Chapter 56 – All Quite on the Western Front (Part 2)
Senkiri Ryōsuke swallowed two soldier pills with a swig of cold water, his expression calm as he gazed at the carnage in Mokuning Village.
The black curse script writhed like the tentacles of an octopus—once it latched onto someone, there was no escape. Konoha shinobi who had touched it clawed at themselves in agony, their pupils dilated, their instincts and combat awareness stripped away as if they were no more than civilians.
Ryōsuke was unsurprised. This technique was his own creation, the culmination of his life's studies. On this technique alone, he believed he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Senju Tobirama.
The only difference between their arts, perhaps, was this: Tobirama's techniques were difficult, but with few side effects. Ryōsuke's required the sacrifice of life itself.
---
Outside the prison of writhing script, Yahiko stood watch. He cautiously flicked a shuriken toward a kneeling Konoha chūnin—
The target fell without so much as a twitch of resistance.
A chill ran down Yahiko's spine. In the shinobi world, the most terrifying thing was not sheer power—it was power you could not understand.
And right now, he could not comprehend Senkiri Ryōsuke at all. He had delivered documents and tea to this kindly "Minister of External Affairs" before, never once imagining the old man could unleash such monstrous jutsu.
---
Inside the village, Aburame Saiwei was rallying Konoha forces for a breakout.
He didn't know how many Rain-nin there were, but from the shouts and killing cries echoing on every side, they had the place surrounded.
Damn it! He had five hundred shinobi here—had the Rain Village committed their entire force? Was Hanzō himself here?
His thoughts were scattered, but he kept moving, leading the bulk of the gathered ninja toward the rear of the village. By instinct, he began summoning more insects—
Bang!
Another cloud of blood mist.
Saiwei smacked his forehead in frustration. This was bad—very bad. The enemy's jutsu had completely shut down his combat specialty. Without the summoned kikaichū, only the few inside his body remained—hardly enough for battle.
---
Pausing briefly, he caught sight of what happened to shinobi who came into contact with the curse script. The technique's effects were too complex to pin down—it felt like genjutsu, sealing, cursing, and ninjutsu all at once.
If the Rain Village had something this powerful, why hadn't they used it sooner?
---
At the rear cordon, Uzumaki Nagato was watching the curse script with a hint of awe. Once, he, Yahiko, and Konan had dreamed of building an organization to gather wandering shinobi and overthrow Amegakure, taking power for themselves.
Now… he was glad they hadn't.
They wouldn't even have needed to face Hanzō—Senkiri Ryōsuke alone could have crushed them.
A small village like the Rain hides such dragons… What about Konoha, then?
Shaking off the thought, Nagato brushed raindrops from his red hair. His Rinnegan sharpened as he spotted movement—Konoha shinobi were breaking through toward his position, led by a jōnin.
Trailing behind them, several black "tentacles" of the curse script pursued like hunting snakes. The jutsu even had automatic tracking. If Minamoto Ren ever saw this, he'd be obsessed with figuring out the targeting mechanism.
Aburame Saiwei, however, was in no mood for research.
---
Nagato and Saiwei locked eyes almost at the same instant.
Nagato raised his hand. Saiwei's wide sleeves shifted.
Secret Art: Parasitic Destruction Insects.
Dōjutsu: Shinra Tensei.
The swarm of black kikaichū halted mid-charge before Nagato, their buzzing wings rattling the air, their venom-tipped mandibles glinting. But no matter how they strained, the wall of repulsive force kept them from advancing a single step.
Nagato's gaze remained cold. He twisted his wrist, pouring more chakra into the Rinnegan. The Shinra Tensei detonated outward.
"BZZZZZZZZ—!"
The black swarm shot back like bullets, piercing through every Konoha shinobi in their path.
The only one spared was their master—Aburame Saiwei.
Aburame clansmen favored black trench coats and dark face masks to diminish their presence. Aburame Saiwei was no exception—until now.
At this moment, he pulled away his mask, revealing a face that, for all the circumstances, was still strikingly handsome and young.
Saiwei knew there was no escape. From the moment that black curse script had appeared to the Rinnegan now before him—it was over.
For insect users like him, there were two things they feared most. Today, both had arrived together.
"Can you at least tell me… the name of this jutsu?" he asked, as if posing a question to an instructor back at the Academy.
Behind him, the black tendrils slithered closer, coiling slowly around his neck.
Nagato said nothing. The answer would never come.
---
"Saiwei!"
A voice called his name, and suddenly he was back in the Academy classroom. A faceless teacher handed him an exam sheet covered in questions.
"The test begins now. Start answering."
The clock's hand began turning from twelve. Saiwei, tense, flipped the paper open—
What were these questions?
He tried to think, to connect the words, but every attempt felt sluggish, as though his very mind had been mired in tar.
"…Heh."
He dropped his pen, sweat beading on his brow, and laughed softly.
So… this was what one saw when touched by the black script.
---
Outside the illusion, black tendrils converged from all directions, knitting together into a solid wall, sealing off the entirety of Mokuning Village.
---
"It's about time."
Having finished his meal, Senkiri Ryōsuke wiped his mouth and stood. He brought his palms together with a crisp clap.
With that motion, the technique—Curse: Flower Garland Hell Verse—was complete.
The black script sealed seamlessly, cocooning the entire village.
Five seconds of stillness.
Then—vanished without a trace.
Mokuning Village. The Konoha shinobi. Every remnant of their existence… erased.
---
Yahiko, Nagato, and every Rain-nin who had witnessed it broke into a cold sweat. Too terrifying. Too powerful. Too incomprehensible. That was the presence Ryōsuke exuded.
"Let's go. Next target. My time is short—I can't waste it here."
His dull white hair appeared at Yahiko's shoulder as he glanced sidelong at the younger man whose name was spreading fast.
"Yes, Ryōsuke-sama. The next target… is Mokuning Dam."
Yahiko swallowed, his voice trembling. Ryōsuke took the map from his hands with a glance.
Almost casually, he said something that lessened Yahiko's fear:
"Don't be afraid. I'm not a monster. What you fear comes from not understanding ninjutsu—just as ants might look upon a tower built by humans and believe they could never achieve the same."
With a long fingernail, he marked the location of the dam before tossing the map back and patting Yahiko's shoulder.
"Read more. Read from all the villages. Even the smallest shinobi villages have techniques worth learning. Don't let your Rain-nin heritage become a cage."
"Yes, Ryōsuke-sama."
Yahiko bowed his head deeply. To work alongside such a man—was an honor.