Chapter 10: The Web and the Wasp
In the heart of Konoha, the Hokage Tower stood as a silent sentinel. Within its highest office, the air was thick with the smell of tobacco and old paper. Third Hokage Sarutobi Hiruzen drew thoughtfully on his pipe, the smoke wreathing his weathered face as he listened to the report.
The Anbu operative, masked and half-kneeling, finished his concise summary. "...the refugee Ragnar, survivor of the border village incident. He decisively defeated Uchiha Tsuki in an Academy spar."
Hiruzen exhaled a slow stream of smoke. "The boy from the Sand-nin skirmish. And he beat an Uchiha with a Sharingan."
"Yes, Hokage-sama. Initial analysis suggests a possible kekkei genkai, a form of enhanced physical strength. He physically withstood and dispersed a C-rank Fireball Jutsu."
"A physical kekkei genkai? Similar to Tsunade's monstrous strength?" Hiruzen mused, his eyes distant for a moment. "Maintain observation. For now."
"Hai!" The Anbu vanished in a silent shunshin.
The operative had not been specifically assigned to watch a lone refugee boy. His mission was to monitor the increasingly restless Uchiha clan. Ragnar had simply blundered into the periphery of that watchful gaze. In recent years, the Uchiha's arrogance had grown, their pride curdling into something darker. Hiruzen was no fool; Anbu shadows lingered wherever the clan's influence pooled.
As for Ragnar himself, the Hokage felt only a flicker of mild interest. A physical-based bloodline was potent, but not unique. It paled beside the potential of his own student, Tsunade. And the boy was, ultimately, an outsider. His value was measured in utility, not kinship.
Simultaneously, in a place where light never reached—the subterranean labyrinth known as the Root—another report was delivered.
The figure of Danzo Shimura was a deeper patch of shadow amongst the gloom. A Root operative with a fox mask knelt before him, voice a emotionless monotone.
"Ragnar… interesting," Danzo's voice rasped, a dry leaf scraping stone. "Continue surveillance. If he survives the Uchiha's inevitable retaliation… assess him for recruitment. He could be a useful blade to twist in a certain clan's heart."
"Hai." The fox-masked ninja disappeared, leaving Danzo alone with his ambitions and the pervasive chill of the underground.
Ragnar, of course, was oblivious to the twin gazes now resting upon him from Konoha's highest peaks and its deepest shadows. His world remained the brutal trinity of training, school, and survival.
Three months passed. The seasons began their subtle turn, and the boy who had faced down a fireball was no longer the same. The constant, grinding pressure had tempered him, and the steady influx of experience from his relentless regimen had borne fruit.
He called up his panel:
Host: Ragnar
Abilities:
Conqueror's Haki - Lv. 2
Observation Haki - Lv. 2
Armament Haki - Lv. 2
Tornado (Skill) - Lv. 2
(Upgrade to next level requires: 1000 Experience Points)
Experience: 300/1000
Three months of deceptive peace. The Uchiha had been quiet, a silence that felt like a drawn bowstring. Ragnar knew it wouldn't last.
Before dawn on a crisp morning, in his usual spot before the scarred training post, he pushed his body to its screaming limits. His fists and feet were a blur against the post's surface—a surface he had modified, layering strips of scavenged sheet metal over the wood to increase the resistance.
Four hundred ninety-eight. Four hundred ninety-nine. Five hundred.
The impacts were sharp, metallic clangs, not the dull thuds of wood. To any onlooker, it would seem like madness—a child willingly battering his flesh against unyielding iron. But Ragnar was not normal. The Three Haki, as they leveled, were catalyzing a fundamental change in his physiology. Strength, density, resilience—all were climbing on a steep, unnatural curve. The bruises and splits he earned each evening were often faded to nothing by the next dawn, a regenerative ability that hinted at something beyond mere toughness.
After training, he washed, the cold water biting against his heated skin, and prepared for another day at the Academy. The morning streets of Konoha were vibrant, shops opening, villagers smiling. The illusion of peace was strongest here, in the heart of the village.
Hn?
His pace didn't falter, but internally, every sense snapped to alert. Observation Haki, now at Level 2, prickled at the edge of his consciousness—a wave of concentrated, venomous malice, aimed directly at him.
He changed course, turning down a less-traveled side street, intending to loop around. He hadn't taken ten steps before a figure stepped from the mouth of an alley, blocking his path.
It was a young man, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. He wore the standard Konoha chunin flak jacket over his clothes, a forehead protector tied around his bicep. His posture was relaxed, arrogant. His eyes, as they found Ragnar, held a cold, unconcealed disdain that twisted his features.
The people on the street noticed him, and a subtle wave of unease passed through them. Their eyes flicked to the prominent red and white fan emblazoned on the back of his jacket. Conversations hushed. Steps quickened. The Uchiha were respected, feared, and widely disliked. Their control over the Military Police made them a power to avoid.
"Scram, scram!"
"He's after that kid…"
"Don't get involved."
"Poor thing, tangling with an Uchiha…"
Ragnar ignored the whispers. His gaze was locked on the chunin. "If you have no business, move," he said, his voice flat.
"You're that stray pup Konoha took in, aren't you?" the chunin said, looking down his nose at Ragnar as if examining something unpleasant stuck to his sandal. "The one who got lucky."
The malice radiating from him was a physical pressure against Ragnar's heightened senses. Uchiha.
"You're with the clan. Uchiha Tsuki's kin?" Ragnar asked, though he already knew the answer.
"I am Uchiha Shirou. Tsuki is my younger brother." Shirou stated it like a title of nobility. "You injured him. A debt is owed."
"What debt?"
"An arm. A leg. That should suffice," Shirou said, the words casual, as if discussing the weather. A magnanimous offer from his elevated position.
Ragnar stared at him for a long second. Then a cold, mirthless smirk touched his lips. "Is your head full of dirt?"
The insult landed with the force of a slap. The polite, fearful veneer of the street shattered.
"You little bastard!" Uchiha Shirou's composure cracked. Anger, bright and hot, flooded his face. He didn't bother with weapons or hand signs. He simply stepped forward and threw a heavy, contemptuous punch aimed at Ragnar's face—a chunin's strike meant to humiliate and break.
Ragnar didn't dodge. He didn't flinch. His own right fist shot forward to meet it, mid-air.
Armament. Hardening.
The transformation was instant, a wave of darkness that swept from his shoulder to his knuckles just before impact. But this was Level 2 Armament. It wasn't just a coating; it was a compression, a forging of will into a density that sang with power.
CRACK.
The sound was not of two fists meeting, but of one solid object meeting something brittle.
Uchiha Shirou's expression of arrogant fury vanished, replaced by a split-second of utter, stunned disbelief. Then agony erupted. A sharp, sickening crunch echoed in the sudden silence of the street as the bones in his hand and wrist gave way under the catastrophic force.
"AAAAAGH!"
Shirou's scream was a raw, animal thing. He staggered back, clutching his mangled, already-swelling hand to his chest, his face pale with shock and pain. He stared at Ragnar, then at his own ruined fist, the reality of what just happened too vast, too impossible to immediately process.
Ragnar slowly lowered his own fist, the black sheen melting away to reveal unmarked skin. He hadn't even shifted his stance. He looked from Shirou's horrified face to the gathering, wide-eyed crowd, then back to the injured chunin.
The silent peace was over. The wasp had stung. And the hive would now respond in earnest.
(End of Chapter)
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