The battle beneath the rain curtain erupted with violence.
Hanzo of the Salamander truly lived up to his title.
His chain-sickle moved in a blur, weaving a seamless web of steel.
Every strike was seasoned and lethal, aimed at the most vulnerable gaps in a man's defense.
Furthermore, he flawlessly integrated his Water Style into his weapon arts.
He cycled between roaring water dragons for offense, water walls for defense, and clones to confuse the eye.
Combined with the potent neurotoxin likely coating his blade, his assault was a relentless hurricane.
To Zilin, the fight looked terrifyingly close.
She watched Saiki flicker between blade-light and crashing waves.
The screech of steel on steel was constant, sending sparks flying through the gloom.
At times, Saiki seemed "struggling" to avoid the crushing weight of the Water Style, his footing appearing less than perfect.
Hanzo's manic laughter and the crushing weight of his aura made Zilin's heart hammer against her ribs.
Her palms were slick with cold sweat.
In her eyes, even though Saiki was strong, he was barely holding his own against a legend like Hanzo.
In reality, only Saiki knew the truth.
Hanzo's synergy of Ninjutsu and weaponry was impressive. It gave him a sense of... novelty.
It was like eating a unique street snack after years of home cooking.
It wasn't a threat to his life, but it was entertaining.
More importantly, his focus wasn't entirely on Hanzo.
He was quietly monitoring the woman behind him—Zilin.
He wanted to know if her submission the night before was genuine, or if her guidance this morning was just a desperate act of survival.
Would she betray him when his life appeared to be on the line?
So, Saiki began to "sandbag."
He slowed his blade by half a beat, letting Hanzo's sickle graze his sleeve.
He delayed his dodges, allowing the shockwaves of the water dragons to "stumble" him backward.
He even dimmed the glow of the Auspicious Cloud, making the barrier look flickery and unstable.
To both Zilin and Hanzo, Saiki looked like he was running out of steam.
"Hahahaha! Brat of the Leaf! Where is that arrogance now?"
Hanzo roared, redoubling his efforts. "With this little skill, you dared to challenge me? Today, you and that traitorous bitch die together!"
Saiki ignored the bluster. His senses were fixed on Zilin.
He noted her face turning ashen. Her body was shaking violently.
But in those eyes, beneath the terror, he saw something else.
Was it... concern?
For him?
The fight continued. Saiki "struggled" on.
Finally, he created the perfect opening.
Under a particularly heavy overhead swing from Hanzo, Saiki acted as if his strength had failed.
His parry was weak, his sword was knocked aside, and his chest was left wide open.
"GOT YOU!" Hanzo's eyes flared with murderous glee.
With a flick of his wrist, the sickle lunged forward like a striking viper, aimed directly at Saiki's heart.
To Hanzo, this was the end.
But in that split second—
"NO!" A tearful scream rang out.
A slender silhouette lunged from behind Saiki.
With an air of suicidal resolve, Zilin threw herself in front of him, spreading her arms wide to shield him from the cold steel.
She chose to protect him. She didn't betray him.
Hanzo's sickle didn't slow down. "Stupid traitor! Die with him!"
The blade was inches from piercing her back and continuing through to Saiki.
Then, a steady, powerful hand settled on Zilin's shoulder.
Saiki gently pulled her behind him.
Simultaneously, the "exhausted" and "failing" Saiki stood up straight.
The fatigue vanished from his face, replaced by a bottomless, freezing calm and a hint of satisfied amusement.
He looked at the cruel, triumphant face of Hanzo and spoke flatly.
"The show is over."
Hanzo blinked, failing to process the change in an instant.
Then, Saiki moved.
There was no massive aura. No complex movements.
He simply swung his sword once, horizontally.
The strike was faster than the human eye could track.
It was a flash of cold electricity that severed the rain and the very fabric of space.
The grin on Hanzo's face froze.
He felt an indescribable, irresistible sharpness envelop his entire body.
His legendary chain-sickle, his master-class Water Style, and the poison he was so famous for—all of it became a joke in the face of absolute speed and power.
The blade-light vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Saiki stood with his sword sheathed, as if he had never moved at all.
Hanzo of the Salamander stood perfectly still. His pupils were dilated, filled with a primal, soul-crushing horror.
A thin, microscopic red line appeared in the center of his forehead.
It traveled straight down through his mask, through his chest, and down to his groin.
"How... how..." he gasped.
Then, under Zilin's horrified gaze, Hanzo's body split perfectly in two.
The two halves fell away from each other, splashing into the mud.
Blood and organs spilled out in a violent torrent, painting the clearing a gruesome crimson.
The "Demigod" who had ruled the Rain for decades was dead.
It had been as easy as cutting paper.
The rain continued to fall, washing the blood away, but it couldn't wash away the heavy scent of gore or the absolute shock of the moment.
Saiki turned to look at Zilin, who had collapsed into the mud, shivering uncontrollably.
He reached out—not to help her up, but to gently wipe a single drop of blood from her cheek.
"You did well."
His tone was flat, but Zilin felt a strange weight behind the words.
She looked at his calm face, then at the bisected remains of the most terrifying man she had ever known.
The contrast short-circuited her brain.
He was acting the whole time?
He's actually... this much of a monster?
Was my sacrifice just a joke to him?
But for some reason, hearing "You did well" made her terror recede a fraction.
It was replaced by a chaotic, inexpressible emotion.
Saiki turned away, glancing toward the depths of the forest.
"Hanzo is dead. The Rain is leaderless. Things are about to get interesting."
A small, dark smirk touched his lips.
He had removed a primary threat to Tsunade and verified the heart of his "maid" in one move. A productive morning.
"Let's go," he said to Zilin.
His voice was still neutral, but it lacked the freezing bite it had carried before.
Zilin stood up on shaky legs. She bit her lip and followed him silently into the rain.
The road ahead was a mystery, but the boy in front of her had become a god in her eyes—infinite, powerful, and utterly terrifying.