On the other side of the battlefield—
Shuriken whistled out of the fog, a storm of steel.
Fugaku's blade blurred, batting them aside with effortless precision. His free hand flicked his own shuriken into the mist. No sound followed. No confirmation of a hit. Nothing.
That was the nightmare of Kirigakure's assassination squads: the enemy never seen, never confirmed, until you were already bleeding out.
But Fugaku's face didn't so much as twitch. Even if this was his first encounter with Kiri's dreaded hunters, there was no room for fear.
He was Uchiha Fugaku. Future head of the clan. Weakness wasn't an option.
A ripple in the mist behind him.
His hands flashed through seals, one-handed, the movement clean.
"Fire Style — Great Fireball Technique!"
He spun, exhaling a roaring orb of flame. It smashed into the figure lunging from the haze—only for the enemy to dissolve into a puddle of water with a hiss. Mist thickened, swallowing the flames into a suffocating wall.
Clang!
Two kunai scraped against his sword. A Mist-nin burst from concealment—just long enough for Fugaku's Sharingan to catch him. Scarlet tomoe spun.
The ninja froze, guard faltering for a fraction of a heartbeat. It was all Fugaku needed.
Three shuriken buried themselves in brow, throat, and heart. The body dropped, lifeless.
The others melted back into the fog.
"You're no ordinary ninja…"
The voice was female—smooth, sweet, almost musical. It slid through the mist like silk on skin, warm and alluring.
Fugaku's steps slowed. His eyes wavered, body relaxing against his will.
Hidden deeper in the fog, the kunoichi smiled, her laughter lilting. Her curves shifted with the sound, though the mist spared Fugaku the distraction. Her weapon wasn't her body. It was her voice.
Yan Gui. Mistress of genjutsu, one of the infamous "Three Ghosts" of Kirigakure.
Her tone caressed the ears, drowning minds in comfort before death.
"Rare… a Konoha shinobi who lasts this long against us." Her voice dripped with velvet menace, as if congratulating him before she carved him apart.
She lifted her hand, weaving the signal for the kill.
But then—
A whisper. Barely audible, like mosquito wings buzzing against the ear:
"Careful."
The world shattered like glass.
The genjutsu broke. The fog peeled back. And Fugaku stood right before her, crimson eyes locking hers in a merciless gaze.
Tomoe spun. His expression didn't change. But his blade was already rising, edge brushing the skin of her neck.
"Uchiha—!"
Her scream cut short.
Because another ninja appeared behind Fugaku, seals flying.
If Fugaku followed through, he'd be skewered by the jutsu.
"Water Style — Water Dragon Fang!"
A torrent surged, spearing through where Fugaku stood—
—and tore into a block of wood.
Substitution.
Yan Gui stumbled back, heart hammering. If not for her ally, she'd already be dead.
"Too close… far too close…" she hissed, retreating into the fog, chakra flowing as she hid herself again.
But she felt it. That gaze. Heavy, suffocating. The Sharingan was still on her.
Her pupils dilated.
Steel punched through her chest from behind.
"Wh—!?"
Blood spilled from her lips as her body jerked forward.
"You can't hide from these eyes."
Fugaku's voice was flat as he stepped on her back and tore the blade free.
Her body twitched twice on the ground, then went still.
Yan Gui—the siren of the Three Ghosts—was dead.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, from within the mist, panic spread. The assassination squad had lost their leader. Against a single Uchiha.
The fog itself trembled with their fear.
They answered it with rage.
Shuriken and kunai came in waves, steel hammering from every angle. Fugaku's blade spun, a blur that rang with each deflection. His hand speed was blinding, every motion honed by discipline—and by eighteen years of single-minded training.
The assault failed to break him.
So they changed tactics.
"Water Style — Water Dragon Bullet Technique!"
Multiple voices layered the words. A colossal water dragon surged from the mist, jaws wide. It crashed into Fugaku, hurling him skyward like a ragdoll.
If it landed, he'd be crushed.
Sword braced in one hand, he flashed through seals with the other.
"Fire Style — Dragon Flame Jutsu!"
A smaller fire dragon speared forward, plunging straight into the belly of the water beast. The collision detonated into a storm of steam, mist doubling, blinding everyone.
Even the Mist-nin couldn't sense his chakra through the smothering fog.
One shinobi stepped out, cautious, searching for his corpse.
A whisper of movement behind him.
The Sharingan burned.
Steel swept.
His head hit the ground before his body collapsed.
But the price was time.
The real attack was ready.
"Water Style — Water Dragon Bullet!" × many voices.
This time, dozens of smaller dragons erupted at once, surrounding Fugaku from every direction.
His eyes narrowed. So many? Their chakra reserves couldn't possibly—
No time.
His hands flashed.
"Fire Style — Dragon Flame Armor!"
Flames coiled into a dragon that wrapped around his body, shielding from all angles.
And then the storm hit.
Water slammed against fire. Explosions roared. The clash sent mist billowing outward in tidal waves.
For a moment, the battlefield was nothing but steam.
"Did we… kill him?"
One Mist-nin whispered, staring into the fog where Fugaku had stood.