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Chapter 11: The Sound of Breaking Bone (BONUS CHAPTER )
"Gah—!"
Uchiha Shirou's scream was strangled, forced back into a pained gasp. He stumbled backwards, clutching his ruined right hand—now a swollen, misshapen lump of agony—against his chest. That single, casual-seeming punch had felt like striking a block of forged tungsten. An impossible, crushing force had flowed through it, shattering his defensive chakra and the bones beneath as if they were glass.
Is this… a student's strength? The thought was a dizzying spike of panic.
Ragnar retracted his fist, his expression unreadable. Three months ago, his full-powered Armament strike had dispersed a C-rank ninjutsu. This Uchiha chunin, for all his pride, was not a fireball. His body was flesh and bone. The gap in sheer, fortified power was absolute.
Furthermore, all Three Haki had ascended to Level 2. The qualitative leap in potency was profound. Against Uchiha Tsuki, it might have been lethal. That Shirou still stood was a testament to a chunin's superior baseline durability. Ragnar had held back, testing the waters. He still had power in reserve.
"You damned brat!" Shirou snarled, the pain in his hand fueling a towering, humiliated rage. The curious, fearful glances from the few civilians still lingering on the street's edge were like brands on his skin. To be seen, a full-fledged chunin of the noble Uchiha, being forced back by a scrawny academy refugee… it was intolerable.
I'll kill you. The thought was a red-black pulse in his brain. He launched forward again, this time leading with a vicious, chakra-enhanced kick. Taijutsu only, for now. Even the Uchiha wouldn't dare unleash destructive ninjutso in the heart of the village, not with civilians nearby. It was a thin constraint, but it existed.
Ragnar welcomed it. Three months of hellish training, of blood, sweat, and relentless self-breakdown had forged a new body. He met the kick with a hardened shin.
Boom!
The impact was a dull, concussive thud that vibrated in the cobblestones. Air whipped out from the clash.
Shirou grimaced. Even with chakra reinforcing his limb, the contact felt like kicking a steel beam. A jarring, bone-deep shock ran up his leg. The exchange continued, a blur of strikes and parries. Each block, each counter from Ragnar sent fresh waves of numbing pain through Shirou's arms and legs. It was like fighting a mobile, sentient anvil.
Why is he so dense? His technique is basic, but… Shirou's Sharingan whirled, the single tomoe analyzing Ragnar's movements, predicting the angles of his attacks with flawless clarity. He saw the openings. He aimed for them.
And yet, every time, in the split-second before his strike landed, Ragnar would shift—a minuscule tilt, a slight lean—just enough to let the attack brush harmlessly past or deflect off a newly-hardened limb. It was infuriating, unnatural. The Sharingan saw the how of the taijutsu. Ragnar's Observation Haki felt the intent behind it, the micro-tensions in muscle a fraction of a second before they acted. One was reaction to visible form; the other was pre-emption of invisible will.
Ragnar himself was flowing into the rhythm. In his mind, Uchiha Shirou began to blur, transforming into another iron-wrapped training post. His punches grew more confident, his footwork more grounded. A fierce, burning focus consumed him. This was live combat, a far better crucible than wood and metal.
"HAH!"
With a sharp exhalation, he gathered himself. His body coiled like a spring, his right fist drawing back. Level 2 Armament surged, not just coating but compacting, focusing all his power, all his will, into a single point at his knuckles. The air around his fist seemed to waver with heat haze.
He unleashed it. A straight, devastating punch aimed not to trick, but to obliterate.
WHOOSH—BANG!
Uchiha Shirou's eyes widened. All he saw was a black, glistening fist, trailing steam, filling his vision. The sheer, annihilating force behind it stole his breath. Instinct screamed. He crossed his arms in a desperate, chakra-hardened guard over his chest.
The impact was not a sound so much as a feeling of profound rupture.
CRUNCH-THUD.
Shirou was airborne. A spray of blood and spit misted the air as he was launched backwards. He hit the cobblestones ten feet away with a sickening skid, rolling to a stop in a groaning heap.
A collective, sharp inhale came from the scattering of villagers. The pity in their eyes had been replaced by sheer, dumbfounded awe. A chunin… beaten down by a child?
Ragnar stood, fist still extended, then slowly lowered it. He felt no triumph. He had exploited a limitation—the prohibition on ninjutsu in crowded streets—and his own abnormal physical power. This was not a true measure of a chunin's capability.
*Ding. Experience +20.*
*Ding. Experience +10.*
*Ding. Experience +40.*
The notifications chimed, a rapid, satisfying cadence. His experience bar leapt from 300/1000 to 450/1000. Fighting stronger opponents yields more, he noted clinically. A dangerous, tempting path.
"I'LL KILL YOU!"
The roar was ragged, wet with blood and fury. Uchiha Shirou pushed himself up. One of his arms hung at a wrong angle, but his eyes burned with a mad, hateful light. The thin restraint of location had snapped under the weight of his humiliation. His hands flew through seals—Ram, Boar, Snake, Ram, Horse, Tiger.
"Fire Release: Great Fireball Technique!"
This was not a schoolyard display. This was a chunin's killing intent made flame. The sphere of chakra-fed fire that roared forth was larger, hotter, more savage than his brother's. It filled the narrow street, washing the buildings in hellish orange light. Civilians screamed, scrambling for cover. The law of Konoha, the safety of the village—in this moment of twisted pride, they meant nothing to him.
The inferno rushed at Ragnar, the heat blistering his face. He didn't move. His mind was calm, calculating. He could disperse it again. A full-power Armament strike might do it. But it would reveal too much, drain him. And there was another factor…
As the fireball closed to within ten feet, a new voice cut through the roar, cool and authoritative.
"Water Release: Water Dragon Bullet!"
The ground at the mouth of the alley erupted. A serpentine coil of pressurized water materialized from the cobblestones and shot forward, its maw gaping. It met the fireball head-on.
SSSSSSSSSS-BOOM!
A cataclysmic hiss of steam exploded outward, blanketing the entire street in a thick, hot fog. The two jutsu annihilated each other in a violent burst of scalding mist.
When the vapor thinned, a new figure stood between Ragnar and the furious Uchiha. Clad in the standard black and grey of the Anbu, face hidden behind a blank, porcelain-white mask with red markings. Ragnar had felt his presence minutes ago—a watchful, neutral pressure on the edge of his Observation field. He'd held back for this reason.
"Uchiha Shirou," the Anbu's voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but carrying the full weight of the Hokage's authority. "Engaging in combat and using lethal ninjutsu within village borders is a direct violation. Explain yourself."
Shirou, panting, his face a mask of pain and fury, glared past the Anbu at Ragnar. "This is no brawl! I am a captain of the Konoha Military Police! This creature is a refugee from a hostile village. I have reason to believe he is a spy. I was attempting to detain him for questioning, and he resisted with extreme violence!" The lies came easily, woven from entitlement and spite.
Ragnar said nothing. His cold gaze held Shirou's, a silent promise of future reckoning.
"Spies are handled by Intelligence or Anbu," the masked ninja stated, his tone leaving no room for debate. "The Military Police requires Hokage-sama's direct authorization for arrests beyond its standard purview. You have none. Stand down."
Shirou's jaw worked. He was arrogant, not suicidal. Directly confronting an Anbu operative was a line even he wouldn't cross. The Hokage's personal shadows were a different kind of power entirely.
"Tch. Fine," he spat, the sound dripping with venom. He turned his burning, hate-filled eyes back to Ragnar. "Consider yourself lucky, rat. This isn't over." With a last, seething glare, he turned and stalked away, cradling his broken arm, disappearing into the still-dissipating steam.
The Anbu operative didn't watch him go. He half-turned, the blank face of his mask regarding Ragnar for a long, silent moment. The steam coiled around him like a ghost.
Finally, he spoke, his voice still neutral, but with an undercurrent Ragnar couldn't quite decipher. "You handled yourself… adequately. The organization always has need of individuals with… resolve."
Then, with a soft puff of displaced air, he was gone, leaving Ragnar alone on the steam-dampened street, the smell of ozone and scorched stone hanging in the air, and the grim understanding that the Uchiha's attention had just escalated from a grudge to a hunt.
(End of Chapter)
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