Junsaku’s eyes widened as he watched the boy force the corruption out of himself, of not one, but three successful direct hits.

Each arrow had struck cleanly, directly, at point-blank range. Yet his target still stood.

That had never happened before. Not once.

“How—how is this possible? A direct hit… three direct hits!”

His technique was no ordinary clan art.

It was his masterpiece, the pinnacle of everything he had twisted out of Yamanaka principles with his own talent and experience.

Secret Yamanaka Art: Soul-Binding Arrow.

A spiritual construct shaped like a crossbow, it fired bolts of chakra laced with fragments of his own soul.

Each arrow carried not only countless thoughts but corrosive Yin Release, detonating inside the victim’s mind.

A nin-genjutsu that also involved a chakra shape transformation.

They weren’t just genjutsu illusions; they tore at the target’s spiritual energy itself.

Thoughts scrambled, instincts hijacked, commands implanted. Victims froze, turned on their allies, or became puppets, however briefly.

The arrows were alive in his hands, able to be recalled, redirected, circling like intelligent bolts until they found their mark.

Each arrow carried a shard of his own soul, riddled with explosive streams of thoughts and layered commands, a storm of conflicting configurations meant to overload and confuse the target’s mind.

Chakra shape transformation gave the fragments their crossbow and beam form and speed, while Yin Release supplied the corrosion and the detonation, eating into both brain and spirit.

Danzo himself had praised it. With good reason, this was a technique as close to S-rank as the Yamanaka arts could reach.

And yet here it was failing.

Junsaku could still feel the price it exacted: three fragments of his own soul carved away, chakra already thinning, his head ringing with backlash.

His body trembled with the familiar recoil. He had paid the cost, unleashed the arrow’s full strength, and still, Ryusei broke through it.

It made no sense. Not even half a year ago, from kilometers away, Junsaku had nearly crushed the boy’s brain through nothing more than a hare and a long-range, lower-tier genjutsu.

That was when the boy had barely been a nuisance, someone whose existence could be erased at leisure.

But now, struck three times by something far stronger, point-blank, he was still moving. Still resisting.

Junsaku’s jaw tightened, his lips dry. His chakra signature flickered with strain, his mind felt split open from recoil, and for the first time in years, doubt crept into him.

“The intelligence was wrong… This is insane. How could he have grown this much since last time?”

Everything had gone according to plan, at least, it should have.

The boy never suspected a thing.

Junsaku had slipped into the ranks disguised as an ordinary Root operative, his body wrapped in their Root’s currently finest sensory-spoofing gear, blending seamlessly with the reinforcements as if he had been assigned there all along.

Once embedded, he waited. The moment the chaos peaked, he seized control.

Standard Yamanaka techniques, his Mind Disturbance Dance, threaded through the battlefield, twisting several Kusagakure operatives into puppets.

At the same time, he coordinated telepathically with the Root operatives beside him, timing their strikes so they and the confused enemy would descend on Ryusei all at once.

The trap was layered. Soul-Binding Arrows embedded their fragments inside Ryusei, not only corroding his mind but also letting Junsaku peek at flashes of intention, hints of the boy’s next move.

That glimpse alone was enough to land two more shots in succession. Even the rock-field had been seeded with disguised traps, bursts of stored chakra waiting to explode and hem in any retreat.

It should have been perfect. Even if by some miracle the first strike didn’t drop him, the second or third surely would. That was what logic and years of experience said.

So why was Ryusei still standing? Why was he, of all people, now charging straight toward him?

Junsaku’s jaw clenched. He was an Elite Jōnin.

One of the most dangerous kinds to deal with, not because of brute strength, but because deception was his battlefield.

Yet here he was, unsettled.

It felt like déjà vu. Five months ago, he had failed similarly when ordered to assassinate this very boy through a borrowed hare.

That failure had cost him his promotion.

Danzo’s fury had been sharp, and for a time, Junsaku had been certain his career was done.

But he clawed his way back, securing stability in the northwest border, keeping Grass and Waterfall neutral with clever, hidden, shadowy maneuvers against Iwa’s ANBU.

His efforts had been so effective that Danzo promised him the title of Deputy Commander, second only to that of Aburame guy within Root, again.

A title that meant everything to him.

And yet, once again, it was all being derailed by this single boy.

This time, the order had been different: eliminate Ryusei directly, during the chaos of a Kusagakure strike.

No more borrowed hands, no elaborate proxy, cut him down cleanly in the field.

Danzo was certain it would succeed. How could it not?

Ryusei hadn’t even been a jōnin for too long, and at that time, a lesser version of Junsaku’s technique had nearly fried his brain through a hare.

Junsaku himself had been confident.

He had even quietly worked with Okabe to ensure Ryusei was sent to the most dangerous sector.

But the disguise, the trap, the timing, those were his own contributions.

Danzo’s order had to remain secret, even from the Hokage’s ears.

Which was why Junsaku struck fast and hard, aiming to finish it before anyone noticed.

Kill him, wipe the memories of the bystanders who were not the Root, with his strength and technique. 

Who would believe Kusagakure’s shinobi if they spoke otherwise?

But now the situation was spiraling.

Ryusei was recalling clones, drawing attention.

Konoha’s shinobi were realizing something was wrong, realizing their own were clashing against each other.

The window was closing.

And Junsaku, for the second time, felt the ground tilt beneath his feet because of this same target.

Ryusei cut through the chaos like a young tiger loosed from its cage, Shock Steps exploding under his feet.

Root operatives trying to shield their commander were flung aside, scattered like leaves, before he vaulted past them in a single burst.

His heel came crashing down in a Senju Heel Drop, the earth quaking under the blow.

Objects trembled, debris rained down, and even seasoned shinobi staggered from the shockwave.

Junsuke’s face twisted. He had the advantage at range, but here, at arm’s reach, he was weak.

His hands shook as he manifested a few more bolts of his spectral crossbow, screaming toward Ryusei.

Ryusei smirked, letting the arrow of light strike him head-on, only for it to dissolve harmlessly against his newly forged defense, Yin Release: Inner Bastion. 

While dodging the others mid-air.

The technique, when activated, cleared the chakra pathways around his brain with a sweeping current while raising a steady shield that guarded the soul itself through many smaller passive currents.

The mind was the gate to the soul, and his was now locked down, clarity and protection fused into one.

“If you had run, maybe you could’ve slipped away. But you keep firing… what’s wrong? Are you afraid of me?”

Sweat slicked Junsuke’s temples. He barely rolled aside, the heel drop smashing into stone where he had stood.

His operatives scattered, shaken by the blast.

Ryusei straightened, calm, narrow-eyed smile curling sharper.

“Yamanaka, huh? Clever tricks. You were the one from five months ago, weren’t you?”

“I’ve been waiting to meet you up close. Last time, you sent a hare. This time, you came yourself. A mistake.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep