Chapter 109: The Crimson Dawn
Kagenori and Kakashi stood in the silence of the woods, two figures shrouded in shadow, looking out at the distant, illuminated streets of Konoha. The village was a tapestry of light and noise, a world that now felt alien to the boy beside him. The fierce pride and belonging Kakashi had once felt for the Leaf was gone, scoured away by betrayal and replaced by a cold, simmering resentment.
It was then that the familiar, mechanical voice resonated in Kagenori's mind, its message more significant than any before.
[Witnessed and altered the life trajectory of Hatake Kakashi. Reward: 2,000 Witness Points.]
Kagenori's breath hitched. Two thousand. This was unprecedented. His reserves, already swollen to nearly 11,000 points after witnessing Sakumo's death, now skyrocketed to over 13,000. The path to the Mangekyō Sharingan, which required 10,000 points, was not just open; it was paved and waiting. Even after the exchange, he would be left with a staggering war chest of over 3,000 points.
For the first time, a genuine, thrilling excitement coursed through him. He was no longer scraping by, calculating every point. He was wealthy. This changed everything. While exchanging for abilities he lacked the prerequisites for was still prohibitively expensive, his innate Senju heritage meant one of the most powerful bloodlines in the world—Wood Release—was within reach for a standard price. The plan to confront the Nine-Tails, to save Kushina, suddenly felt less like a desperate gambit and more like a viable strategy.
He forced the excitement down, his face a mask of calm. "Kakashi," he said, his voice steady. "Let's go home. Kushina will be worrying."
They walked back through the quiet streets, the gulf between their silent understanding and the village's oblivious cheer more vast than ever.
That night, in the privacy of their room, Kushina turned to him, her expression a mix of hope and anxiety. "Kagenori, when Kakashi came back… he seemed different. Lighter. Did you… did you get through to him?"
A small, genuine smile touched his lips. "You don't need to worry about him anymore. The storm has passed."
Kushina let out a long, relieved sigh. "Thank goodness." She then fixed him with a knowing look. "The Hokage summoned you today. He wants you on the battlefield, doesn't he?"
Kagenori raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "You figured that out?"
She pouted, a familiar fire in her eyes. "Do you think I'm an idiot? With Lord Sakumo gone, the Land of Grass is in chaos. I've seen reinforcements heading out all week. You're one of Konoha's strongest. Did you really think Sarutobi would let you stay here gardening forever? So, am I right?"
"You're right," he conceded. "He ordered me to the front. I refused, using Kakashi's state as my excuse. But now that Kakashi has recovered his footing, my pretext is gone. I leave for the Land of Grass in two days."
Kushina's shoulders slumped. "You just got back," she murmured, the sadness in her voice unmistakable. "And now you're leaving again."
"This war will last for years," Kagenori analyzed calmly. "Five, six, perhaps more. But if key events unfold as I anticipate, the worst of it could be over in two or three. I will petition to have you assigned to my team. To have you with me."
"Really?" she asked, her eyes widening with hope.
"Have I ever lied to you?" he replied, his tone utterly serious.
The hope in her eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by a deeper understanding. "Kagenori… when you say 'two or three years'… you're talking about me and the Nine-Tails, aren't you? Please… don't push yourself too hard for my sake."
He looked at her, and for the first time, his confident smile was not a calculated facade. It was real. "Don't worry, Kushina. My confidence now is not unfounded."
The next day, Kagenori sent Kakashi to the Hatake compound to gather his belongings; they would depart together for the front tomorrow. But first, Kagenori had a singular, pivotal task. He went alone to Orochimaru's long-abandoned laboratory, a place of dust and shadows, perfect for a transformation that must remain unseen.
Standing in the center of the silent, dark room, he took a centering breath. The moment had come.
"System," he commanded, his voice echoing faintly in the stillness. "Spend 10,000 Witness Points. Exchange for the Mangekyō Sharingan."
[Exchange complete. Does the host wish to receive and awaken the Mangekyō Sharingan now?]
"Awaken it."
The effect was instantaneous and violent. A searing, white-hot agony lanced through his optic nerves, as if two molten needles were being driven deep into his brain. He grunted, his hands flying to his eyes, pressing against the lids as if he could physically hold them in their sockets. Tears, thick and warm with blood, streamed down his cheeks, tracing crimson paths over his fingers.
Yet, through the pain, he could feel it—a profound, alien chakra blooming within his eyes, rewriting their very nature. It was a power being born, a genesis of darkness and sight.
He didn't know how long he stood there, trembling, as the agony slowly receded, leaving behind a throbbing, potent ache. When he finally, cautiously, lowered his hands, he knew his three-tomoe Sharingan was gone. He could feel it spinning, evolving, the pattern settling into a new, permanent form.
He opened his eyes.
The world was different. Sharper, clearer, layered with dimensions of perception he had never imagined. He walked to a dusty, fractured mirror on the wall. Staring back at him was a pattern he had never seen: a circle, unbroken and perfect, from which five sharp, scythe-like blades extended inward, connecting to the center. It was a design of both precision and menace.
A wave of intoxicating power washed over him. A feeling of absolute, limitless potential. Omnipotence. He recognized the sensation for the illusion it was—a side effect of the massive leap in power. To believe it would be a fatal arrogance.
He closed the Mangekyō, allowing the new, unique chakra to continue its final, subtle calibrations within his pupils. The evolution of his specific ocular techniques was not yet complete; they were still crystallizing, adapting to the core of his being.
He let out a long, slow breath. Once the Mangekyō was fully settled and its techniques manifested, he would truly stand among the shinobi world's elite. The power was undeniable.
But so was the cost. He could feel the faint, insidious drain already. Each use would bring him closer to eternal darkness. The conventional path to the Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan was closed to him; he had no blood brothers. A glance at the system store confirmed it: the price for forcing that evolution was a prohibitive 25,000 points.
The other option, Hashirama's cells, was a path paved by Orochimaru and Madara. He could likely acquire them. But the thought of implanting another's flesh into his own, of becoming a patchwork being like the Sannin's experiments or the masked monster who carved a face onto his chest, was a line he was not yet willing to cross.
For now, the crimson dawn of his Mangekyō would have to be enough. And it was. It changed everything.
💫 Liked the chapter?You can read 100+ extra chapters on Patreon, including the current
Patreon Chapter 210:A Web of Spite and a Plea for Mercy
👉 Patreon.com/KudosNey
Your support helps me write more and update faster 💖And don't forget to drop a Power Stone ⭐ — it really motivates me!
Thank you for reading! 🙌✨