The forest stretched endlessly, the distant hiss of cicadas riding on the wind as Ryusei and his squad moved in formation.

Their pace was fast but controlled, the steady rhythm of shinobi leaping branch to branch.

The air was heavy with the feeling that something was waiting ahead.

Ryusei already pieced it together.

‘This isn’t a patrol,’ he thought, lips curving faintly into that narrow-eyed smile. ‘It’s a setup.’

The orders had been too clear. Not “observe,” not “report back.”

They were told to intercept and eliminate.

And when Ryusei’s sensing ability was well known among their handlers, there was no escape route left.

If he claimed they hadn’t found anything, they’d know it was a lie.

If they actually evaded, they’d be marked for cowardice.

Either way, the higher-ups got what they wanted.

Ryusei couldn’t help but chuckle internally.

By now, he had already read the enemy through his sensory net.

One high jōnin, two mid jōnin, and at least eight chūnin moving with tight discipline.

An entire Kumo squad.

And who was sent against them?

His team.

A single incomplete unit, not even a full team on paper, not to mention a squad.

Kanae and Renjiro kept silent beside him, but he didn’t need words to sense their tension.

Kanae’s chakra was tight, coiled as if she was already playing out the Gentle Fist patterns in her head.

Renjiro’s was heavier, brimming with that reckless edge he always carried before a fight.

Both of them had noticed the same thing: this wasn’t a fair mission.

It was a death mission dressed as duty.

Ryusei didn’t warn them.

Instead, his smile deepened as he slid his gaze across Okabe’s absence, a gap still fresh in their formation.

‘They’ll throw you into fire until you burn away,’ he thought, almost amused at the predictability of it. ‘And you’ll still call yourselves their loyal dogs.’

Ahead, through the shifting patterns of his sensory field, he felt them waiting.

The Kumo squad had already stopped, posted themselves in a valley clearing surrounded by broken ridges and thick undergrowth.

It was the perfect hunting ground for an ambush, and they knew Konoha’s forces were coming.

Ryusei’s breathing steadied.

His plan was simple enough.

He would take the jōnin trio himself, the high jōnin and his two mid-level subordinates.

Kanae and Renjiro would deal with the eight remaining chūnin.

‘Not ideal,’ he thought, ‘but manageable. If they can’t keep them busy for a while between the two of them, they don’t belong here anyway.’

During the last month and a half, with the constant pressure of dangerous missions and Ryusei’s endless stream of advice and training drills, both Renjiro and Kanae had grown stronger.

Kanae especially. With Ryusei pointing out practical insights into Yang Release almost every day, her progress was shocking even to him.

Her Byakugan’s microscopic vision let her observe her own body in ways no one else could.

No wonder she mastered Vital Surge so quickly.

Beyond that, she developed a new fusion of Yang Release with her Gentle Fist: wherever her strikes landed, the enemy’s tissues would surge unnaturally, sprouting twisted growths of tumorous flesh. A terrifying technique.

She wasn’t yet able to heal herself mid-battle, and her solo training in the Rotation was still rough, but her foundation was solid. By now, her strength had already crossed firmly into low-jōnin level.

Renjiro too had advanced. With Kanae guiding him using her Byakugan and him constantly practicing on fallen enemies, he deepened his grasp of anatomy for his Hatake style.

Maybe that was precisely why that clan emphasized the practical knowledge on the battlefield so much, Ryusei realised at that time.

His sword strikes no longer just cut tendons; he could now sever chakra pathways and even key peripheral nerves.

Combined with Ryusei’s brutal physical conditioning, his body toughened further, and he had finally managed to execute the Lightning Body Flicker.

Hence, his strength was already around mid-jonin level.

Ryusei had already dropped hints that his next step should be tackling the first two Inner Gates, the easiest to open, if he wanted to keep up.

Yet, Ryusei knew that Renjiro still had, as it stands as of now, and if nothing changed, a much higher ceiling potential than Kanae, especially if you consider all the Hatake-style elemental ninjutsu he never focused on.

Instead, he opted to hone his general nature immersion first, as Ryusei recommended to him.

Meanwhile, the squad landed on the ridge overlooking the clearing.

The air felt sharper, denser, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.

Ryusei’s grin returned, quiet and dangerous.

‘Let’s see if they’re really ready to bury me here. They’re not the first ones that tried.’

However, Ryusei never underestimated Kumogakure.

Out of all the great villages, they were the closest in strength to Konoha, and the only ones who had ever managed to bring down someone like Tobirama Senju.

Even if it had taken a squad of twenty of their most elite shinobi to do it, and Tobirama chose to save his disciples and Konoha’s mission objectives, the feat alone was enough to leave an impression.

“I’ll take the three strongest ones; you keep the rest busy for a while. If you get pressed, I’ll try to send clones. If you finish first, come and assist me.”

Ryusei’s voice was calm, almost casual, but the weight of the words carried across the treeline.

Renjiro and Kanae gave short nods, no time for anything more. The Kumo squad had already noticed them.

The moment the distance closed, Ryusei’s hands blurred through seals. He didn’t hold back, not this time.

“Lightning Release: Thunder Fang Burst!”

From his palms erupted a pair of jagged lightning fangs that tore across the clearing, splitting apart the ground in their path.

Trees snapped, sparks danced wildly, and the Kumo formation broke as two chūnin leapt back too slowly, getting scorched by the arcs of lightning.

Almost at the same time, Ryusei spun into his next set of seals, inhaled deeply, and roared out, “Fire Release: Flame Ring Roar!”

A circle of fire erupted outward, forcing the enemy squad to scatter again. The roar carried heat and pressure, setting shrubs ablaze, turning the terrain against them.

The weaker chūnin flinched hard, raising guard in panic, while the two mid-jōnin clicked their tongues and leapt forward to stabilize the chaos.

Even the high jōnin at the center frowned, eyes narrowing.

He had expected resistance, but not this kind of opening salvo from a boy barely past genin age. “Tch… dangerous brat,” he muttered, his voice carrying sharp disdain.

The chūnin cursed as their formation broke, shouting orders over the crackle of fire. “Spread out! Don’t bunch up!” Another one snarled, “He’s trying to split us apart!”

Exactly what Ryusei wanted.

Through the flames, his silhouette blurred, chakra surging into his legs. He didn’t aim for the strongest first.

Instead, he flickered toward one of the mid-jōnin on the left flank, lightning still crackling faintly around his frame.

His eyes narrowed.

However, just as Ryusei lunged in, a sudden hiss split the air.

A streak of bright flame roared straight for him, faster than he expected.

He stopped short, twisting his body back, heat rushing past his face in a sharp wave.

The source revealed himself, one of the mid-jōnin had already closed the gap, sword drawn, blade wreathed in fire.

Cloud-Style: Flame Beheading.

A style famous for those sudden burning arcs, flames lashing out with each swing.

But the real danger was the one Ryusei had originally targeted.

His blade now hummed with lightning, stance already locked into place.

Cloud-Style: Crescent Moon Beheading.

That wide sweeping flow of lightning-empowered steel meant to crush opponents with speed and overwhelming reach.

Two kenjutsu users, each with elemental flow, cut off his approach from different angles.

It wasn’t strange. Kumogakure had always favored kenjutsu, and for good reason.

Lightning chakra ran perfectly with metal, sharpening its edge, amplifying its speed.

Additionally, where Konoha relied on clans hoarding secret techniques, Kumo standardized and spread theirs.

They turned research into manuals, funded by the productivity their lightning mastery gave them, smithing, tools, and electricity itself.

The result: jōnin armed with refined, reliable, deadly sword styles, not by bloodline luck, but by system.

They were a much more egalitarian village.

It was also one of their main strengths.

That didn’t have so many clan politics to deal with.

Ryusei’s grin tugged wider, eyes flicking between the two.

“Efficient. Equal. No wonder even Tobirama was cut down facing your kind.”

His body dropped lower, coiled like a spring.

Against one, he’d have pressed the attack. Against two, he would need precision.

However, just as Ryusei’s eyes narrowed on the two kenjutsu users, the true danger revealed itself.

A deep voice cut across the battlefield, calm but commanding, and Ryusei felt the shift in killing intent immediately.

The squad’s leader, the high jōnin, finally moved. His cheeks puffed, hands flickering through seals faster than most could follow, and then—

A stream of sharp, needle-like projectiles burst from his mouth.

They gleamed wet, but Ryusei instantly caught the crackle in the air.

Water bullets, but laced with lightning.

A fusion technique.

His pupils tightened.

“Troublesome…”

He twisted, body snapping sideways, barely letting the first volley skim past him. Even a graze would’ve burned through muscle and nerves.

This wasn’t some flashy display.

The projectiles were small, fast, and absurdly precise.

The kind of technique born from years of battlefield refinement.

What made it worse, Ryusei quickly noticed the timing.

The leader never pressed alone.

His ranged assault synchronized perfectly with the other two.

The flaming arcs drove him back into the lightning sweeps, and the lightning sweeps boxed him into the storm of water bullets.

Each movement left less space to breathe, less time to counter.

These three weren’t thrown together.

Their rhythm was too clean, too natural.

They had trained for this kind of pincer work, a deadly triad: range, mid-range, close.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep