Judgment was dead.
When Itachi heard the news from Danzō, his whole body trembled. Shock and dread washed over him, and he slowly lifted his head, Sharingan spinning scarlet as he stared into the old man's single visible eye.
Danzō didn't avert his gaze. Calm and cold, he said:
> "It was without a doubt self-destruction. No one could have saved him. He must have regretted his choices before the end, but regret only follows to the Pure Land."
Itachi lowered his head again.
Uncle… already dead?
No. This was only Danzō's version of the truth. That man would not die so easily.
From what Itachi had come to understand of Duan, anyone who underestimated him paid dearly. The masked man was proof enough of that.
The thought steadied him.
Danzō, unaware of the young Uchiha's inner conviction, continued with a stern voice:
> "Itachi, do not forget your original intention. You told me you wanted the strength to erase the chaos within yourself, and for that I allowed you into the Anbu. Duan is a source of that chaos. Whether he is dead or alive, you must stay away from him."
From Danzō's point of view, eliminating Uchiha Duan meant Itachi would soon fall fully back under his control.
"I understand, Danzō-sama," Itachi replied, voice steady. "But after this is over, I ask that you at least give me my uncle's body. I will return it to the clan for burial."
Danzō's single eye narrowed, then he nodded.
> "Agreed. The operatives I dispatched should be returning soon."
He intended for Itachi to see Duan's corpse himself—to shatter the boy's resolve completely.
So the two of them, one old and one young, waited in the silence of the Root's underground base.
---
Outside Konoha, in a forgotten patch of forest.
After leaving the village, Duan—whether by design or chance—had wandered to a place far from prying eyes.
If someone wanted him dead, now was their perfect opportunity.
Sure enough—
Whoosh! Whoosh!
A storm of kunai and shuriken flew at him from behind and the side, aimed to shred and pin him in one coordinated strike.
Boom—boom—boom!
Several kunai struck his massive frame, their explosive tags detonating and swallowing him in fire and choking smoke.
"Is it over?" one voice asked.
"Stay sharp. It won't be that easy," another answered.
"He may have known we were trailing him. Be ready."
From the trees, four masked Root operatives emerged, approaching warily.
A gust of wind cleared the smoke.
Duan stood where he'd been, utterly unharmed.
The four exchanged uneasy glances. They'd read the reports—his body was unnaturally durable—but witnessing him shrug off such an assault was something else entirely.
His frown deepened as he looked them over.
> "Only this many?"
The operatives froze for a moment. They were here to kill him, yet he sounded… disappointed. Was he worried he wouldn't get a proper fight? Or that this wouldn't even be worth his time?
They spread out silently, encircling him with no openings.
"Fine," Duan muttered, removing his wide hat and cloak, hanging them neatly on a nearby branch. "Root shinobi should still fetch a decent price."
Just as Samui had suspected, Duan had been leaving the village regularly to work as a bounty hunter—hunting missing-nin and exchanging their corpses for cash, all while honing his skills.
He lacked the battlefield seasoning of war-hardened elites, but he was far from an amateur. His unmatched durability gave him room for mistakes others couldn't afford.
And lately… he was running low on money.
These Root agents had walked right into his hands.
"Do it!" their leader barked.
They moved.
But Duan was faster.
Shua!
His eyes locked onto the operative at his front left. In an instant, his black irises turned blood-red, tomoe spinning into the three-fold pattern of a mature Sharingan.
The man—of the Yamanaka clan—had just formed the "viewfinder" seal to launch his Mind–Body Switch Technique when his consciousness was violently dragged elsewhere.
In the illusion, his body was pinned with massive, rusted iron spikes, agony flooding every nerve.
Genjutsu: Hanging Binding Illusion.
No seals, just a gaze. One of the most formidable Sharingan illusions.
Thud.
The Yamanaka collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
First kill.
For the first time in twenty-four years, Duan had revealed his Sharingan to outsiders—and it was to kill.
The remaining three didn't flinch. Every Root shinobi knew: never fight a Uchiha one-on-one. Four-on-one was different. Sacrificing one to create an opening was worth it.
Whoosh!
Two operatives struck simultaneously—one from the left, one from the right.
The left attacker was massive, nearly Duan's equal in size, his arms ballooning as he used the Multi-Size Technique of the Akimichi clan. His fist swelled to the size of a water tank and came crashing down like a meteor.
The right attacker was smaller, swift, and precise—the Gentle Fist of the Hyūga clan. His steps were smooth, his palm aimed at Duan's vital points from a blind angle.
Hard and soft, combined for maximum effect.
Duan ignored the Hyūga entirely, pivoted on his heel, and drove a waist-powered punch directly into the Akimichi's oncoming fist.
BOOM!
The Akimichi was hurled back over a dozen steps, smashing into a tree. His mask cracked and fell away, shock etched on his face. Even his clan's chakra-enhanced strength—Yang Release at the cost of burning through body fat—couldn't match Duan's raw power.
The man was a monster of muscle.
But in that moment of recoil, the Hyūga struck.
Puff! Puff! Puff!
His Byakugan guided his fingers unerringly to Duan's tenketsu, hammering multiple chakra points in quick succession—each strike precise, deadly, and meant to cripple.