The greatsword of black fire carved a line across the sky. Under the wide-eyed terror of the Hyūga coalition, the blade crashed into the earth and erupted like a volcanic tide. The flames of Amaterasu sprayed outward—hungry, alive—and the air filled with the sound of burning flesh.
Screams tore through the battlefield. In an instant, hundreds of Hyūga were swallowed whole, their bodies collapsing into charred silhouettes. The air smelled of ash and despair.
Raizen didn't stop. His colossal Susanoo stepped forward, armor glowing with crimson cracks, and the black blade swung again. The ground fractured under the strike, and the defensive platforms of the coalition shattered like brittle glass. With their fortifications gone, the Hyūga encampment lay naked before him—an offering to the flames.
In the distance, Inuzuka Daisaku and the Konoha forces stared in awe. They couldn't see every detail, but they didn't need to. The sight of that towering giant cloaked in fire was enough. Victory was already certain.
When the defensive line crumbled, Daisaku raised his hand. Two thousand Konoha shinobi surged forward like a tidal wave, racing toward the doomed camp.
At the same time, Sarutobi Sanbei watched the fall of their defenses. His face twisted in bitter resolve. "Retreat!" he roared, voice cracking with fury and grief.
He knew hopelessness when he saw it. Against a monster like that, resistance was suicide. Better to save what remained of his clan than to feed them to the fire.
But Raizen's eyes caught him. Cold, analytical—and then burning with intent. That man had saved his army twice already through sheer experience and instinct. In war, a strategist like that was more dangerous than a thousand ordinary soldiers.
The black blade rose again.
"Retreat!" Sanbei shouted once more, hurling himself backward as Susanoo's sword fell like divine judgment. The impact blew him off his feet, ribs shattering, blood spraying through the air.
Raizen's Susanoo loomed over him. One swing, and it would be over. But just as the sword of Amaterasu lifted for the kill, Raizen hesitated.
His mind flickered—memory, reason, future.
Konoha.
He was supposed to build it, not burn it down. The Sarutobi, the Shimura, the Hyūga... these clans would one day form the backbone of that dream. Killing them all here was no victory—it was sabotage.
The sword dropped—not on Sanbei's chest, but beside him. The black fire exploded harmlessly into the dirt.
Sanbei blinked in confusion. He... spared me?
Before he could react, Susanoo's massive hand reached down and seized him like a doll. Raizen clenched his fist—not to crush, but to restrain. Then, without another glance, he turned back to the chaos.
Flames roared. Bodies fell. The remnants of the Hyūga coalition tried to flee, their discipline shattered. But their escape routes were already gone. Inuzuka's men had surrounded the camp, kunai gleaming under the firelight.
The once-proud army of three thousand was reduced to fewer than three hundred. The rest were ash.
Raizen's chakra burned low. The crimson armor of Susanoo shimmered and cracked before dissolving into the air. He walked forward, exhaustion dragging at his limbs, and tossed the unconscious Sarutobi Sanbei toward Inuzuka Daisaku.
"This one's their commander," he said flatly. "Keep him alive."
"Yes, sir!" Daisaku replied, voice trembling between awe and fear. Standing beside Raizen felt like standing next to a god who hadn't yet decided whether humanity deserved to exist.
Raizen waved a hand, his tone weary. "Take care of the survivors. Anyone who surrenders—bind them. Anyone who doesn't—end them."
"Yes!"
The Konoha shinobi moved with ruthless precision. Most of the remaining Hyūga coalition surrendered without a fight; the few who resisted were cut down without ceremony. Blood ran through the mud in thin black streams.
When it was done, Inuzuka Daisaku approached again, kneeling slightly. "My lord, the field is cleared."
Raizen nodded. The fire still crackled behind him, its light reflecting off the ruined armor on his arms. The entire Hyūga coalition—three thousand strong—was gone.
Another chapter of the Warring States closed in blood and smoke.