Chapter 45 - Battle in Progress
Kazane emerged from the murky swamp, gasping for air as he steadied himself. His entire body was covered in grime, his breath coming in ragged bursts through gritted teeth. The weight of near-death still clung to him, but relief quickly gave way to fury.
Not far ahead, Kitsuchi stood stiffly, his expression dark with frustration. His fists clenched at his sides as he watched Kazane with unwilling eyes. He knew it too well—his best opportunity to eliminate Kazane had slipped through his fingers. Killing him now would be an entirely different challenge.
Kazane's body shimmered with a vivid blue aura, the faint crackle of electricity flickering around him. His narrowed eyes burned with rage as he locked onto Kitsuchi, a deep scowl on his face.
That swamp nearly buried me alive. If I hadn't reacted in time… His heart pounded at the thought.
This was the closest he had ever been to death.
"You bastard! I'm going to kill you!"
The words erupted from him like a roar of thunder. His muscles coiled, his instincts demanding action. He was ready to charge, to cut Kitsuchi down right then and there. But just as he was about to spring forward—
Something stopped him.
It wasn't fear, nor hesitation. It was something else.
A sound.
Faint, distant, and unfamiliar, yet oddly resonant. It echoed in his mind for the briefest moment before vanishing as if it had never been there.
Kazane furrowed his brows. What was that?
Then, a strange clarity washed over him.
He couldn't describe it—only that something within him had shifted.
Calm. Steady.
His breath evened out, his thoughts grew sharper. The energy pulsing through his body no longer felt wild and uncontrollable. Instead, it flowed effortlessly, as if he had broken through some unseen restraint.
He acted on instinct.
With deliberate movements, he sheathed his swords, before his fingers finding their familiar place on Wado Ichimonji's hilt.
Kitsuchi narrowed his eyes, watching the motion carefully.
"Giving up?"
Then, as realization dawned, his lips twisted into a smirk.
"Hah! So you finally understand, don't you? Kazane of the Hatake Clan, you've realized the difference in power between us!"
There was mockery in his voice, laced with satisfaction.
Kazane ignored him.
He let the energy of the Sixth Gate dissipate, allowing his body to relax into a natural stance. Then, without a word, he dashed forward, his right hand resting on Wado Ichimonji.
Kitsuchi hesitated.
Something was wrong.
Kazane had willingly sealed away his immense power. Not only that—he had put away his other swords as well. The very same swords he had relied on to hold his ground against Kitsuchi's overwhelming strength.
And yet, he was charging forward with only a single blade in its sheath.
Did he truly believe he could win like this?
Kitsuchi's expression darkened.
Was this mockery?
Did Kazane think he was so weak that he no longer needed his full strength?
"You arrogant little—"
Fury overtook him.
With a roar, Kitsuchi raised his rock-clad fist, veins bulging from exertion as he swung it down with enough force to shatter the earth beneath them.
"Die, you damn brat!"
As Kazane moved.
"Ittoryu... Iai..."
Time seemed to slow.
The moment his fingers tightened around Wado Ichimonji's hilt, a wave of pressure exploded from his form.
He drew his sword in a single, flawless motion.
"Shishi Sonson."
A black sword aura cleaved through the air, splitting the battlefield apart.
Kitsuchi's roar never finished, nor his fist ever landed.
In the blink of an eye, his body was bisected from shoulder to waist.
His upper half separated from the lower before he could even process what had happened. The sheer force of the slash sent him hurtling through the battlefield, his severed body tearing through everything in its path.
An unfortunate Iwagakure shinobi, caught within the attack's range, barely had time to react before he, too, was cut down where he stood.
Then, silence.
The battlefield, once filled with the chaotic clash of metal and jutsu, fell into an eerie stillness.
Dozens of shinobi turned toward the source of the disturbance, eyes wide with disbelief.
There stood Kazane, motionless.
His posture was frozen mid-slash, Wado Ichimonji gleaming with fresh blood.
And not far from him—Kitsuchi's lifeless body lay in two halves upon the ground.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, a terrified voice shattered the silence.
"Kitsuchi-sama is dead!"
Another echoed soon after.
"Kazane of the Hatake Clan killed Iwagakure's Kitsuchi!"
The realization spread like wildfire.
Iwagakure shinobi, who just moments ago had fought with ferocity, felt their morale crumble. The sight of one of their strongest warriors lying slain sent shockwaves through their ranks.
On the other hand, the Konoha forces—after their initial shock—began to feel something else entirely.
Hope.
Kitsuchi's death meant one less high-level threat on the battlefield. And in a war where every advantage counted, this was a turning point in their favor.
The tides of battle were shifting.
And Kazane had just set them in motion.
Meanwhile, in another part of the battlefield—
Two figures blurred across the war-torn land, locked in a deadly dance of reaction speed and precision.
Minato Namikaze and Tō Dōnin moved so swiftly that even the most seasoned shinobi struggled to keep up.
Minato would appear behind Tō Dōnin in an instant, his signature kunai flashing toward a vital point—only for his opponent to teleport away a heartbeat before the strike could land.
This cycle had repeated for some time now, an unrelenting display of sheer reflex and tactical foresight.
To the surrounding shinobi, it was a spectacle they had grown accustomed to. The battlefield had long adjusted to the flickering movements of these two warriors, neither able to gain the upper hand.
But then—
"Kitsuchi-sama has been killed by a Konoha shinobi!"
The panicked cry rang out across the battlefield, carrying with it a ripple of shock that spread through the Iwagakure ranks.
For the briefest fraction of a second, Tō Dōnin faltered.
And that was all Minato needed.
In that single heartbeat of hesitation, Minato's fingers flicked out with precise intent, brushing against Tō Dōnin's sleeve. A black seal, almost imperceptible in the chaos of battle, took shape upon the fabric—
The Flying Thunder God mark.
Tō Dōnin, unaware of his fatal mistake, teleported once more.
But before he could even regain his footing—
Minato was already there.
A golden flash. A silver arc.
Minato's kunai traced a swift, effortless line across Tō Dōnin's neck.
By the time the Iwagakure shinobi reappeared at his intended location, his fate was sealed. His body collapsed, lifeless, onto the bloodstained ground.
Even the battle-hardened shinobi who had just witnessed Kitsuchi's death mere moments ago couldn't suppress their shock.
"Tō Dōnin-sama has been killed by a Konoha shinobi!"
Another voice followed, filled with disbelief.
"Jounin Minato Namikaze has slain Iwagakure's Tō Dōnin!"
If Kitsuchi's death had unsettled the Iwagakure forces, Tō Dōnin's death filled them with outright terror.
They had lost two of their strongest warriors in a matter of minutes.
Another Section of the Battlefield
In a different part of the battlefield, an eerie silence hung between two figures.
Orochimaru and Han, the Five-Tails Jinchūriki, stood face to face.
Han was an imposing figure, towering over most shinobi. His conical hat cast a shadow over his masked face, obscuring his expression. Clad in ochre-colored armor that covered his body like a walking fortress, he resembled an unshakable boulder—unyielding and immovable.
Unlike Kitsuchi and Tō Dōnin, Han was a perfect jinchūriki.
He was not just a host to the Five-Tails' immense chakra; he had mastered it. He wielded its power with absolute control, blending it seamlessly with his own unparalleled taijutsu skills.
If left unchecked, Han alone could shift the tide of battle.
But for all of his overwhelming power, Han knew one truth—
Orochimaru was just as much of a threat.
The name Orochimaru of the Sannin was whispered across the shinobi world. A master of ninjutsu, genjutsu, and forbidden techniques, his presence on the battlefield was a nightmare for even the strongest of warriors. His contract with Ryūchi Cave's serpents made him unpredictable, his ability to summon Manda giving him a monstrous counter to even the mightiest of tailed beasts.
But none of that was what truly worried Han.
What truly made Orochimaru dangerous—was his mastery of sealing jutsu.
For a jinchūriki, there was no greater threat than an enemy capable of sealing techniques.
The two had already clashed once.
And the result had been unsettling.
Han had unleashed everything he had, pouring his raw strength into his attacks. He had sent shockwaves through the battlefield, his fists carrying the sheer destructive power of a beast.
But no matter how many times he struck—
Orochimaru wouldn't die.
Han had broken bones, torn flesh, crushed ribs. And yet, Orochimaru kept getting back up.
Even the most powerful blows seemed meaningless. Every wound was shrugged off, every attack met with a chilling smile.
That creeping sense of helplessness gnawed at Han.
There was no frustration in his movements, no wasted energy in his strikes—only the cold, calculating focus of a warrior who understood his enemy could not be killed conventionally.
And so, he changed his approach.
Rather than continue a fruitless battle, he focused on containing Orochimaru.
But then—
The battlefield erupted with panicked cries.
Han's sharp ears caught the distant shouts.
Kitsuchi had fallen.
Then, Tō Dōnin.
Orochimaru, though equally aware of the unfolding chaos, remained composed. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he let his signature smirk creep across his lips.
"Do you really want to continue, Han?" His voice was smooth, taunting. "If you keep dragging this out, your entire army will be wiped out before your very eyes."
Han's eyes narrowed.
Even if he refused to believe it, the sheer weight of the battlefield's reaction told him the truth.
The Iwagakure forces were breaking.
The momentum had shifted.
He took a slow breath, his chest rising and falling beneath his heavy armor.
Then, his decision came.
"Pass down the order—retreat."
His voice was cold. Final.
The command rippled through the remaining Iwagakure forces, and like a tide pulled back to sea, they began their withdrawal.
Orochimaru, in turn, raised a hand—signaling the Konoha shinobi to stand down.
Some, particularly the fierce Uchiha Syōma, were visibly reluctant to let the enemy escape. But none dared defy Orochimaru's command.
And so, the battle came to an end.
Before turning to leave, Han regarded Orochimaru one final time.
"You may have won this battle," he said, his voice as solid as the armor he wore. "But this war isn't over. Prepare for the wrath of the Tsuchikage."
Orochimaru's smirk only widened, his golden eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Then I'll be waiting."
With that, the remaining Iwagakure shinobi disappeared into the distance, their retreat marked only by the echoes of war.
However, not all of Konoha's shinobi were pleased with how the battle had ended.
"Orochimaru, we are clearly in the upper hand. Why did you order to stop the fight?!"