakumo still stood.
---
The Turning
Through the haze, Minato moved—a golden flash cutting between enemy commanders, severing chains of command before they could regroup. His kunai marked arcs of light, and his precision kept Konoha's line from collapsing.
I staggered forward, storm flickering violently around me, until I reached Sakumo. His grip on the tanto was steady, though blood darkened his sleeve. His eyes—those sharp, unyielding eyes—met mine.
"You…" he rasped, a faint smile tugging at his lips even as blood dripped. "…are reckless."
I almost laughed. Almost. But my throat was ash.
"Better reckless than dead," I muttered.
And then, together—me with my storm, him with his blade—we cut into the enemy ranks.
---
The Legend Stands
Even wounded, Sakumo Hatake was terrifying. His tanto danced in arcs that split steel and bone alike, his presence enough to make enemy squads falter. And beside him, my storm burned away those who dared press forward.
For every strike I made, he covered the blind spot. For every enemy that slipped through his defense, I drowned them in lightning.
We weren't just fighting.
We were reminding the world.
That the White Fang was not so easily broken.
That Konoha's storm was only just beginning to roar.
---
The Cliffhanger
By dawn, the valley was ours. Enemy corpses littered the broken earth, and their commander fled with only a handful of survivors. Konoha's troops, though bloodied, still stood.
Sakumo leaned against his blade, pale but unbowed. Minato, exhausted but steady, directed the wounded to safety.
And I… I sat among the rubble, chest heaving, every nerve still burning from the storm I had forced through my body.
We had won.
But the messenger hawk arrived before the sun fully rose.
Another front had collapsed.
Konoha's forces were stretched thin, reinforcements cut off, and whispers spread that the Third War was about to turn into something far darker.
I looked at Sakumo. At Minato. At the blood that painted the valley.
And I knew.
We had won the battle. But the war itself had just turned against us.
Author's Note:
And so ends Chapter 40. This battlefield has changed everything—legends bleed, storms rage, and the Third War tightens its grip. Writing this one drained me, because I wanted every clash, every scar, to feel like something history itself would remember.
✨ We've now reached 25 collections, 9 readers, and 6 effective readers!
Those numbers may look small to some, but to me they mean everything. Each one of you is choosing to stand beside Ryuzen, Sakumo, and Minato on this bloody path. That's more than just stats—it's proof that this story is alive.
Thank you for carrying this storm forward. The next chapter will hit harder, because from here the war is no longer about winning battles—it's about surviving choices.
Stay with me. The storm is only beginning