Chapter 5: The Sound of the Wind and a Shadow
Back in the stark simplicity of his one-room cabin, Ragnar closed the door and latched it, shutting out the night. The quiet inside was immediate, broken only by the sound of his own breathing. His heart beat a steady, anticipatory rhythm against his ribs. He couldn't wait any longer.
He focused inward, and the bronze treasure chest materialized before him, hovering just above the worn floorboards. It was unassuming, its metal dull in the low light from his single lantern.
Open the treasure chest? the system prompted.
"Yes," Ragnar affirmed, his voice low and firm in the stillness.
Poof. With the same soft, ethereal sound, the lid of the chest swung open on silent hinges. Inside, resting on a bed of faint, dissipating light, was a single, plain white card.
No grand golden glow this time. Ragnar felt a flicker of pragmatic disappointment, quickly suppressed. He reached out and picked up the card. Information streamed into his mind as his fingers made contact.
Skill: Tornado Comprehension Card. The user can generate a protective, dragon-shaped vortex of air by rotating their arms, forming an absolute defense. Learn?
"Learn."
The card dissolved into particles of cool white light that seeped into his palm. Instantly, a new set of knowledge unfolded within him. The mechanics of the move—the specific, circular arm motions, the way to channel energy to create a spiraling air current, the footwork required to stabilize the center. It was a defensive technique born from pure physical mastery, a way to create a shield when no other was available. He recognized its origin, a technique used by a swordsman from another world when disarmed. Simple. Direct. Practical.
He called up his panel:
Host: Ragnar
Abilities:
Conqueror's Haki - Lv. 1
Observation Haki - Lv. 1
Armament Haki - Lv. 1
Tornado (Skill) - Lv. 1
(Upgrade to next level requires: 100 Experience Points)
Experience: 75/100
A new line. It was no Three-Colored Haki, but it was something. A tool. In a world of kunai and shuriken, a personal whirlwind could be the difference between a fatal hit and a glancing blow. Better than nothing, he thought, the survivor in him immediately cataloging its potential uses.
After a quick, bracing wash with cold water, he changed into a clean, threadbare training shirt and sat cross-legged on his bedroll. He closed his eyes, slipping into the meditative state taught at the Academy—a method to focus the mind, to draw forth chakra by harmonizing spiritual energy with the body's physical energy.
Chakra capacity was everything. It was the fuel for ninjutsu, the stamina for prolonged battle. He knew of legends: Minato, with no bloodline, wielding monstrous reserves; the Raikage, a humanoid tailed beast. It came down to conditioning, to awakening every cell's latent potential.
Tonight, the meditation felt different. Clearer. Sharper. With the nascent Observation Haki humming just below the surface of his consciousness, he could feel the chakra within him. It wasn't just an abstract concept anymore. He sensed its flow through his network of pathways and tenketsu, a warm, vital current moving from his core to his limbs and back again. It was a vivid, intimate awareness of his own internal energy. His efficiency, the speed at which he could gather and refine chakra, had noticeably improved.
He meditated through the deep quiet of the night, the world outside his window shrinking to the rhythm of his breath and the flow of energy within.
Just before the first hint of grey touched the sky, Ragnar's eyes snapped open. He rose, muscles stiff but ready, and stepped outside into the pre-dawn chill. A training post, thicker than his thigh, stood planted in the hard-packed earth.
He began without ceremony, hammering the post with a series of punches and kicks, the impacts jarring up his limbs. One hundred. Two hundred. Sweat beaded on his skin despite the cold, his breath pluming in the air.
Focusing inward, he willed the new energy to surface. Armament.
A profound change swept over his right fist. From the wrist down, it darkened, taking on a deep, metallic black sheen, as if dipped in molten iron. The transformation was instant. He felt a new density in his hand, a solid, unyielding power.
Crunch!
With a shout, he drove the blackened fist forward. It struck the center of the wooden post not with the sound of flesh on wood, but with the crack of stone splitting. The tough grain didn't just dent; it shattered. A clean, fist-sized hole punched straight through the center of the post, splinters flying.
Ragnar stared, his own breathing loud in the sudden silence. The raw destructive force… a genin relying on pure taijutsu couldn't have done that. He looked at his hand. The black coating flickered and vanished, lasting only about twenty seconds. The drain on his chakra was minimal, a faint tug compared to the significant pull of molding chakra for even a basic ninjutsu. The duration was tied to the skill's level, not his reserves. This… this was an efficiency he could exploit.
He spent the next hour experimenting. Activate. Strike. Deactivate. The Armament would last between twenty to thirty seconds before fading, requiring a small but constant chakra expenditure to re-apply. It was a new rhythm to learn, a tempo of battle entirely his own.
Satisfied, he shifted focus. Assuming a deep horse stance, he began the motions inscribed in his mind by the white card. His arms started slow, tracing wide, deliberate arcs in the air. The movements were not random; they followed a specific, coiling pattern—the shape of a dragon. As his speed increased, the air around him began to stir.
A breeze kicked up dust at his feet. The grass flattened in a growing circle. His arms became a blur, and the breeze became a wind, whistling as it spun. The loose gravel and leaves were caught in the vortex, orbiting him in a frantic dance. At the peak of the motion, for just a moment, the swirling air seemed to coalesce into the faint, roaring visage of a coiling dragon before dissolving back into chaotic wind. It was a barrier of pure force, defensive only, but it would turn aside thrown weapons, disrupt incoming taijutsu. Tornado.
He held it for a count of ten before letting his arms drop, panting slightly as the miniature storm dissipated around him.
Ding. Experience is full. Upgrade available.
The notification was a welcome chime. He pulled up his panel. Experience: 100/100.
He had a choice. One upgrade. Conqueror's, Armament, Observation, or the new Tornado skill. All were at Level 1.
His mind, ever tactical, weighed the options.
Conqueror's (Lv. 1 to Lv. 2): Its current intensity was likely little more than a faint pressure, useless for intimidation. An upgrade might make it a viable shock tactic, but not decisive.
Armament (Lv. 1 to Lv. 2): Would increase durability and striking power slightly, extend duration perhaps. A direct boost to his main offensive tool.
Tornado (Lv. 1 to Lv. 2): Stronger winds, longer duration? Useful, but still purely defensive.
Observation (Lv. 1 to Lv. 2): This was the key. At its peak, this Haki could perceive intent, sense lies, see seconds into the future, hear the very voice of the world. In the ninja world—a place of deception, ambush, and genjutsu—perception was survival. Strength meant nothing if you walked into a trap. He thought of the legends, of mighty figures brought low by trickery and betrayal. Forewarning was the ultimate advantage.
The choice crystallized. In a world of shadows, he needed to see them first.
"System," he whispered into the quiet dawn. "Upgrade Observation Haki."
Ding. Upgrade successful.
A wave of sensation, profound and disorienting, washed over him. It was as if a film had been scrubbed from his mind. He sat down heavily on the damp grass, closing his eyes.
The world exploded into detail.
He could hear the skittering of a beetle under a rock ten meters away. The rustle of a single leaf clinging to a branch across the small yard. The distant, rhythmic snores of a neighbor three houses down. He could feel the subtle vibrations in the earth from his own heartbeat. The flow of the predawn breeze became a tangible map across his skin.
And then—a disruption.
Rustle.
A soft, deliberate compression of grass. Not an animal. The footfall was too controlled, the presence too… focused.
His eyes snapped open, his hand flashing to his tool pouch and emerging with a kunai held in a reverse grip. Every nerve was alight. He stared, not with his eyes, but with his newfound sense, at the thick trunk of an ancient oak at the edge of the training ground.
"Who's there?" His voice cut through the morning stillness, sharp as the blade in his hand.
For two… three heartbeats, there was only the enhanced symphony of the waking world in his ears. Then, from behind the tree, a small, familiar voice, laced with guilt and surprise, answered.
"M-Mister Ragnar? It's me!"
A petite figure edged into view, her brilliant red hair a vivid splash of color against the grey-green bark. She looked sheepish, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.
"Kushina?" Ragnar's posture didn't relax, but the immediate, combat-ready tension bled away. The kunai vanished back into its pouch with a smooth, practiced motion. His upgraded senses had confirmed it moments before she spoke: no malice, only a nervous, childlike curiosity. But the fact remained—she had been watching him. And he had sensed her from behind a solid tree, in near darkness, from over twenty meters away.
Observation Haki, Level 2. It worked.
(End of Chapter)
✨✨I will release an extra chapter for every 5 reviews !!! ✨✨
Or
For every 50 power stones 🥳🥳