Chapter 44: The Unseen Burden and a New Power
"The foundation of mastering the physical arts is a strong body," Might Dai explained, his usual exuberance tempered by seriousness. "This is especially true for the Eight Inner Gates. Without a body forged like tempered steel, it's impossible to even open the Sixth Gate, let alone survive it."
He poked at the fire with a stick, the embers casting flickering shadows on his face. "Lord Ragnar, I am just an eternal genin. My monthly stipend is… minimal. It's difficult to get missions approved. The intense training I do…" He paused, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "It leaves many hidden injuries. So, the Gates can only be maintained for a very short time. The Seventh Gate… it is possible to open. But the backlash would be…" He didn't finish, but the grim set of his jaw said enough. It would be catastrophic.
Ragnar listened in silence. He understood. Power always demanded a price, a sacrifice incomprehensible to the ordinary. The Eight Gates were the ultimate expression of that truth—a suicide technique masquerading as a trump card. He remembered fragmented knowledge from his old world: a green-clad monster kicking a god-like being half to death. That power came from a lifetime of grinding, hidden agony.
"Dai," Ragnar said after a moment, his voice low. "When we return to the village, if they ask about this mission… tell them you killed all the Kirigakure ninja. Every last one."
Might Dai's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "What? How could I? That's a lie! Most of them were killed by you, Lord Ragnar! I cannot steal your glory—it would be a betrayal of my youth!"
"You need the recognition more than I do," Ragnar stated flatly, cutting through Dai's protest. "You need the mission reward, the promotion, the improved standing. I heard you have a son on the way. Do you want him to grow up with the same struggles? To be called the son of the 'Eternal Genin'?"
The words struck Dai like physical blows. His eyes, already damp with emotion, welled up. The thought of his unborn son, little Guy, facing the same mockery, the same desperate poverty… It was a fear that haunted his brightest dreams.
"Wuuuuh…!" A ragged, heartfelt sob escaped him. He cried openly, shoulders shaking. To find someone who understood his struggle, who would offer such a profound sacrifice for his sake… In that moment, Might Dai felt a bond deeper than any he'd known. If you have such a comrade in life, you can die without regrets! His youthful spirit, so often dampened by hardship, blazed anew with fierce, grateful fire.
To Ragnar, it was a slightly unnerving sight—a grown man weeping passionately before him. But it cemented his assessment: Might Dai was genuine to his core, a man of unshakeable loyalty and simple, powerful emotions.
"Alright, alright. The fish is turning to charcoal," Ragnar said, nudging the conversation back to practicality.
Dai snapped to attention, wiping his face with a rough sleeve, his smile returning, brighter than before. He quickly handed Ragnar the best-cooked fish. They ate in companionable silence, the only sounds the crackling fire and the rushing waterfall.
After they'd finished, a pile of clean-picked fish bones between them, Ragnar spoke again. "We'll rest a while longer, then head back to Konoha." A persistent unease gnawed at him, a faint prickling at the edge of his Observation Haki that spoke of unresolved danger.
"Understood!" Dai replied, his voice firm with renewed purpose.
Using the rest time, Ragnar focused inward. The Silver Treasure Chest awaited. Logically, after such a intense battle, the rewards should be significant. But a Silver Chest suggested a powerful, but not world-altering, prize.
He visualized the chest in his system space. It opened with a soft, metallic click, spilling forth a radiant white light. Hovering within was a card edged in silver. As he focused on it, the image resolved: within the card's frame, countless slashes of white sword energy crisscrossed in a violent, beautiful maelstrom, a whirlwind of cutting force that seemed to tear at the very image.
One Sword Style: Thirty-Six Pound Phoenix!
The knowledge flowed into him instantly—the footwork, the grip, the precise angle and explosive motion required to generate a tornado of cutting power with a single blade. It was a perfected technique, one of Roronoa Zoro's signature moves, now etched into Ragnar's muscle memory as if he'd practiced it for a decade.
Perfect timing, he thought, glancing at the demonic sword Yama sheathed at his side. A sword needed techniques to become more than a sharp club.
He pulled up his status panel.
Host: Ragnar
Abilities: Conqueror's Haki Lv3, Observation Haki Lv3, Armament Haki Lv3, Tornado Lv3, Shave Lv3, Moon Walk Lv3, Thirty-Six Pound Phoenix Lv1. (10,000 EXP to next level)
Devil Fruit: Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Phoenix Lv3 (10,000 EXP to next level)
Weapon: Yama (Demon Blade)
Experience: 15,800/10,000
He had a surplus. Without hesitation, he allocated 1,100 EXP.
*Thirty-Six Pound Phoenix → Lv3.*
Remaining EXP: 14,700.
Now came the real choice. With over 10,000 EXP in reserve, he could upgrade a core ability. The Hakis were powerful, but their Lv3 forms were already formidable. His immediate weakness, as Sakumo had noted, was a lack of overwhelming, large-scale power. The Phoenix Fruit offered that potential.
Strength first. Always.
"Upgrade Devil Fruit to Level 4."
10,000 EXP Deducted.
Tori Tori no Mi, Model: Phoenix → Lv4.
Remaining EXP: 4,700.
The change was instantaneous and internal. A surge of power, hot and wild, erupted from his core. Where before the blue flames had been a tool, an extension of his will, they now felt like a living, roaring inferno within him, eager to be unleashed. The gentle regeneration he'd experienced intensified; he could feel micro-tears in his muscles from the earlier fight knitting together at a visible pace.
Externally, the air around him wavered. The temperature in the small clearing spiked abruptly.
Might Dai, who was checking his gear, yelped and scooted back. "Lord Ragnar! Is it just me, or did it get really hot all of a sudden?"
Ragnar took a slow, deep breath, exerting control. The internal inferno settled, banked like a furnace. The ambient heat faded. "Did it?" he said, opening his eyes. They seemed to glow with a faint, blue ember for a second before returning to normal. "Must be the fire. We should move."
The two set out as dusk began to paint the sky in purples and oranges. At their pace, even traveling through the dense Fire Country forest, they would reach Konoha by morning if they moved through the night. Their enhanced stamina made it feasible.
However, a few hours into their journey, under the cloak of true night, Ragnar's Observation Haki pinged a sharp, discordant warning. He stopped instantly on a high branch, holding up a fist.
"Lord Ragnar?" Dai whispered, landing silently beside him.
"Something's off ahead. Too quiet after the river. We go by ground from here."
They descended, moving with more caution. The forest floor was a mess of disturbed earth and broken foliage. Then they saw the signs: dark splashes of blood on leaves, a discarded kunai with a broken tip, a torn piece of fabric with a Konoha insignia.
Finally, they found the source. Three bodies in the distinctive animal masks and armor of Konoha ANBU lay in a small, brutalized clearing. Their masks were cracked, their postures telling a story of a sudden, vicious ambush.
Rustle!
A black shape erupted from a thick bush to their right, lunging with desperate speed!
"I've got it!" Dai yelled, reflexes honed by a lifetime of being underestimated. He spun, the powerful muscles of his leg driving a savage "Konoha Whirlwind!" towards the shadow.
Ragnar's Observation Haki had parsed the shape a fraction of a second faster. It wasn't an attacker.
"Dai, wait—!"
Too late. Dai's foot connected with a sickening thud. The black shape—a slender figure in torn, bloodstained ANBU gear, without a mask—was kicked like a ragdoll across the clearing. They hit a tree trunk and slid down, unmoving.
(End of Chapter)
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