I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique".

Chakra surged up from his chest, passed through his throat, and was expelled from his mouth.

Flames exploded in the night sky, and fireballs over three meters in diameter rolled toward the horde of puppets. Not people, but puppets. Wooden skeletons, hemp joints, lacquered surfaces—fire was the puppets' greatest fear.

The Chikamatsu Ten were an exception.

Those exquisitely crafted blades, the extensions of Chiyo's fingertips, have transcended the realm of puppets.

But what remained on the battlefield—mass-produced wooden frames, iron shells, and consumables with paint not even evenly applied—was ultimately just wood.

Poisoned wood is still wood, and oiled wood is still wood.

Wood is afraid of fire.

The three puppets were engulfed by the fireball and burned to a crisp, their chakra threads snapping in the flames.

The puppeteers retreated, manipulating their puppets to scatter and prevent the fireball from spreading further. The scarred man's expression changed. This brat not only wielded a sword, but he was also proficient in fire-based techniques.

Shuo Ge did not stop.

The second fireball is ready.

Flames erupted from his palm, not in a sphere, but in a fan shape, sweeping across the left flank of the puppet horde. Four more puppets were set ablaze, and the puppeteers frantically severed their chakra threads to avoid being burned.

"Scatter! Don't let him burn the puppets!" the scarred man roared.

The puppeteers dispersed.

The formation was no longer dense, and weaknesses began to appear.

Shuoge saw the loophole.

Instead of rushing forward, he pulled out three shuriken from his waist and threw them out.

It wasn't aimed at the puppets, but at the puppeteers. The shuriken spun in the air, tracing three arcs, passing through the gaps between the puppets, heading straight for the faces of the three puppeteers.

The art of shurikenjutsu is the signature skill of the Uchiha clan. It is not a simple throwing technique, but a highly precise art of killing.

Ordinary ninjas rely on strength and luck to throw their shuriken.

The Uchiha are different.

The Sharingan captures the trajectory, and the chakra threads guide the direction. Each shuriken seems to be alive—it can turn in the air, turn back behind the enemy, and drill into vital points from unexpected angles.

The opponent thought they had dodged it, but they had already been hit.

This is the foundation that allowed the Uchiha to survive on the battlefield.

Uchiha Sakugo rarely used shuriken, but that doesn't mean he couldn't.

The three people were forced to retreat, and the hand controlling the puppet paused for a moment.

In that instant, Shuoge's knife was pulled out of the sand.

The wind flowed over the blade as he swung it—not a slash, but a wind-escape technique.

Invisible wind blades flew from the tip of the sword, severing the chakra threads in the hands of the two puppeteers. Their puppets lost control and collapsed to the ground. The first breach appeared in the puppeteers' defenses.

Shuoge did not rush in.

He stood still, his left hand forming a mudra, his right hand gripping a knife.

Wind Release and Fire Release are activated simultaneously.

The wind fanned the flames, and the fire gained strength from the wind.

A massive fireball erupted from his mouth, and his Wind Release technique transformed it into a wall of fire that surged forward.

The puppeteers retreated frantically, manipulating their puppets to block their way.

The wood crackled and popped as it burned in the fire wall.

The smell of burning permeated the air, mixed with the stench of sand and blood.

Five, eight, twelve.

The wall of fire swallowed up more than a dozen puppets and burned through more than a dozen chakra threads.

The puppeteers' expressions changed—they were not afraid of knives, kunai, or shuriken.

However, fire-style techniques are the natural enemy of puppets.

Wood can burn, sesame oil can ignite, and the toxins decompose at high temperatures, turning into harmless ash.

The scarred man's lips were pressed into a thin line.

That kid has a sharp eye.

He knew the puppet's weaknesses, knew the puppeteer's weaknesses, and knew how to cause the greatest destruction with the least amount of force.

In battles between ninjas, one must possess overwhelming power.

Therefore, the most time-saving and labor-saving way is to rely on your brain.

"Split into two teams. One team will hold the line from the front, and the other team will flank from behind." The scarred man's voice was very low.

The puppeteers began to move.

The person in front continued to control the puppet to attack Shuoge, while the person on the flank quietly circled around to his back.

Sakugo's Sharingan saw it.

The three tomoe spun in his pupils, and the chakra threads shimmered like spider silk in the moonlight.

Fifteen bodies were visible from the front, and ten from the side. He was alone, with only a knife and two hands. But his lips twitched—not in a smile, but with something colder.

He didn't turn around, didn't look back, and didn't even change his posture.

He simply formed a hand seal with his left hand, using Wind Release.

An invisible wind spread out from him, stirring up the sand beneath his feet.

Dust filled the night sky, obscuring the puppeteer's vision.

They could no longer see Sakugo, only a vast expanse of yellow sand. But Sakugo could see them. His Sharingan pierced through the dust, revealing the chakra threads shining like lanterns in the darkness.

The sword is drawn.

It's not about chopping down puppets, it's about chopping down sand.

The wind whipped up the sand, and yellow sand filled the sky, obscuring everyone's view.

The puppeteers shouted through the sandstorm; some closed their eyes, while others swung their knives wildly.

Shuoge heard the sound.

The Sharingan saw the flow of chakra in the sand and dust—those humanoid lights, shining like lanterns in the darkness.

He walked over and slashed the knife from left to right.

One of the chakra threads broke, and the puppet collapsed.

Take another step, and slash the knife upwards from the bottom.

The second one broke.

The third puppeteer turned to run, but crashed into the sand wall, and the knife pierced through his back.

He didn't kill people, he cut the strings. He didn't kill, he only cut the strings. Once the strings were broken, the puppet was just a pile of useless wood. Without the puppet, the puppeteer was just an ordinary person.

When the sandstorm settled, the remains of more than a dozen puppets were found on the ground.

The sandstorm has subsided.

Shuoge stood in the middle, his blade clean and spotless, without a trace of blood.

It's not the puppet's blood—the puppet has no blood.

It's not his either.

From beginning to end, none of the puppets ever touched him.

His Sharingan saw through the trajectory of every attack, and his body moved much faster than the pieces of wood. He dodged what needed to be dodged, slashed what needed to be slashed, and burned what needed to be burned to ashes with fire jutsu, even the ashes were blown away by the wind.

His breathing was steady, and his hands were steady.

The three-tomoe Sharingan spun in the moonlight, staring at the scarred man.

The knife was held horizontally in front of him, the wind still flowing over the blade, and there were several cuts on his clothes, from being grazed by splinters of wood.

That's all. He wasn't injured from beginning to end.

No injury is necessary.

-

The scarred man's hand remained raised in mid-air, not falling.

His puppeteers stood behind him, thirty puppets lined up in a row, but none of them dared to move.

The little devil stood in the pile of broken wood, covered in blood—not fresh wounds, but old ones.

His eyes were still red, the knife was still gleaming, and the wind still flowed along the blade.

One man, with a knife, held off hundreds of puppeteers.

"What kind of monster are you?" The scarred man's voice changed.

Sakugo didn't answer. His sword was held horizontally in front of him, the wind flowing over its blade. Behind him were sand dunes, and on those dunes stood White Fang and Chiyo. He was the answer in his own right.

A muffled thud came from the top of the dune.

It wasn't the clanging of metal, nor the snapping of chakra threads; it was a deeper, more muffled sound, like something breaking. All the puppeteers stopped.

Shuoge suddenly turned around.

At the top of the sand dune, under the moonlight, the white blade of light vanished.

-

It wasn't slowing down, it wasn't being repelled, it was being wiped out.

Like a lamp blown out by the wind, like a fire extinguished by water. Only the sound of the wind and the creaking of Chiyo's ten Chikamatsu Ten Corpses joints remained in the desert.

His pupils contracted sharply. With a push of his feet, he surged towards the top of the sand dune.

The scarred man instinctively raised his hand to stop him, but stopped halfway through.

It wasn't that he didn't want to stop them; it was that new sounds came from behind him. Footsteps. Many footsteps. From the back of the sand dunes, from behind the puppeteers, from all directions.

He turned around abruptly.

Under the moonlight, eight dark figures rolled up from the back of the sand dune.

Silently, like eight fallen leaves drifting into the battlefield.

The two at the front had long black hair and the distinctive faces of the Uchiha clan; their three-tomoe Sharingan eyes slowly rotated in the moonlight.

Uchiha Kaze.

Uchiha Yan.

Behind him followed six Uchiha Jonin, all with long black hair and three-tomoe Sharingan eyes. Eight people, eight pairs of eyes, sixteen tomoe, resembling sixteen red-hot charcoal pieces in the moonlight.

The scarred man's hand froze in mid-air.

He looked at the eight people, then at Shuoge who had already rushed halfway up the slope, and finally understood—this kid didn't come alone.

He never intended to shoulder the burden alone from the beginning.

He was simply the nail standing in front, holding everyone's attention.

The hammer only came down after the nail was firmly in place.

The wind didn't look at him. The wind was looking at the top of the sand dune. Chiyo's ten Chikamatsu followers were still standing there, the glint of White Fang's sword gone. He raised his hand and pointed forward.

"Go up."

The eight Uchiha Jonin moved at the same time.

It wasn't a rush, it was a crushing blow. The Sharingan saw through the trajectory of every chakra thread, the fire release burned every puppet that blocked its way, and the shuriken in the air curved, turned back, and burrowed into the puppeteer's blind spot.

The puppeteers, who had just been besieging a child, suddenly found themselves facing eight Uchiha Jonin, and their formation was instantly torn apart.

One puppet was burned to ashes by fire jutsu, and another was cleaved in two by a sword. The chakra threads were as fragile as spider silk in front of the Sharingan, breaking with a single strike.

The scarred man tried to mount a counterattack, but a shuriken flew past his ear, shaving off a lock of hair and embedding itself in the head of a puppet behind him. Feng stood before him, his three-tomoe Sharingan fixed on him.

"Your opponent is me."

The scarred man's hand fell to his sides.

Shuoge ignored the battle behind him.

He was charging towards the top of the dune. His footsteps sank half an inch into the sand with each step, each step requiring all his strength.

His sword was already drawn, the wind swirling around its blade, and his three-tomoe Sharingan stared at the figure getting closer and closer atop the sand dune.

Under the moonlight, White Fang stood atop the sand dune, his sword already sheathed.

His clothes were stained with blood, and he had a cut on his shoulder, but he stood very straight.

Chiyo stood opposite him, surrounded by ten members of the Chikamatsu Ten, her fingers dripping blood, several of her chakra threads broken.

The two men stared at each other, neither making a move.

When Shuoge rushed to the top of the sand dune, he saw this scene.

He stood beside White Fang, his sword held horizontally in front of him, the wind flowing over the blade.

Behind her, eight Uchiha Jonin had finished clearing out the puppeteers below and were now surrounding the top of the sand dune. Sixteen three-tomoe Sharingan eyes spun in the moonlight, staring at Chiyo and her Chikamatsu Ten.

Chiyo looked at those Sharingan eyes, then at Sakugo, and finally at White Fang.

Her fingers twitched, and the chakra threads reconnected to the scattered fragments, but she didn't attack.

The puppeteers she brought had collapsed; most of the puppets were burned, and four of the Chikamatsu Ten were destroyed. Her fingers were bleeding. She could still fight, but she had lost.

"You had a backup plan from the very beginning," Chiyo said calmly.

Shuoge didn't speak. Feng stood behind him, the blood on his blade still wet. He looked at Chiyo, then at the wound on Baiya's shoulder, and then at the blood dripping from Chiyo's fingertips.

"Lady Chiyo." Kaze's voice was very polite, as if he were greeting someone at a tea party.

"Too many people have died in the war."

Chiyo didn't speak. She stared at the Sharingan for a while. Then her hand fell down, and the chakra threads loosened.

The joints of the Chikamatsu Ten made a final creak, then came to a standstill, like ten statues standing in the moonlight.

"Is that enough?"

Chiyo's voice grew cold.

Her fingers curled again, and the chakra threads instantly tightened at her fingertips. The joints of the ten Chikamatsu Ten Ninja began to rotate again, making a fine creaking sound, like bones rubbing together.

Do you know how many people died in Sunagakure?

Her voice was flat, as flat as the ground in the desert.

"The Third Kazekage has disappeared. We've fought for two years, lost thousands of people, exhausted countless resources, and burned through the Third Kazekage's accumulated wealth. You tell me, is that enough?"

Her gaze moved from White Fang to Sakugo, then to Feng, swept over the eight Sharingan eyes, and finally landed back on White Fang.

"My son is dead, my daughter-in-law is dead, my disciple Kato is dead, half of the people I brought are dead, and dozens of puppets were burned. You think that's enough? How am I supposed to explain this to the villagers of Sunagakure?"

Bai Ya didn't speak. His sword was in his hand, and there was blood on the blade—not his, but from Chiyo's fingers.

Chiyo took a step forward.

The Chikamatsu Ten followed her like ten shadows.

"You killed my son, I accept that. On the battlefield, it's a matter of life and death, there's nothing more to say. But this war isn't something you can just stop. So many people from Sunagakure have died, and they've gained nothing."

"Tell me, on what grounds should I withdraw my troops?"

Her voice grew louder and louder, not a shout, but something that had been suppressed for a long time and was finally unable to be suppressed anymore.

"With your White Fang's sword? With the eyes of these few Uchiha? Or with this brat—a brat who's awakened the three tomoe at such a young age?"

She looked at Shuoge, and there was a murderous intent in his old eyes, but it wasn't directed at him. It was directed at the war, at the ending where so many people had died, so much blood had been shed, and yet nothing had been gained.

"You won this battle. You killed my people, burned my puppets, and forced your way to me. But you did not win." Her fingers tightened, and the chakra threads stretched taut like harp strings in the moonlight.

"Because Sunagakure still exists, and I haven't fallen yet."

The Chikamatsu Ten Puppet Masters adopted an attack stance.

Ten puppets, ten weapons, all aimed at Hatake Sakumo.

An atmosphere of impending doom arose once more.

The battle is imminent!