Minato's thoughts were still spiraling when Seiran quietly produced a bow.
Calling it a "bow" was generous. The entire device was crafted from dark metal, resembling a crossbow more than anything, with a long electromagnetic track running down its center. It looked bizarre—nothing like any weapon the shinobi world had ever produced.
"Seiran, is that the bow you're planning to use?" Minato asked hesitantly.
"Well," Seiran replied after a moment's consideration, "it might look unusual, but it functions as a bow."
The truth was more complicated. If Seiran pulled out an actual Magnetic Storm Railgun and started explaining electromagnetic propulsion theory, Minato would have a thousand questions. Far simpler to call it a crossbow and be done with it. Besides, with his Electromagnetic Manipulation at Level 4, shaping magnetic fluid into this form had been effortless.
Seiran activated his Byakugan. The Sunagakure shinobi camp snapped into crystalline focus—every tent, every guard, every movement. His range had expanded to a staggering seven kilometers. Three kilometers was child's play now.
He selected a metal arrow and placed it on the crossbow's slide, scanning for targets. Patrols moved in predictable patterns within a kilometer radius. Even if scouts deployed outward, his Byakugan would catch them long before they got close. As long as he repositioned after each shot, they'd never catch him.
A high-level meeting had just concluded. Through his dojutsu, Seiran watched numerous shinobi filing out of the largest tent. Perfect. Rasa had practically marked the targets with red dots.
Seiran locked onto a jonin—someone high-ranking enough to matter. The man returned to his tent, likely settling in to rest.
Seiran fired.
Whoosh—
A sonic boom split the air. Blue light trailed a thunderous arc from his fingertips and vanished instantly.
Beside him, Minato's skepticism evaporated. His mouth fell open. His eyes widened in shock.
Inside the tent, the unlucky shinobi had just sat down when ice flooded his spine. No time to react. His head exploded like overripe fruit. The wooden table shattered into splinters.
A second shinobi entering with a dinner tray witnessed the scene.
Clatter!
The plate crashed to the ground. "The elder's head just burst!" he screamed.
In the distance, Seiran nocked another arrow. His second target was already selected—a man about to bathe. The moment his pants dropped, his head was obliterated.
Minato silently swallowed hard. He couldn't see the carnage, but he could calculate the arrow's speed and destructive power from the sound alone. This weapon was devastatingly efficient.
At least I have Flying Thunder God, he thought. If Seiran aimed at me, I could dodge. But in a real fight?
The helplessness would be absolute for any ninja without his teleportation. Minato looked at Seiran with newfound apprehension.
"Let's change positions," Seiran said calmly.
Sunagakure had thousands of shinobi, including sensor specialists and swift fighters. Staying in one spot was suicide.
Minato nodded, took a breath, grabbed Seiran's arm, and teleported.
Swish—
They reappeared beside a massive rock inscribed with four characters: "Flying Thunder God Formula."
Seiran felt the spatial displacement more clearly this time. The sensation was almost pleasant. I should acquire that technique, he mused.
Then Minato opened his mouth tentatively. "Seiran, does this bow ninjutsu of yours have a name?"
A name? For an electromagnetic railgun?
Seiran's bad premonition intensified.
Minato lowered his chin to his fingers, lost in thought. "Since you don't have one, I'll give you one!" His eyes brightened with inspiration. "Lingering blue thunder light, swiftly flashing like a whirlwind... How about the Magnet Light Wheel Thunder Arrow Type Zero?"
He looked at Seiran expectantly, as if waiting for approval.
Seiran didn't want to speak.
What is this? he thought flatly. Why does he have to name everything?
Seiran had a horrifying vision: him about to fire, Minato shouting the technique's absurd name, and every Sunagakure ninja running eight hundred miles in the opposite direction. Minato meant well, but his naming sense was genuinely terrible.
He took a breath, suppressed his urge to complain, rolled his eyes, and silently returned to scanning for the next target.
Minato scratched his blonde hair, not noticing Seiran's disdain.
Byakugan perception locked. Target acquired. Fire.
Another electromagnetic cannon shot. A Sunagakure shinobi three kilometers away—just heading to bathe, unaware—received a bolt through his skull without warning.
Two headless bodies now lay in the sand.
"Ah!"
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!"
"Prepare for battle! Get ready!"
Chaos erupted across the camp.
Rasa burst from the command tent. He'd finished the strategy meeting seconds ago. What had gone wrong so fast?
"How many enemies?" he barked.
"Report from sensor ninjas!"
The sensor specialists' faces flushed crimson. They stammered, "We can't perceive them, sir. They're beyond our range—very far away."
"Then how are they killing our people?" Rasa's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Yuura handed him a black arrow, his voice trembling. "Sir... we found this."
Rasa's pupils contracted violently. The world tilted. Painful memories crashed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him completely.
Again. Again...
His teeth ground together so hard they nearly cracked. Blood filled his eyes. Even now—even as the Fourth Kazekage—he couldn't forget that humiliation. That mysterious bow and arrow. That crushing helplessness.
"Bastard!" he roared. "Find that beast! I don't care how—find them!"
For the first time, Rasa realized the phantom that had haunted him was close. So close he could almost sense its breath.
The Sunagakure camp descended into absolute chaos. Scout-sensors deployed frantically, searching every direction, nearly tearing apart the perimeter. But the mysterious bow and arrow kept striking. Death toll climbing. Positions shifting. Maddening.
It was almost as if their attacker was toying with them. Every time sensors detected the enemy's position, the army mobilized—only for the presence to vanish instantly. They couldn't get close. Couldn't touch a single thread of the man's clothing.
Rasa felt the phantom's sneer. He saw the mocking smile of someone who knew he was powerless. Blood rushed to his head. He spat scarlet.
Trembling, he steadied himself against a tent to keep from falling.
"Who... who the hell are you?"
That day, the Fourth Kazekage remembered fear—the terror of being hunted by something invisible, the humiliation of never being able to fight back.