As they moved, Ryusei’s thoughts turned back to the Hyūga.

There was a reason he had been so cautious, even unwilling to reveal himself against a handful of their ordinary members.

The clan was dangerous, not just for what was known, but for what wasn’t.

Around fifty Main Branch members had been dispatched in this war, in his estimates, jōnin and elite jōnin, scattered across the front.

And yet, not a single Byakugan had ever gone missing.

The only recorded theft, in history, from this war, later came from the Kirigakure front, that of one shinobi whose eye he had taken himself.

Why?

Side Branch escorts explained part of it, yes, fodder trained to shield the Main Branch, to die for them.

But that alone didn’t add up.

Main Branch elites didn’t need weak chūnin as meat shields.

And with the value of the Byakugan, the idea that not one had been lost, stolen, or traded… it was absurd.

He had spied on them these past days, searching for a crack, some hint of their secret, but found nothing.

That only made him more certain there was something hidden.

And then the deeper question, the clan itself.

What kind of family willingly crippled ninety percent of its own bloodline, sealing their potential away with cursed seals, turning them into little more than uninspired drones?

Why would they discard such power for the sake of a pampered ten percent, who also turned increasingly useless?

No clan did that without a reason.

Without something deeper, binding them to that system.

Ryusei’s lips curled faintly behind the mask as the thought pressed harder. “So many mysteries the world never showed us. The Hyūga are more dangerous than they look.”

And that was why he tread carefully, pushed Pakura to the front too.

Why, even now, his senses stayed sharp.

Because what the Hyūga revealed was only ever the surface.

The real danger still waited beneath.

They closed in quickly.

Pakura took the lead without hesitation, her hazel eyes locking on the small group ahead.

She didn’t need Ryusei’s senses to tell her; she recognized the man at the center as the crest member of the Hyūga Main Branch; his movements were sharp despite the dirt and sweat clinging to his robes.

Three Side Branch shinobi flanked him, their stances low and defensive, eyes already glowing pale as their Byakugan flared to life.

The difference between them was stark.

The Main Branch shinobi carried himself with cold arrogance even while retreating, lips curled in disdain as if the battlefield itself were beneath him.

His robes, though torn, were still cleaner than the others’, the faint traces of silk embroidery catching the light.

The Side Branch escorts, in contrast, bore fresh wounds, sweat plastering their hair to their foreheads.

They moved in practiced formation, clearly drilled to serve as nothing more than living shields.

Their faces were grim, resigned, but not defiant, obedience etched into their very posture.

Pakura’s lips curved faintly as her chakra surged.

Four white-hot orbs of Scorch Release blazed to life around her, their glow reflecting in the Hyūgas’ pale eyes.

The sudden spike of heat made the Side Branch members falter for just an instant, their vision narrowing as the moisture in their throats seemed to dry at once.

“Scorch Release…” one of them hissed, voice strained, as if the very name carried weight.

The Main Branch jōnin sneered, stepping back half a pace. “Pakura of Sunagakure?”

Pakura didn’t waste words.

With a snap of her fingers, the orbs shrieked forward, slicing arcs of heat through the formation.

Two Side Branch shinobi cried out, their chakra defenses boiling away under the unbearable heat.

They collapsed in seconds, skin cracked and withered, husks before they hit the ground.

The last one tried to lunge, veins bulging at his temples as he struck with the Gentle Fist, but Pakura twisted smoothly, one orb grazing him, and his body seized, dried from the inside out.

He crumpled lifeless at her feet.

That left only the Main Branch shinobi, his Byakugan blazing as he struck forward with precise, brutal thrusts, palms slicing the air.

Pakura met him head-on, heat rolling off her body in waves that turned the ground brittle beneath their steps.

Behind her, Ryusei still lingered in the shadows, arms crossed beneath his cloak.

He made no move to help, simply watching.

His stillness pressed against the back of her mind, strange, deliberate, as though he was testing something.

She fought harder, clashing with the Main Branch jōnin until she forced him onto the defensive.

Her orbs circled and flared, cornering him.

In the space of a breath, she slipped past his guard, her palm flaring with heat, ready to end him in a single strike.

And just as the killing blow came, something shifted.

The Main Branch jōnin’s eyes widened with desperation.

In that instant, something lit in his mind, a command drilled into every Main Branch Hyūga before the war.

A last resort, never to be used unless death or the loss of a Byakugan was certain.

Ryusei’s Byakugan caught it at once. His breath hitched.

The man’s movements sharpened, speed multiplying unnaturally.

In a blink, he slipped through Pakura’s orbs, closing the gap instead of being burned back.

His aura spiked higher and higher, as if some hidden gate had been flung wide open.

Pakura’s hazel eyes widened as he pressed closer.

She retaliated with a joint orb detonation, the heat shrieking into him, but he spun, chakra spiraling outward.

A perfect Rotation.

The orb shattered against his rotation, and he lunged straight through it, his hand poised for her chest.

It all happened too fast. Too sharp. Too wrong.

“Tch—!” Ryusei’s hands snapped into motion.

That green, frost-tinted chakra surged out, shaping instantly into a massive Dragon Bullet of hardened ice.

It roared forward, slamming into the Hyūga.

Frost spread up his arms, but he burst free with an even higher flare, his aura blazing white now, almost unnatural.

And then Ryusei felt it.

Strange particles of chakra, unfamiliar, everywhere in the air.

They clung to him, gathered toward the Hyūga, almost like they were being pulled into a conduit.

At the same time, he felt something else, eyes.

He was being watched. From where, he couldn’t tell.

His Sensory Mode, which never failed him, was warning him again intuitively.

His slit eyes narrowed, and his voice cut out, sharp.

“Pakura! Finish him—now!”

His green chakra spiked wildly, pouring into a dome of ice, locking around the Hyūga, squeezing every ounce of frost he could muster to immobilize him.

Pakura’s chest heaved, her face pale with shock.

She had fought Hyūga before, but never seen anything like this.

A Main Branch with a hidden, forbidden surge, fighting like a monster.

And Ryusei had used her as a weapon against it, because even he didn’t want to clash head-on with this.

Her own body responded in turn.

Her blood boiled with the poison of betrayal, fury, and survival igniting in her again, for the second time in a single day.

Her Scorch Release had already surged once before, straining toward a level she had never touched, something within her pressing to evolve when Sasori betrayed her.

But the poison had choked it back, holding her at the edge.

Now, with nothing left to restrain her, that barrier finally cracked.

Her chakra burned hotter, sharper, as if her bond with her bloodline limit itself had deepened, refined.

Pakura gritted her teeth and let it pour through her, unrestrained, for the first time, into something entirely new.

The heat bent the air around her as a blade of pure light formed, her new technique, the manifestation of her feelings today.

“Scorch Release: Radiant Blade!”

The sword towered over her, a searing weapon of living sunfire, its edges rippling with energy so hot it tore the ground beneath her feet.

With a cry, Pakura leapt forward, both hands gripping the incandescent blade, which she had a natural immunity toward. She swung once.

The Hyūga’s body cleaved through the center.

For an instant, his form twisted, flesh blackening, yet disturbingly knitting as though it were healing.

But the heat was too much. His body disintegrated into ash, scattered in the shockwave of her strike.

Ryusei moved instantly. Third Gate, flesh-tearing, blood surging.

His speed blurred as he plucked the Hyūga’s eyes in a clean, precise motion, sealing them in a scroll in less than a second.

Then, without breaking stride, he swept Pakura back into his arms, her slender frame limp against his chest.

“We’re leaving. Now.” His voice was clipped, urgent.

Pakura wanted to snap at him, to demand answers.

But the raw force in his tone told her better.

She just grunted, breath ragged, and let herself be carried again.

Ryusei’s senses flared wide and froze.

Something else was coming as well.

A chakra signature barreling toward them from the north, massive, oppressive.

He knew it instantly. Hiashi. The commander of Konoha’s forces on this front.

It was coming from his direction, Ryusei had previously mentally mapped.

And his chakra wasn’t just large, it was rising, climbing into something beyond the measure of an ordinary Kage.

It pressed on the world like a storm.

“What the hell is going on…” Ryusei hissed under his breath.

He didn’t waste a second.

His sensory mastery folded their presence into nothingness, cloaking both himself and Pakura.

The aura drew closer, closer, then passed, surging toward the place of the clash.

Hiashi’s power ripped at the air, towering, monstrous.

But he didn’t find them.

He turned in another direction, chasing ghosts, and the pressure finally began to fade.

Only when the presence receded did Ryusei allow himself a quiet exhale.

Even for him, cautious and prepared, this had been beyond expectations.

That wasn’t just the strength of an Elite Jōnin.

That was something else. Something edging past even Kage level.

Was that the legendary Six Paths level? And it was sitting in the veins of the Hyūga clan.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep