"Ancestor, huh? Stingy old man didn't even give me a greeting gift."
Soren's consciousness snapped back into his body the moment he withdrew from that strange spiritual realm. He muttered the complaint under his breath, then calmly inspected the planar transmission array humming beneath him—its circuits quietly drawing in drifting Dragon-Vein energy and natural energy from the air.
Everything was stable. No turbulence. No collapse.
Good enough.
A flicker of space, and he reappeared at the Ghost-Ninja Village shrine. Before long, he dragged the thoroughly-smitten Miko Redleaf beneath the waterfall's pool, where cold water and a warm woman pulled him neatly into Sage Mode.
Pressed against Redleaf's soft, pliant body, Soren once again found himself thanking Tobirama—the pervert who invented Shadow Clones that could eat, drink, and handle affairs while the real body slacked off elsewhere. Genius. Absolute genius.
The only person who could ever detect the location of his real body was Light, because of the soul-mark he'd left in her. But Light? Would she ever rat out her beloved brother?
Not a chance.
Soren exhaled lazily, sinking deeper into the stone beneath him as Redleaf dutifully "served." Once his mind cleared, his thoughts sharpened.
Six years.
Long enough to change the world… short enough to be terrifying.
Realistically, only three people could break into Six-Paths-level power in that time:
Soren, naturally.
Light, who devours chakra across the world through the Eight-Thousand-Spear Mark.
Xiangzhi, whose Grale Vein grants her an ocean of living energy.
The rest? Hopefuls at best.
(Maybe I should deepen Eight-Thousand-Spear's function… let elite shinobi unify their strength during battle…)
He recalled the cultivation novels of his past life: battle arrays, military formations that combined many into one. Why not create a shinobi version?
Light's mark could absorb chakra, redistribute it, and return it later. If a legion faced an overwhelming foe—they could pour their chakra and ocular power into a single commander, then reclaim it afterward.
Theoretically brilliant.
But dangerously close to absolute dominance.
Eight-Thousand-Spear, when siphoning chakra, takes it permanently. Unless willingly returned, the host would be left crippled—body and spirit both incomplete. That was why Soren required the rule:
Only Light may forcibly harvest chakra.
Everyone else must give voluntarily.
And everything must automatically return afterward.
Otherwise, the entire shinobi world would panic. Shuddering, Soren imagined the chaos.
(If people learned Light can take anyone's chakra, at any time… even I'd be uneasy.)
He pressed his fingers to his temples.
(And the women at home… each one more terrifying than the last. If Governance awakens some strange Mangekyō ability, she might actually beat me senseless someday.)
His own… questionable behavior of late made him visibly shiver.
Redleaf let out a soft, breathy sound at the sudden movement.
"Lord Soren… I can't…"
He ignored the implication, stretching comfortably atop the stone.
(Thank goodness I'm switching to cultivation soon. I refuse to be a ninja who gets beaten by the wife.)
His gaze drifted upward.
(Sun-Emperor Empire… Moon-Sovereign Empire… Another Shinobi World? Interesting.)
The current world's "plot" had long since gone off-rails. There wasn't much left here to entertain him.
But another continent? Another world? Another battlefield?
That excited him.
Meanwhile, the expedition fleet kept advancing across the vast ocean. Several islands had been discovered—empty, uninhabited, dotted with plants and bird nests.
To support the voyage, the Strategic Bureau requested a Flying-Thunder-God Array as a substitute for full spatial gates. Soren had personally improved the array: three kunai arranged in an equilateral triangle would self-generate a spatial resonance pattern, linking directly to the chakra output of Zero-Tails back in Konoha.
Place a person or cargo inside the glowing array—and transmit instantly.
Simple. Reliable. Perfect for replacing fatigued shinobi and rotating crew.
"Lord Soren," Redleaf whispered, pressing against him, cheeks warm. "Will you require my service tonight?"
Soren flicked her forehead lightly.
"You rest at the shrine tonight. I have things to do.
And next time? Don't expect mercy just because you plead that 'you can't take it.'"
Redleaf squeaked—adorably—and fled in embarrassment as little Miro called for her.
When she was gone, Soren rose to the peak overlooking the waterfall. A smile stretched across his face.
He stepped into Sage Mode again.
"At last."
Body strength. Spiritual force. Natural energy.
The three powers fused—stabilizing into a new, permanent cultivation system fueled by the thirty-thousand Ascension Points he had saved.
Inside his body, a silken thread of power glowed—thin but impossibly pure—circling once before growing slightly. He named this power:
Fǎlì.
The Power of Law.
He lifted a finger.
A spark flickered—then instantly swelled into a fireball.
Water Release. Earth Release. Lightning Release. All came effortlessly, without seals.
Their force eclipsed ninjutsu. Their cost barely registered.
Soren flicked his fingers; a slash of fǎlì shot out, cleaving a towering tree so cleanly that the trunk toppled with a polished sheen. The cut shone like glass.
Even the Eight-Thousand-Spear Mark imbedded in his own body evaporated under the new energy.
He stretched his arms toward the blazing horizon.
"The law of all laws… the force of all forces."
Red clouds rolled overhead, the world dyed crimson by sunset. Standing at the cliff's edge, Soren declared:
"From today onward—
I walk the path of immortality.
The path of the true Dao."
He laughed softly, eyes gleaming.
"Rinnegan? Tenseigan?
Pebbles beneath my feet."
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