Jirōbō pressed his palms together, channeling chakra into the Fire Temple's sacred technique. Golden, radiant fists manifested one after another, a towering King of Dharma avatar glowing behind him as it shielded the Daimyō.
"Welcoming Descent: Thousand-Armed Murder!"
A torrent of golden arms erupted around Jirōbō, each strike trailing light like burning flame, intercepting every bullet and explosive that came near.
"Protect the Daimyō! Fall back!"
Jirōbō roared.
Two shinobi hurried to support the bloated Daimyō, pushing him backward behind Jirōbō's defense. The queen, in that moment of chaos, was already forgotten.
The Fire Temple's secret art was both offense and defense — even possessing enemy-seeking properties. In the original timeline, this technique had once given Kakuzu serious trouble.
Dozens of Umbrella fighters attempted to break through but were repeatedly blasted away, unable to penetrate Jirōbō's iron wall of chakra.
Yakumo Kurama remained still, watching intently.
She wasn't rushing — she was studying.
Without invoking her Kurama Clan Bloodline Limit, Yakumo was only slightly stronger than a typical chūnin.
But Jirōbō was a high-level opponent. Charging blindly into him would accomplish nothing. It was far more efficient to observe, find the weaknesses in his technique — and drain his chakra.
Those blown back were largely unharmed thanks to their chakra armor. As for the genin-level fighters and firearm-wielding recruits watching from afar — most had only begun training in chakra and taijutsu. They lacked the experience and strength to interfere in a clash of this level.
Against a powerful enemy like Jirōbō, professionals were needed.
Jirōbō's eyes followed the Daimyō as the guards carried him away. He exhaled slowly.
Good. He had ordered them to head for the Fire Temple — protected by powerful barriers no ordinary attacker could breach.
After this incident, they would gather the might of the ninja villages and completely destroy the Umbrella Organization.
To openly attack a Daimyō — to wage war directly on a nation's leadership — was unthinkable.
In Naruto's ideology, there was no rule saying shinobi couldn't attack a country. But in the traditional values of the shinobi world, this was an unimaginable betrayal.
Influenced by the Umbrella's revolutionary doctrine, Naruto believed deception and strategy were essential in war. But the people of this world were not easily swayed — and that ideology had already shaken the foundation of the entire system.
Even Orochimaru, who founded Otogakure in defiance of norms, sought the Daimyō's support — manpower, research funding — but never dared seize political authority.
That was the line Naruto had crossed.
A bold world-changing move — backed by wealth powerful enough to reshape the five great nations. If that fortune fell into the hands of another village, their might could rise severalfold.
This was the true reason the coalition was formed.
This was the true reason for war.
As the Daimyō fled, his face twisted in terror.
No one had ever dared to do this — to strike directly at a Daimyō. It shattered every unspoken rule of this world.
During past Great Ninja Wars, the Daimyō barely concerned themselves with conflict. Even if their side suffered, the losses were trivial — money, resources, negotiations.
They were untouchable.
Exalted.
Absolute.
Even the Land of Wind's Daimyō — poorest among the Five — was still wealthier than entire nations beyond them. And the Land of Fire? Its royal treasury could fund armies for decades.
The Kage may have held power, but the Daimyō held sovereign authority.
Yet Naruto saw them as nothing special — merely leaders of a larger village.
And in this world, true power was the ability to command force.
A fist sometimes mattered more than a crown.
"Protect me! Escort me to the Fire Temple, and I will reward you with immeasurable riches!"
The Daimyō babbled desperately as the group encountered a squad of samurai attempting to retreat.
These samurai were not from the Land of Iron.
They weren't here out of duty.
They were here for fortunes.
Bushidō would not stop them from switching sides — not when wealth lay in reach.
Upon hearing the Daimyō's desperate promise, the samurai exchanged glances — greed and fear clashing in their eyes.
Using the palace walls as cover, the firearms of the Umbrella forces were merely weapons to be avoided.
Bullets weren't a threat if the shooter's movements were slower than their own.
Five samurai stepped forward — two chūnin-level swordmasters and three elite genin — willing to take the gamble.
"Brothers — this is our chance at fortune! If we succeed, our families will never worry again!"
"Fortune won't matter if we die before we enjoy it," one of them muttered nervously.
"Hmph. Didn't you see? We're already tied to the Daimyō whether we like it or not."
"We fight — or we get hunted later. So why not fight for wealth?!"
Their hesitations died there.
They rallied around the Daimyō and hurriedly escorted him toward the Fire Temple.
Meanwhile, on Jirōbō's side of the battlefield…
Even a monk tempered in iron discipline had limits.
His chakra, despite his mastery of the Fire Temple's sacred techniques, was gradually draining.
Two Umbrella shinobi were already dead — struck down by Mountain Crusher, Jirōbō's overwhelming taijutsu.
But the enhanced warriors powered by chakra armor continued to advance relentlessly, forcing Jirōbō to remain cautious.
Then — the world shifted.
The battlefield dissolved into a familiar scene: his youth before becoming a Guardian Twelve.
His master's voice still echoed…
His ideals — his desire to strip the shinobi of unchecked power and give authority back to the people — still burned in his heart.
But such ambitions were impossible for one jōnin to change.
Jirōbō's hands pressed together in reflex — and a towering golden Buddha manifested in the illusion.
Hidden in the Genjutsu realm, Yakumo Kurama widened her eyes.
The illusion space itself trembled.
She materialized within the Genjutsu just as Jirōbō's eyes slowly opened.
"So… the Kurama clan's Bloodline Limit," he murmured.
"One of the legendary masters of illusion."
Jirōbō's expression grew pained — not from fear, but from sorrow.
"What you are doing… will plunge this world into chaos."
He spoke with solemn conviction:
"One flower, one world. One leaf, one Bodhi. I am steadfast — unmoved."
"You have been misled by demons. I shall exorcise them… and send you to the Pure Land!"
His body suddenly blazed with golden light.
A moment later — the Genjutsu shattered.
Back in reality —
Blood trickled from Jirōbō's lip. Yakumo stood before him, shocked.
His secret monk techniques let him resist illusions… but to break free?
He was burning his very life force.
Yakumo instantly retreated, hands blurring as she painted mid-air — chakra ink crackling with electricity.
Dark clouds churned overhead.
Lightning crashed down — but the colossal Buddha guarded Jirōbō from above, deflecting every strike.
He was in a frenzy — his lifespan fueling a surge of chakra far beyond his limits.
His golden fists swarmed Yakumo — relentless, suffocating.
She conjured a drawn shield just in time, the ink solidifying into a barrier under chakra flow.
Her teammates struggled to hold off the warriors pressing in from all sides.
"Madman!!" Yakumo hissed, sweat dripping down her cheek.
The Golden Buddha cracked.
Deep fissures split through its radiant form — too much strain, too short a time.
Jirōbō's eyes widened in horror as the final crack echoed like thunder.
And then — actual thunder fell.
A lance of searing lightning tore through the sky and struck him directly.
His final roar died in a flash of light.
His burden — his faith — his life…
Ended in an instant.
...
TN:
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