Chapter 7 – I've Become a Traitor?
Sasori's hands moved so quickly they left afterimages, completing a complex sequence of hand signs in an instant.
Chakra gathered in his throat, and he exhaled sharply.
"Wind Release: Great Breakthrough!"
It was no esoteric, world-shaking secret technique—just an ordinary C-rank wind jutsu.
But in the hands of a shadow-level master like Sasori, even the most basic art could unleash terrifying force.
The sandstorm swept forward, and the small puppets littering the battlefield immediately lost control.
Creak… snap… crack!
Their fragile joints groaned under the crushing wind pressure, pieces scattering in all directions. Caught in the gale, they slammed into distant rocks and dunes, shattering into splinters and twisted scrap.
Some were torn apart midair, reduced to nothing more than debris.
The scene was almost comical—like toys a careless child had thrown aside.
Only the half-man-tall wooden knight pushed through the howling sands, fighting the wind that threatened to blow it away.
Its hollow eyes locked onto Sasori, the long spear in its hands gleaming with cold light as it charged, an unstoppable force aimed straight for his body.
The spear tip was about to pierce his cloak—
Boom!
A deafening impact shattered the moment, followed by a billowing cloud of thick, suffocating white smoke.
Not an explosion—
A summoning impact. Something large had been forcibly brought to the field.
From within the haze came the grinding of gears and the harsh rasp of metal scraping metal. A massive silhouette loomed in and out of view.
As the wind died down, the smoke began to drift away.
Standing before Sasori, blocking the knight's charge, was one of his proudest creations from years past—the puppet Salamander, famed for its impenetrable defense.
But the Salamander was no longer in its prime. Its shell was marred with deep scratches and dents, and half of its limbs were missing.
The knight's spear slammed into its frontal armor with a clang, sending sparks flying.
The spearhead didn't so much as dent it.
The Salamander's massive plated tail twitched—then lashed out like a whip.
Wham!
The wooden knight was sent hurtling backward, tumbling across the sand in a clattering storm of dislodged metal parts before it finally lay still, scattered into useless scrap.
Sasori's gaze slid past the Salamander's battered bulk to the shop in the distance, its door still standing wide open.
Through the dim interior he could make out row upon row of shelves stacked high with a chaotic assortment of objects.
Compared to that… these few pitiful things lying broken in the sand were nothing.
Not even a proper test—more like clearing out unwanted stock.
The thought made his brow twitch ever so slightly. That… was insulting.
Sure enough, before the thought had fully settled, more "toys" came spilling out of Moze's shop, shuffling and rolling into the open.
This time, the assortment was even more ridiculous: tin soldiers missing arms and legs, clanking along in stiff little marches; wind-up tin frogs with broken keys, hopping unevenly forward; even a handful of painted wooden tops with chipped lacquer, spinning crookedly as they wobbled across the sand.
The whole scene was chaos—cheap, ugly chaos—like a tawdry circus no one wanted to watch.
Sasori was just beginning to assess this new wave of "fodder" when the sand beneath his feet erupted without warning.
A geyser of grit and dust exploded upward as a massive segmented shadow burst from the ground.
A giant wooden worm, its surface rough and splintered, reared half its body above the sand.
Its ringed maw yawned wide, revealing row upon row of jagged wooden teeth.
With a rush of foul air, it lunged to swallow him whole.
The ambush was as fast as it was vicious.
Sasori reacted on pure instinct—his toes touched the crumbling sand for the briefest instant, chakra surging to his soles, and his body drifted back several meters as if weightless.
The sand and gravel at the spot where Sasori had stood exploded outward.
The giant worm's jagged teeth snapped shut with a grating, tooth-aching sound—only to crush a mouthful of sand.
That was far too close.
Although none of these puppets pose a real threat on their own, there are far too many of them. With my remaining chakra, there's almost no way to win. I'll have to retreat…
Midair, Sasori's thoughts raced.
He could feel his chakra draining faster and faster; if things kept going this way, the situation would only deteriorate.
And besides—he didn't believe for a second that these flimsy puppets were all Moze had.
The real trump card was still to come.
Just as Sasori had suspected, all the earlier attacks had merely been Moze clearing out his dusty old inventory.
The tin soldiers, the clockwork frogs, the chipped spinning tops—
Even that intimidating giant worm turned out to be nothing but a hollow wooden head.
As Sasori weighed the timing of his retreat, Moze finally strolled out from the shop where he had been lurking.
"Warm-up's over, Lord Sasori." Moze's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly, tinged with provocation. "Now the real fight begins. If you want to leave, I'm afraid it's already too late."
Sasori stayed silent.
Unfazed, Moze reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll.
It was ordinary in material, the edges worn, clearly handled often.
Inside wasn't some ancient, forbidden technique, but something he had poured countless days and nights into—
a massive, painstakingly detailed figurine.
Once, no matter how fine its craftsmanship or accurate its details, it had been nothing but a lifeless ornament—
a personal indulgence, a memento.
Compared to Sasori's cold, efficient, kill-forged works of art, it was laughably childish.
But now…
"Come, Lord Sasori," Moze said again, his voice now edged with an almost feverish intensity. "Let me show you… my art!"
Under the blessing of the Rat God's power, the once-innocuous "big toy" would awaken as a true weapon of war.
As he spoke, the scroll flared with blinding light.
A powerful, weighty pressure began to spill into the air, as though some slumbering behemoth was about to wake and turn this desert into a battlefield.
At that moment, at the edges of the dust-choked battleground, several figures appeared like wraiths.
They wore the standard ANBU uniforms of Sunagakure, silently fanning out to encircle the chaotic center.
The leader stepped forward, his gaze flicking between Sasori and the damaged Salamander puppet, lingering for a heartbeat on the worst of its injuries.
His voice came from behind his mask—steady, respectful, but tinged with a faint trace of doubt:
"Lord Sasori, we detected abnormal chakra fluctuations here. Is this an enemy incursion?"
Sasori's eyes slid from Moze—and the scroll now moments away from being fully unfurled—back to the ANBU.
A flicker of calculation passed through his gaze.
Without even looking at the ANBU directly, he turned his head slightly, raised his hand, and pointed unerringly at Moze, who stood there with a fever-bright expression, on the brink of completing his ritual.
His voice was calm, but carried the absolute authority of command:
"This man is a spy from Konoha. He infiltrated our village to steal Sunagakure's puppet techniques. Do not let him escape."
Moze froze, dumbstruck.
Seriously, Sasori?
You, of all people—with your straight-laced image and "honorable artist" act—
And you pull this?
…Great.
Now I'm the traitor?!
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