"Don't go saying the old are bullying the young," Ikki rumbled, his voice carrying over the whistling wind. "I'm giving you a single chance. The people inside that mountain are under my protection. If you value your lives, you'll leave. Now."
His appearance had initially frozen the hundreds of Iwa shinobi in their tracks, but his words acted like a spark in a powder keg.
"Old man, who do you think you are?" a Jōnin named Huoguang spat, his face contorting in rage. "You think you can just wander into the Land of Earth and start dictating terms? You think you're the Third Tsuchikage?"
Ikki grinned, a sharp, predatory look. "As for that... you can go back and ask that brat Ohnoki yourself."
Before the sentence had even fully registered in the Jōnin's mind, Ikki vanished. There was no smoke, no flicker of a Body Flicker technique—just a sudden absence. A heartbeat later, he materialized directly in front of Huoguang.
"Whether the Land of Earth belongs to Iwa... or to me..." Ikki looked down at the man from his towering height. He casually dug into his nostril with his index finger, then, with a bored expression, wiped the residue directly onto Huoguang's forehead.
The Jōnin froze, his mind momentarily collapsing under the sheer weight of the disrespect. Then, the fury exploded.
"You senile bastard! You're dead!" Huoguang roared. His hands blurred through seals as jagged rock surged up his right arm, encasing it in a massive, craggy gauntlet. He swung the Earth Style: Rock Fist directly at Ikki's face.
"Wait! Huoguang, stand down!" Kitsuchi's voice rang out from the back of the formation, sounding uncharacteristically panicked.
"It seems you won't get the chance to ask Ohnoki after all," Ikki mused. "That's fine. You can just ask Ishikawa or Mu when you see them in the afterlife."
As he spoke, Ikki reached out a massive hand and caught the incoming rock-encased fist.
CRACK.
To the utter horror of the surrounding ninja, Ikki shattered the reinforced stone gauntlet with his bare fingers. He didn't stop there. He reached forward and hoisted the Jōnin into the air by his throat.
Huoguang was nearly six feet tall, a seasoned warrior, but dangling from Ikki's grip, he looked like a toddler being scolded by a giant. It was only then that the Iwa shinobi truly registered Ikki's terrifying physicality. He stood nearly nine feet tall, his frame so massive that his tailored black suit seemed moments away from bursting at the seams.
"What is this old man?" one Iwa ninja whispered, his hands shaking.
"I've never seen a human that big..."
"Even the brutes from the Raikage's clan look like twigs compared to him!"
A choked wail escaped Huoguang's throat. Ikki had accidentally tightened his grip, and the pressure was enough to nearly crush the man's windpipe.
Dammit, Ikki thought, frowning slightly. It's been too long since I actually had to touch someone. My strength has grown so much since the Sengoku era, I can barely calibrate it anymore.
He wasn't exaggerating. When Ikki had first arrived in this world during the Warring States period, he had inherited a unique physical constitution—an enhanced version of the legendary Monkey D. Garp. It wasn't just raw power; it was a special trait that defied the laws of nature. He was completely unaffected by age. His body didn't decay, his reflexes didn't dull, and most terrifyingly, he grew stronger with every passing day.
In the Sengoku era, he had been a force of nature who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha. He was the "Iron Fist," a man who had conquered every major clan until he simply grew bored of winning. He had accepted the Senju brothers' invitation to retire in Konoha simply because there was no one left to fight. For decades, he had done nothing but eat, sleep, and fish, and in that time, his power had compounded into something monstrous.
"Don't move! Everyone, stay exactly where you are!" Kitsuchi shouted, his voice cracking as he shoved his way through the ranks.
Kitsuchi stopped twenty meters away, his eyes wide as he took in the black suit, the white shirt, and the impossible stature of the man before him. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
"I am Kitsuchi, son of the Third Tsuchikage," he said, his voice deep but laced with caution. "May I ask... are you the legendary hero of the old era? Are you 'Iron Fist' Ikki?"
The name rippled through the ranks like a physical blow.
"Iron Fist Ikki?"
"The man who was called the equal of the God of Shinobi?"
The Iwa ninja looked at Ikki with a mixture of awe and pure, unadulterated terror. They were looking at a living myth—a man who had been a legend before their fathers were even born.
Kitsuchi stared at the imposing figure. The height, the suit, the overwhelming aura of majesty—it matched the top-secret scrolls his father had shown him. There was no mistake.
The legend had come out of retirement.