To float freely in the air without relying on summoning beasts or flight-type ninjutsu—this completely overturned the shinobi world's understanding of what "flying" meant.
Kakashi's expression was grim to the extreme. His Sharingan locked firmly onto the airborne figure as he muttered in a low voice,
"Flight… Is it because of that strange armor?"
This had already gone far beyond anything he understood about ninja tools or chakra applications.
"May I ask… are you from the Land of Iron Samurai Elite Guard?"
A comparatively calm Kumogakure jōnin mustered his courage and called out toward the sky, his voice filled with reverence and cautious probing.
The mysterious figure in gold-and-crimson armor did not respond.
He merely lifted his hand slightly. The blue flying blades carrying the serpent monsters' corpses subtly adjusted their direction, as if preparing to depart with their "spoils."
That complete disregard ignited the emotions of some survivors—shinobi who had just brushed past death and were teetering on the edge of collapse.
"Wait!"
A wounded Sunagakure ninja staggered forward several steps, pointing at the figure in the sky and roaring angrily.
"What were those monsters?! Why have we never seen them before?! Who are you?! You have to explain yourself!"
"That's right!" another Iwagakure ninja shouted, eyes bloodshot.
"My brother is dead! Dead for no reason! You owe us an explanation!"
Grief and terror twisted into blame. Some began venting the pain of losing comrades onto this mysterious, overwhelmingly powerful bystander.
"Why didn't you come sooner?!"
A young shinobi who had lost his lover cried hoarsely, voice breaking.
"If you'd shown up earlier, she… she wouldn't have died!!"
Once someone started, the dam broke.
Pent-up emotions finally found an outlet. More and more survivors began shouting toward the sky—questioning, accusing, even lashing out in resentment.
They needed answers.
They needed someone to bear responsibility for their comrades' deaths.
And this powerful, unknown, late-arriving figure became the focus of that projection.
The situation began to spiral out of control.
At last, the gold-and-crimson figure stopped moving.
He lowered his head slightly, the emotionless "gaze" beneath the helmet sweeping across the enraged crowd below.
Still no words.
Yet an invisible, icy pressure descended like a sudden cold front. The shouting voices fell quieter—then lower still—against their will.
How would he respond?
Watching the silent figure in the sky and the increasingly agitated crowd below, alarm bells screamed wildly in Kakashi's mind.
He understood better than anyone what happened when absolute power was provoked by those far weaker.
"Guy!"
Kakashi's face changed drastically. He grabbed the weakened Guy, lowering his voice to an urgent whisper.
"This is bad. Be ready to run—any second."
Guy had been confused at first, but seeing a level of fear on Kakashi's face he had never once seen before, he immediately understood the gravity of the situation.
No questions.
He forced himself to focus and nodded heavily.
In the sky, the mysterious figure remained silent, doing nothing—only letting that indifferent gaze roam over the crowd like boiling water beneath a sealed lid.
The pressure continued to accumulate.
Some shinobi—those more perceptive or experienced—began to sense that something was deeply wrong. The shouting dwindled, fading into a chilling, suffocating silence.
Within that silence, the mysterious figure finally spoke.
His voice emerged from the armor, cold and metallic, like steel grinding against steel—utterly devoid of emotion.
"An explanation? A justification?"
He slowly raised his armored arm and pointed toward the crowd below, the movement elegant yet crushingly oppressive.
"You…
What do you think you are?"
The words pierced straight into everyone's heart like an ice spike.
"Kai—MOVE!!"
Almost the instant the figure raised his hand, Kakashi roared.
He turned without hesitation, pushing his speed to the absolute limit, fleeing toward the forest away from the beach with pure survival instinct driving him.
He didn't even bother using ninjutsu to cover his tracks.
Guy reacted just as quickly. Though badly weakened, years of taijutsu training gave him explosive power even now, and he followed tightly behind Kakashi.
Some shinobi—those sharp enough or already terrified to the core—saw the Copy Ninja of Konoha fleeing without a shred of dignity.
That alone was enough.
Their faces drained of color as they turned and ran as well.
"Anyone who spoke out of turn…
Die."
The mysterious figure's voice rang out again, calm and absolute—like a death sentence being read.
Everyone who remained in place, or who had been even a moment too slow, felt a chill erupt from the depths of their soul. Every hair on their body stood on end.
Shhh—shhh—shhh—!!!
Blue light flared once more.
But this time, it did not strike the sea.
Instead, it became a swarm of living death spirits, carving countless lethal blue trajectories through the air at speeds far beyond what even elite shinobi could visually track.
Each streak precisely passed through every ninja who had questioned him—
even those who had merely shouted in agitation.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Bodies collapsed in rapid succession, the sound like heavy rain hammering the ground.
Those who had been raging or trembling only a second earlier were now nothing more than warm corpses.
Each had a tiny, precise wound—either through the forehead or straight through the heart—cleanly pierced by the blue flying blades.
No resistance.
No screams.
Instant death.
A merciless purge.
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