Whoosh.
Duan didn't waste words. In one smooth step, he crossed more than ten meters, his fist driving forward with the same killing intent that had felled Root's finest.
The knuckles trembled in a subtle rhythm—Yin Release: Phantom Body Technique activated once more.
Aburame Ryōma froze where he stood, eyes glazed, caught in the genjutsu.
But the next instant—
Bang! The blow met no flesh. It was like striking a puff of air.
Duan's Sharingan caught the truth—the Ryōma before him dissolved into a mass of chittering black insects, erupting from hood, sleeves, and trouser legs in a coordinated swarm.
They surged forward, clinging to his torso and limbs.
Insect Clone Technique.
The "Ryōma" he had struck was a lure—this was the real trap.
In moments, half his body was buried beneath a writhing tide of kikaichū. Their sharp proboscises sought purchase, pressing against his skin, aiming to inject venom directly into his bloodstream.
Duan didn't flinch. A full-body shiver rolled through him—muscles vibrating in perfect unison, chakra flooding outward.
Like a rooster ruffling its feathers, the force dislodged every insect clinging to him.
Rustle. The stunned parasites tumbled lifeless to the ground.
But Ryōma's offense hadn't stopped.
From the shadowed treeline came a living tide—three ranks deep in every direction, a black sea of kikaichū that advanced with perfect synchronicity.
The earlier four Root operatives had been nothing but a delaying tactic, buying the Aburame time to hatch his swarm and prepare this decisive strike.
Duan had no Fire Release to burn them back—he was a ninjutsu insulator, relying solely on physical combat.
Ryōma had chosen his prey well. Against a sea of insects that could keep coming endlessly, fists and kicks alone would mean drowning under their numbers.
Soon, the tide would engulf him completely—crawling into nose, mouth, ears, even eyes—until nothing remained.
Instead of panic, Duan exhaled slowly. Eyes closed. Chest lifted, abdomen drawn sharply inward.
A vacuum belly.
The next moment—
"Roar!"
The sound exploded from him like a beast's challenge, echoing through the forest, scattering flocks of startled birds.
With it came an expanding shockwave—chakra-infused sound vibrations rippling outward in a perfect circle.
A tiger's roar in the mountains.
This was no mere shout—it was a refined combat skill, born from years of anatomical training. His vocal cords, like every other muscle in his body, had been honed to withstand immense strain. Chakra threaded through the sound waves, amplifying them and resonating with the air itself.
Only a body trained in the "revelations of the God of Muscles" could endure the technique without injury.
All 639 muscles played their part—from triceps and biceps to the smallest sphincters and the fine control of laryngeal fibers.
Buzzzz…
Where the shockwave passed, earth churned as if plowed anew. Thousands of kikaichū were flipped into the air, dead before they landed.
Those that survived wheeled in unison, retreating in a black ebb tide toward the deeper forest.
Ryōma was gone.
"A cautious one… as expected of the Aburame," Duan murmured.
The Aburame clan was unassuming, but their parasite techniques were a blend of offense, defense, poison, healing, and reconnaissance—a versatility few could match. Clan members moved with calculated patience, striking only when advantage was certain.
In the original records, Uchiha Shisui had been felled by the venom of an Aburame operative nicknamed "Fruit Fly," the toxin spreading so fast he'd chosen suicide to preserve his secrets. Even Uchiha Obito had once abandoned an arm after contact with nano-sized kikaichū.
Ryōma had stayed hidden throughout, gauging Duan's abilities before unleashing his swarm—and withdrawing the instant the tide turned.
But Duan, too, had been cautious. He'd withheld his most guarded techniques—his true substitute jutsu and the Shiding—rather than risk exposing them.
Time to move.
Gathering the four Root corpses into one place, Duan unrolled a special storage scroll. Channeling chakra into the inked formula, he sealed each body in a puff of white smoke.
"Boom!"
The scroll snapped shut, slung over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
---
Konoha Village – Root Base
Danzo and Uchiha Itachi had been waiting nearly an hour.
Danzo sat with eyes closed, posture relaxed, unconcerned. Itachi stood nearby, gaze fixed on the entrance, face calm but thoughts restless.
Though he refused to believe his uncle could be killed so easily, the knot in his gut had grown tighter with every passing minute.
"Itachi… still indulging in fantasy?"
Danzo's voice was a dry blade, cutting into the younger man's thoughts.
"The old man sent Root's elite—each one selected to counter Uchiha capabilities. And Ryōma went as well. You know what that means."
Itachi's pulse spiked. Ryōma was no ordinary operative—once Danzo's personal guard alongside Orochimaru, his abilities rivaled those of the Sannin.
For the first time, Itachi felt the cold edge of fear for his uncle's life.
Danzo, seeing the shift in his expression, allowed himself a thin sigh.
"I promised to give you the body, but if Ryōma takes action… there may not be one left to recover. Let us hope Duan dies quietly."
Itachi's hands clenched at his sides, his expression darkening.
Then—footsteps.
Aburame Ryōma emerged from the entrance, kneeling immediately before Danzo.
"Report," Danzo said, a frown already forming.
Ryōma's eyes flicked briefly to Itachi. After a pause, he said flatly:
"We… failed."
The word hung in the air like a blade.
Silence followed, heavy and suffocating.
Danzo's grip on his cane tightened, knuckles white, jaw clenched in fury.
Itachi broke the moment with a shallow bow.
"Danzo-sama, I have Anbu matters to attend to. I'll take my leave."
Without waiting for permission, he turned on his heel and walked out—without granting Danzo so much as the courtesy of a backward glance.