I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

The three of them rushed forward at the same time.

Samehada cleaves downwards, the guillotine sweeps from left to right, and the thunder sword stabs from right to left.

Three ninja swords, from three directions, blocked all of Sakugo's escape routes.

Shuoge did not retreat.

He twirled the sword in his hand, wind-style chakra flowing into its blade, an invisible wind coursing along its edge. He swung the sword—not to slay a person, but to cut through the wind.

Wind Release: Vacuum Slash.

An arc-shaped wind blade flew out from the tip of the blade, not killing one person, but three.

The wind blade was so fast that even the Sharingan could only see a blurry white light.

Suigetsu Hozuki used Samehada to block the attack, but the wind blade sliced ​​through the blade, leaving a deep gash. Biwa Juzo dodged to the side, the wind blade grazing his shoulder and cutting through his armor.

Black Hoe Raiya leaped up, and wind blades flew past his feet, slicing through a reef behind him. The reef split in the middle and collapsed with a crash.

All three of them stopped at the same time.

They looked at the rock that had been cut in two, and then at Shuoge.

The little devil stood in the fog, the tip of his knife pointing downwards, his breathing steady.

Blood was still seeping from his left shoulder, and there was a new nick in the knife, but he was still standing.

Watermelon Mountain Pufferfish Demon's hands were trembling.

It's not fear, it's calculation.

He did the math—if the fight continued, at least two more of the three of them would die.

This brat's sword is too fast, his eyes are too sharp, and his ninjutsu is too varied.

He is not a single person; he is a combination of White Fang's swordsmanship, the Sharingan of the Uchiha clan, and both wind and fire elemental techniques.

A child under ten years old who can put all these things together and use them so skillfully is either a genius or a monster.

"Retreat." Suigetsu Hobutsuki's voice was very low.

Juzo Biwa looked at him. "Pufferfish Demon—"

"I said retreat." Suigetsu Hozuki didn't turn around. "We can't kill this brat. If we keep fighting, at least two more will die. It's not worth it."

Pipa Juzo gritted his teeth, looking at Sakugo, then at Kurihara Kushimaru and Tsukakuno Erito lying on the ground.

They were beaten so badly they couldn't stand up and needed to be carried.

With two more wounded, even their retreat became difficult.

"Let's go." Pipa Juzo turned around and walked into the mist.

Black Hoe Raiya dragged his thunder blade behind them. The other three were carried away. Silence returned to the canyon, broken only by the wind and the muffled crashing of waves against the rocks.

Dai knelt on the ground, gasping for breath. His body was still steaming, his skin cracked open in several places, and blood seeped from the wounds, staining his green bodysuit dark red. But he was still alive.

Kai ran over, knelt before Dai, and looked at his father's blood-stained face. "Dad... are you alright?"

Dai smiled. It was a light, faint smile, unlike his usual forced one. "It's alright. I won't die."

Hong walked over, squatted down, and began to examine Dai's injuries. Her technique was very skilled; she stopped the bleeding, bandaged the wound, and immobilized the fracture—her movements were quick, but her hands were trembling.

It wasn't fear, it was lingering fear. One second later, and this person would be gone.

Shuoge stood to the side, his sword already sheathed.

He looked down at Dai, whose face was covered in blood and sweat, and whose smile was weary. He didn't speak, just stood there, the knife behind his back, his hands at his sides.

A sea breeze blew in from the east, dispersing the fog and revealing the distant sea horizon.

Kai helped Dai to his feet. Dai's legs were trembling, and he couldn't stand steadily, so he needed Kai's support. Kai didn't show any disgust or pull away; he simply put his father's arm on his own shoulder and supported him.

"Let's go." Shuoge turned around and walked towards the cart. The cart was still there, and the three sealing scrolls were still there.

—The scroll contained only a small amount of supplies, but those were strategic resources.

He picked up the scroll, stuffed it into his ninja tool bag, and pushed the cart forward.

Four people and a cart walked out of the canyon.

Behind them, the fog thickened, covering the bloodstains and knife marks.

It was as if nothing had happened.

But Dai was still alive, Kai was still alive, and Hong was still alive. Shuoge's knife had a new nick, and he had a new wound on his left shoulder, but he was still standing.

A sea breeze blew in from the east, and the fog dissipated.

In the distance, the campfires in the camp lit up in the twilight, their orange-red glow resembling open eyes.

-

By the time the Shuoge squad returned to camp, it was almost dawn.

One of the cart's wheels was broken. Kai carried the axle, Hong held the three sealing scrolls, and Dai was supported by Kai and Shuoge on either side. His legs were still shaking, but he could walk now.

The blood on his face dried in the sea breeze, forming dark red scabs that cracked open when he smiled, revealing pink new flesh underneath.

The sentries at the camp gate saw them, paused for a moment, and then turned and ran.

It wasn't an escape, it was a message.

The curtain of the command tent was lifted, and Orochimaru stepped out. He was wearing combat gear, not his usual civilian clothes. Sakumo Hatake followed behind him, his sword at his waist, the white scabbard covered in sand—he had been on a mission.

Orochimaru looked at Sakugo, his gaze lingering for a moment on the wound on his left shoulder before moving to Dai, and finally settling on the wheelbarrow axle in Kai's hand.

"Is the mission complete?"

"The supplies have arrived," Shuoge said calmly. "Frontline supply depot. Handover complete."

Orochimaru nodded. "Thank you for your hard work, Sakugo-kun."

This was the first time Shuo Ge had heard those three words from his mouth. Not "Well done," not "Very good," just "Thank you for your hard work."

But for Orochimaru to say it is already extremely high praise.

Hatake Sakumo walked over and stood in front of Sakugo. He looked down at the wound on Sakugo's left shoulder, then at the new nick in his scabbard.

"How many did you kill?"

"Two. Murei Jinpachi and Kurihara Kushimaru. The other four were seriously injured."

Sakumo Hatake paused for a moment, then reached out and patted Sakugo on the shoulder—not on the injured side. "Not bad."

Sakugo glanced at him. Sakumo Hatake's eyes were tired and bloodshot, but there was something else—appreciation.

"You lured away the Seven Heroes, and we took down Kirigakure's forward camp." Hatake Sakumo's voice was calm. "The command post, supply depot, and communication points were all destroyed. Kirigakure's command system on the eastern front is paralyzed."

Kai stood to the side, mouth agape, eyes wide. "You...you used us as bait?"

Orochimaru glanced at him. "Yes."

Kai clenched his fists, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something. But Shuoge stopped him. Not with his hands, but with his eyes. That look was cold, so cold that Kai swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

"You've returned alive." Orochimaru's voice was flat. "This is the best outcome."

He turned and walked back to the tent. Hatake Sakumo followed behind, took a few steps, stopped, and did not look back.

"Go to the medical team to treat the wound. There's a new mission tomorrow."

he's gone.

Kai stood there, his chest heaving. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Hong walked over and patted him on the shoulder. "Let's go."

Kai took a deep breath and followed.

Inside the medical tent, Dai lay on a cot, his body wrapped in bandages.

Kai sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his father's scarred face.

Dai is asleep, breathing heavily but steadily.

Hong was treating Shuoge's left shoulder wound, using tweezers to hold an alcohol swab and wiping the edges of the wound.

Shuoge didn't frown or inhale, as if the body wasn't his.

Red's hands were steady, but her eyes were fixed on Shuoge's profile. His face was expressionless, but she knew he was thinking.

"What are you thinking about?" Hong asked.

"Orochimaru knew the Seven Ninja Swordsmen would come all along," Sakugo said calmly. "He chose our side, not as a gamble. He calculated it perfectly."

Red paused for a moment, then continued wiping. "Aren't you angry?"

"Getting angry on the battlefield is the most pointless thing."

Hong didn't say anything. She wrapped the bandage properly, tied a knot, and stood up.

While packing her first-aid kit, she suddenly said, "You're more like a ninja than I imagined."

She used to think that Shuoge was cold and aloof, with the innate arrogance of the Uchiha clan, and that he was unsociable and would never look down at the ants at his feet.

Now she understood—that coldness wasn't arrogance, but the underlying nature of survival.

Perhaps Kai will die, perhaps she will die too, but Shuoge will definitely be the one who survives to the end.

Because he is cold enough.

A calm cold, an icy cold.

On the battlefield, there is no need for passion, only for survivors.

Shuoge glanced at her.

no answer.

He stepped out of the medical tent and stood outside. A sea breeze blew from the east, the fog had dissipated, and the eastern sky was tinged with a pale white.

In the distance, there was the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, one after another, like a heartbeat.

He looked down at his hands.

A new wound appeared on the web of my hand, caused by gripping the knife too tightly.

He recalled the battle in the canyon—Muri Jinpachi's explosive sword was sliced ​​in two by his wind blade, and Kurihara Kushimaru's longsword was pierced through his throat. That was the first time he had killed an S-rank rogue ninja.

It wasn't a sneak attack, it wasn't a lucky break, it was a direct and decisive blow.

He used all of these techniques—the three-tomoe Sharingan, White Fang's swordsmanship, and the combination of Wind Release and Fire Release—to kill two people.

not enough.

It needs to be even stronger.

He turned and walked toward the tent.

Behind us, the sun rose from the sea, its orange-red light bathing the campsite and gilding the tents and sandbags with a golden hue.

A new day, a new task.

-

When Shuoge came out of the medical tent, the sun had already risen fully.

The fog on the sea surface had mostly dissipated, revealing a gray-blue waterline in the distance.

The people in the camp began to move around: some started fires, some fetched water, and some changed shifts.

The bandage on his left shoulder was new, white, and glaringly visible peeking out from his sleeve. The knife was on his back, the new notch on the scabbard gleaming dimly in the morning light.

He walked toward his tent.

Someone on the street saw him, paused for a moment, and then stepped aside.

It's not respect, it's instinct—like seeing a drawn sword on the street, people instinctively flinch.

The first person did this, the second person did this, and the third person simply stopped what he was doing and stood there watching him walk past.

"That's the blade?"

"Um."

"It doesn't look that great."

Have you ever seen the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist?

"Never seen it before."

"I wouldn't say that after I met you."

"Is he really playing one against six?"

"It wasn't one against six. There were four of them, and six on the other side. But that perennial genin opened the Seventh Gate and almost died. Blade killed two and seriously injured two others."

"You made this up, didn't you?"

"The intelligence department has confirmed it. It was Orochimaru-sama who said it."

After a moment of silence, someone asked, "Was that guy really human?"

"Not a person. A blade."

The sound came from beside the fire, not loud, but Shuoge heard it. He didn't stop or look, and walked past the fire. The people by the fire automatically fell silent, and only spoke again after he had gone some distance.

A Jonin wearing a Sand Village Front vest stood in the middle of the road, arms crossed, watching Sakugo walk over.

That gaze wasn't appraising, it was scrutinizing—like checking if a knife was sharp enough, if it was clean enough. Shuoge didn't stop, he walked past him.

The Jonin neither stepped aside nor stopped him, but after he passed by, he muttered, "The blades of Konoha are getting faster and faster."

Someone next to him asked, "Do you know him?"

The Jonin shook his head. "I don't know him. But I've heard of him. Iwagakure calls him Blade, and Sunagakure calls him Blade too. Kirigakure should know him by now."

Shuoge went into his tent.

Guy and Kurenai were already inside. Guy was unloading supplies, and Kurenai was organizing ninja tool bags. When they saw Sakugo come in, Guy looked up and grinned.

"Everyone outside is talking about you."

"What did you say?"

"You're a monster."

Shuoge did not answer. He leaned the knife against the bedside and sat down.

Kai was still talking, saying that the name "Blade" had spread throughout the entire camp, that Orochimaru had mentioned his name at the meeting, and that even the wounded in the medical tents were discussing him.

Hong listened without interrupting, twirling the kunai between her fingers before putting it away.

"Are you unhappy?" Hong suddenly asked.

Shuoge glanced at her. "What's so exciting?"

"famous."

"A title should not be used as a weapon."

Shuoge remained silent for a moment.

—It is not the title that inspires fear, but the strength that inspires fear that earns respect.

Whether they are the God of Ninjas or the Asura of the Ninja World, they all emerged from mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Name?

That kind of thing is meaningless.

Kai paused for a moment, then laughed. "You're right! The knife is more important!"

Shuoge lay down and closed his eyes.

Outside, the sun had fully risen, and golden light leaked through the gaps in the tent, falling on his face.

He heard Kai and Hong walk out, heard Kai shout "Quietly, quietly," and heard Hong say "Shut up."

The sound grew fainter and fainter until it was swallowed up by the noise of the camp.

He opened his eyes and looked at the top of the tent.

The canvas billowed in the wind and then deflated, as if it were breathing.

He looked down at his hand; the fresh wound on the web of his hand had scabbed over, dark red, like a thin snake.

He clenched his fist; it hurt, but he could still move it.

There are still tasks to complete tomorrow.

It will also be available the day after tomorrow.

The war will not end just because the Seven Warriors were defeated.

But suddenly he felt that the way those people looked at him had changed.

He used to be "the brat from the Uchiha clan," now he's "Blade." Not a code name, but a name. He doesn't need it, but he doesn't reject it either.

A name is more useful than a brat; at least no one will dare to gossip about you in front of them.

He closed his eyes.

Outside, someone was calling "Blade," not calling him, but talking about him. The voices were distant, as if through a layer of water.

He didn't sleep.

He sat cross-legged, hands resting on his knees, chakra flowing slowly through his meridians. The wound on his left shoulder throbbed faintly, but the pain only made him more focused.

Refining, circulating, settling.

Thread by thread, strand by strand. He never wasted a moment.

Becoming stronger isn't about thinking, it's about doing.

He opened his eyes after his chakra had completed a full cycle within his body. Outside the tent, the chatter had subsided.

He looked down at his hands, clenched them, and then relaxed them.

not enough.

It needs to be even stronger.

Close your eyes again.

Continue refining.

-