I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

"It's not your fault," Xia Zi said.

Shuoge didn't listen. His eyes were burning. Not a warm, slowly rising heat, but a burning sensation. It started from behind his eyeballs, spread to his eye sockets, to his temples, and made his whole head ache.

He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the fire, but he couldn't.

It burned through everything—burned through the killings of the past few months, burned through the laughter of the iron horse, burned through the silhouette of Zhonglin, burned through the sunlight of the morning Jing left.

Xiazi saw it.

Shuoge's eyes opened; they were red. The two tomoe were spinning, faster and faster, deeper and deeper.

Then—three magatama appeared around the pupil.

Not two, but three.

The three-tomoe Sharingan slowly rotated in the shadows of the canyon, like three burning black suns.

Xiazi's breath caught in her throat for a moment.

She had never witnessed the Sharingan with three tomoe awakened, but she had heard of it. The Uchiha clan possessed the world's strongest eye technique, an eye that, according to legend, could only be awakened by experiencing extreme pain and rage.

The child is still a minor.

At seven years old, he had three tomoe.

She didn't know what to say.

Sakugo stood up. His hands were still bleeding, his legs were trembling, and his chakra was almost depleted. But he stood up. There was a sound behind the rubble—the Iwa ninja were digging a path and would be there soon. He looked at the rubble, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white.

"Xia Zi." His voice was calm, as calm as if he were saying the weather was nice today. "Go."

"What?"

"Go. Return to camp. Report the news."

Xia Zi looked at him, at those three-tomoe Sharingan eyes.

"And you?"

Shuoge didn't answer. He turned to face the pile of rubble. The rubble was moving, and light was filtering through the cracks. They were coming.

"I won't run away anymore." His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

His principles do not allow him to be chased like a dog!

He wouldn't allow anyone to trade their life for his!

Xia Zi stood up, wanting to say something, but her throat felt like it was blocked by something.

She looked at the figure from behind—seven years old, half a head shorter than his peers, with a knife longer than himself hanging on his back. His shoulders were narrow, as if he might be blown away by the wind at any moment.

But he stood there, like a tree. Like the tree Zhong Lin finally stood in the canyon.

The rubble exploded. The first Iwa ninja emerged from the dust, saw Sakugo, and paused for a moment. In that brief pause, the sword was already upon him. The three-tomoe Sharingan was more than twice as powerful as the two-tomoe one.

Shuoge saw every movement of that person, the contraction of every muscle, and the pulsation of every blood vessel.

His knife was faster than his eyes.

Iwa ninja fell, the wound on his neck deep enough to expose the bone. The second, the third. He stood before the pile of rubble, alone, with a knife, and a narrow path. Just like Nakabayashi.

But he won't die here.

He will not.

Xia Zi turned and ran. She ran so fast that she felt like her legs weren't her own. She didn't look back, not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't dare.

She was afraid to turn around and see the child fall down.

She was afraid that if she turned back, she wouldn't want to leave anymore.

She was afraid—her tears were scattered by the wind, falling onto the road behind her. She ran, with only one thought in her mind—to send word. To find someone. To save him.

-

Xia Zi is running.

Her legs no longer belonged to her.

My lungs were burning, my throat was filled with the taste of blood, and every step felt like walking on a knife's edge.

But she didn't stop, nor did she dare to stop.

The gravel road rushed past beneath my feet, the shadows of the trees on both sides blurring into a blur.

She ran through the weeds, across the dried-up riverbed, and past the grove of low bushes they had passed on their way here. Tie Ma had smoked a cigarette there. Zhong Lin had said something there—"This road isn't safe; be careful."

Now the iron horse is gone. Zhonglin is gone too. Only she is running alone.

She wasn't afraid of death.

She was afraid of running too slowly.

They were afraid they wouldn't be able to find reinforcements.

She was afraid that when she went back, the child would already be gone—she dared not imagine that scene.

A man, with a knife, stood blocking the pile of rubble.

Like Zhonglin. Like a stone, blocking the flood.

The stone will break.

She had seen too many stones shatter. The forest was shattered, the iron horse was shattered, the mirror was shattered. She couldn't bear to see another stone shatter before her. She ran even faster.

When the camp came into view, her legs buckled and she fell to the ground, her knee hitting a rock and tearing her skin.

She got up and kept running.

Someone saw her at the camp gate and ran over to help her, but she pushed the person away and stumbled inside.

"Iwa ninja... ambush... fourth squad..." Her voice was hoarse, unlike her own. "Call for backup... quickly..."

Someone helped her up, someone shouted, and someone ran.

She heard words like "Jonin," "gathering," and "canyon" flying around in her ears, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. She only remembered the last thing they said—"The blade is still inside."

Then you can't see anything anymore.

-

canyon.

In front of the rubble, more and more corpses piled up.

Shuoge's knife has slowed down.

It wasn't that the knife was too slow; it was that his hand was shaking.

Chakra was almost depleted, and the three-tomoe Sharingan was becoming increasingly difficult to use.

He killed seven. No, eight.

Can not remember.

His clothes were covered in blood, it was hard to tell if it was his own or someone else's. He had been stabbed in the left shoulder, the wound wasn't deep, but blood kept flowing, staining his entire sleeve red.

I also got hit on the thigh, and my steps started to feel unsteady.

But he did not back down.

Behind them was a blocked canyon, with no way back.

There were six Iwa ninja in front of them.

No, seven.

There were even more Iwa ninja eyeing them from all sides.

Ooiwa stood at the very back, looking into his eyes. Those three-tomoe Sharingan eyes slowly rotated in the firelight, like three black suns about to burn out.

"Three tomoe... the Uchiha clan's three-tomoe Sharingan..."

Da Yan's voice was very soft, and there was a light in his eyes.

It wasn't murderous intent, it was greed.

"Don't kill him. Capture him alive."

The Iwa ninja exchanged a glance.

The living are more valuable than the dead.

The Sharingan of the Uchiha clan, three tomoe, seven years old—this is a priceless treasure.

They put away their kunai and replaced them with ropes and nets.

Shuoge saw the look in their eyes, the look of someone looking at prey rather than an enemy. His hand gripped the hilt of his knife tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"Capture me alive?"

"Oh--"

The first Iwa ninja rushed up, not with a sword, but with a net.

Shuoge dodged to the side, the blade slicing through the net, and with a backhand slash, he severed the man's finger.

Amidst screams, a second Iwa ninja pounced from the side, looping a rope around his neck.

Shuoge looked down, the rope flew past his hair, his knife slashed upwards, the man's arm flew up, and blood sprayed all over his face.

But he was too slow.

The third Iwa ninja's fist slammed into his back, sending him flying. He crashed into the rock wall, and his sword slipped from his hand.

He lay on the ground, his vision blurred, and his ears were ringing.

He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't obey him.

He heard footsteps, many footsteps, approaching him.

He touched the shuriken—Shisui's, the one engraved with the character "Mirror." He gripped the shuriken in his hand, braced himself against the ground, and tried to stand up.

His knees had barely left the ground when he knelt down again.

I can't stand up.

The footsteps grew closer.

Da Yan's voice came from above.

"Uchiha brat, you're pretty good at fighting. But haven't you killed enough?"

He crouched down and reached out to grab Shuoge's hair.

Then he stopped, his fingertips still three inches from the top of Shuoge's head.

It wasn't him who stopped; something made him stop. A sound, thin and sharp, like something spinning at high speed. Then a light. Yellow, like lightning, like sunlight shattered and scattered on the ground. Daiwa had seen this light before. In intelligence photos, in survivor reports. His mouth opened, as if he wanted to shout something—

The light exploded.

Kunai flew in from all directions. These were no ordinary kunai; each one whistled through the air and landed precisely on the throat of an Iwa ninja.

Six kunai and six rock ninja fell at the same time.

There wasn't even time to let out a scream.

Daiyan abruptly stepped back, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, his eyes frantically searching for that shadow—

there.

A person was standing on the pile of rubble.

Yellow hair, blue eyes, wearing a green vest typical of Konoha Jonin, with a red swirl symbol embroidered on the back.

He was very young, in his early twenties, with a hint of childishness still lingering on his face, but his eyes were very calm.

He was as calm as if he were watching a game of chess whose outcome he already knew. In his hand he held a specially made kunai, shaped like a trident, which gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

Minato Namikaze.

A Jonin of Konoha, a disciple of Jiraiya, a man renowned throughout the ninja world for his speed. At this moment, he stands atop a pile of rubble, blocking the last escape route of the Iwa ninja. One man, one kunai.

Daiyan's pupils contracted violently.

He recalled the words of his men who had fled back from the battlefield—

"Yellow hair, so fast you can't see it."

"By the time you see him, you will already be dead."

"Don't run, you can't escape. Don't fight, you can't win."

He thought it was an exaggeration, an excuse that losers made for themselves.

Now he knows—no.

Those people were genuinely afraid.

He was scared too.

"Konoha's... Golden Flash..." Daiwa's voice trembled.

Minato didn't look at him.

He was looking at Shuoge—the child lying on the ground, covered in blood, still clutching the shuriken in his hand.

The three-tomoe Sharingan was still spinning, but it had slowed down, like a candle that was about to burn out.

Minato's expression shifted slightly, like a ripple on water caused by a breeze, which then subsided. He had seen too many children die on the battlefield, but each time he did, it still pained him.

"The seedlings of Konoha should not wither here."

The sound of the water gate was very soft, as soft as lulling a child to sleep.

"You've done enough, and done well enough."

"Leave the rest to me."

Shuoge looked at him, at that young face, at those calm eyes.

He recognized the face—Minato Namikaze, Jiraiya's disciple, and the future Fourth Hokage.

he came.

He came alone.

He should have felt at ease, but he felt as if every cell in his body was protesting.

too tired.

Chakra is depleted.

His eyes were bulging, and his consciousness was sinking. The last thing he saw was Minato's back, standing on the rubble, facing the remaining Iwa ninja.

Then everything went black.

-

Daiwa looked at Minato, then at the six corpses on the ground.

Six people, six kunai, six lives.

One second, no, half a second.

He took a deep breath and raised his hand.

"Attack together!"

The remaining Iwa ninja hesitated for a moment.

Then they charged. Not because they thought they could win, but because they thought they outnumbered each other.

Seven Jonin, and a large number of Chunin and Genin.

There was only one person on the other side.

There will always be a chance.

But they soon realized they were terribly wrong.

Shuimen's figure disappeared from the pile of rubble.

It's not the Instantaneous Movement Technique, it's the Flying Thunder God Technique.

The moment that specially made kunai appeared behind the Iwa ninja, Minato was already standing there.

The kunai flew out of his hand and embedded itself in the chest of the second Iwa ninja.

With a flash of light, he reappeared there. The third, the fourth, the fifth. Like a yellow lightning bolt, he leaped, flashed, and reaped across the canyon.

Every flash takes a life, every kunai strikes a vital spot.

Da Yan stood there, his legs trembling.

He watched his men fall one by one, like wheat being harvested. He couldn't even see Minato's figure clearly, only a beam of light—yellow, flashing, like thunder, like lightning, like the Grim Reaper's scythe.

The sixth Iwa ninja turned to run, but a flash of light passed in front of him. As he fell, his eyes were still fixed on the direction he had fled. The seventh Iwa ninja knelt on the ground, his kunai falling to the floor, his lips trembling.

"I surrender—I—"

Light slid across his throat. He clutched his neck, collapsed, and blood gushed from between his fingers.

Daiyan stood there. Everyone around him was dead.

The twelve Jonin, an elite force he had carefully selected over the past three months, were all wiped out.

He was all alone.

Minato stood before him, blood dripping from the kunai, one drop, two drops, falling onto the rubble. He didn't look at the large rock; he looked at the sword—Sakugo's sword, stuck beside the pile of rubble, its blade reflecting the afterglow of the setting sun.

"Go back and tell your Kage." Minato's voice was calm. "Konoha won't attack first, but it won't back down either. If you want to fight, we'll fight. If you want to stop, we won't pursue. But this kind of thing—"

He glanced at the corpses on the ground, then at the unconscious Shuoge.

"There must be no next time."

Daiyan's lips were trembling.

He wanted to say something—something harsh, something polite, something like, "You just wait."

But he couldn't say anything.

He simply turned and ran.

He ran incredibly fast, faster than he had ever run in his entire life. He dared not look back, dared not stop, dared not think.

He only knew one thing—he was still alive.

The man called Golden Flash spared his life.

Shuimen stood there, watching Daiyan's figure disappear into the end of the canyon.

He didn't chase after them.

He turned around, walked to Shuoge's side, and squatted down.

The child had already fainted, but his hand was still tightly gripping the sword, his knuckles white.

Minato pried open his fingers and took out the shuriken.

The character "mirror" was engraved on it, crooked and illegible, like a child's handwriting. He carefully sheathed his sword and picked up Shuoge. It was very light. Lighter than a child who had killed so many people.

He looked down at the blood-stained face and remained silent for a while.

"The world shouldn't be like this, war—"

"It shouldn't exist."

His voice was very soft, so soft it was as if he were talking to himself.

He turned around and walked towards the camp.

Behind them, only corpses and rubble remained in the canyon. The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving only a dark red glow. The knife was still stuck in the ground, its blade reflecting the last rays of light, as if waiting for someone to return and retrieve it.

-

Three days later. Iwagakure Village.

The Third Tsuchikage, Onoki, sat in his office with a battle report spread out in front of him.

After reading it, he remained silent for a long time.

Then he picked up a pen and wrote a line on the battle report.

After finishing writing, I put down my pen, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes.

That line later spread throughout the entire ninja world: "If you encounter Konoha's Yellow Flash, Minato Namikaze, you can abandon the mission without any consequences."

This was the first time the proud and stubborn Third Tsuchikage had lowered his head.

It wasn't because he was afraid of dying, but because that person—Minato Namikaze—was so strong that he had to bow down to him.

One Jonin, one man, one kunai, and he slaughtered his way through the entire elite force of Iwagakure.

The Third Raikage can be defeated by sheer numbers.

But Minato Namikaze—this kind of enemy cannot be defeated by sheer numbers.

It's not something that can be overcome by courage. It's not something that can be overcome by anything. The only way is to avoid encountering him. If you do encounter him, run. Run as fast as you can.

……