Chapter 120: Cards and Conspiracies
[Special Summoning Card: Yonko – "Kaido of the Beasts"]
[Type: Single-use Consumable]
[Usage Mode 1: Direct Summon. Summons the entity of the Four Emperors, Kaido, to the user's location. Duration: One (1) hour. The summoned entity possesses its full canonical power and personality but is under absolute, compelled obedience to the summoner for the duration.]
[Usage Mode 2: Fusion. The user fuses with the card, temporarily inheriting all of Kaido's abilities, physical traits, and combat mastery. Duration: Fifteen (15) minutes. All borrowed abilities vanish upon expiration.]
The information settled in Ragnar's mind. For the first time in a while, a flicker of genuine, analytical excitement crossed his impassive features.
A Yonko. Kaido.
He wasn't a simple giant, but a titan standing nearly twenty meters tall—a walking fortress of scale, muscle, and indomitable will. His reputation preceded him even in Ragnar's fragmented knowledge: the suicidal "Strongest Creature," a being whose greatest hobby was attempting to end his own unkillable life. Captured and executed by naval forces and rival pirates countless times, he always walked away, his monstrous durability and regenerative power the stuff of legend.
And his strength… it was apocalyptic. A single, bored swing of his club could alter landscapes. His transformed draconic breath could erase islands.
To summon such a force into the world of shinobi… the mental image was both terrifying and darkly exhilarating. A single hour of Kaido's unfettered, obedient rampage could likely end the Second Great Shinobi War by turning the Land of Rain into a smoldering crater. The political and psychological shockwaves would shatter the world order.
Hah. If I unleashed him in the coming battle, the entire shinobi world's understanding of 'power' would be rewritten overnight.
But the thought was merely an intellectual exercise. This was not a tool for dramatic, world-altering statements. This was a trump card. A final, absolute guarantee of survival or victory when all other options were exhausted. To waste it for mere shock value would be the height of stupidity.
He stored the card deep within his system inventory, a new, chilling weight in his arsenal. His foundations grew ever more unassailable.
Outside the Konoha Camp
The returning party, led by Jiraiya and including a subdued Orochimaru and a pale Nawaki, approached the camp perimeter. Tsunade was already there, a statue of tense anticipation.
The moment she spotted her brother's small figure amidst the group, she moved.
Shave!
She appeared before them in a blur of displaced air, her eyes instantly scanning Nawaki's face. Seeing his pallor, the lingering shock in his eyes, the dam of her worry broke. She pulled him into a fierce, crushing hug, the strength of it making him squeak.
"Nawaki!"
"I-I'm okay, sis," he managed, his voice muffled against her shoulder. He felt the tremor in her arms, the raw fear she was trying to smother, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. He'd promised not to be a burden.
"Tsunade! I told you I'd bring him back in one piece!" Jiraiya announced, puffing out his chest with his customary, lopsided grin, trying to inject some normalcy into the heavy atmosphere.
"Kuku…" Orochimaru's dry chuckle cut through the moment like a scalpel. "By the time you arrived, it would have been far too late."
Tsunade's head snapped up, her grip on Nawaki loosening slightly. "What does that mean?"
"It means, Tsunade," Orochimaru said, his voice a low, serious rasp, "that if Rakshasa had not arrived when he did—ahead of schedule, I might add—your brother would be a collection of fragments spread across a detonator tag crater. Even I had calculated the survival probability at that moment as negligible."
The color drained from Tsunade's face. She looked from Orochimaru's solemn expression to Jiraiya's suddenly awkward one.
"W-we were a little behind schedule," Jiraiya admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "But Rakshasa was there. He handled it."
"Sister, it was Rakshasa," Nawaki blurted out, the tears he'd been holding back finally spilling over. "He saved me. The explosion… I thought I was gone. He just… appeared."
"Rakshasa…" Tsunade breathed the name, a mixture of profound gratitude and a new, sharper worry slicing through her. Her eyes swept over the returning group again, counting. The imposing, crimson-masked figure was absent.
Her heart gave a painful lurch. "Where is he?" Her voice was tight.
The others exchanged uneasy glances. Jiraiya's expression turned strangely conflicted.
"Tsunade, don't… don't take this the wrong way," Jiraiya began, hesitantly.
"Where is Rakshasa?!" Tsunade demanded, taking a threatening step forward, her fear morphing into a rising, panicked anger. No. He can't be. Not after everything. Not after he promised—
"He… he went on ahead of us," Jiraiya said, then his face split into a huge, relieved grin. "Ha! Got you! He's fine! He probably got bored and came back to the camp hours ago! You should have seen your face!"
The emotional whiplash was violent. Tsunade stared at Jiraiya's beaming, idiotic face. The fear and relief curdled instantly into pure, unadulterated rage.
"YOU IDIOT!"
Her fist, a small, compact engine of the Strength of a Hundred, lashed out.
THWUMP!
Jiraiya didn't even have time to yelp. He shot backwards like a cannonball, plowed a shallow trench in the dirt for ten meters, and came to a stop with his torso buried in the earth up to his waist, his legs kicking feebly in the air.
Namikaze Minato, standing to the side, sighed deeply and covered his eyes with one hand. Sensei… why must you actively court death?
Orochimaru watched the spectacle with utter indifference. "As I said. Too late, and entirely useless."
Tsunade ignored the groaning lump in the ground. She turned to Orochimaru, her voice lower. "He's really back? He's unharmed?"
"He returned to camp ahead of us. He is, undoubtedly, fine. We were… largely spectators to his work," Orochimaru confirmed, a hint of something like respect in his tone.
Tsunade let out a long, shaky breath, the last of the adrenaline leaving her. The brat was safe. Both of them were. She'd find Ragnar later and… she didn't know what she'd do. Scold him? Thank him? Probably both.
After a thorough check-up with her medical ninjutsu to ensure Nawaki had no hidden injuries or psychological trauma (finding only exhaustion and shock), she sent him to rest. The group dispersed, the weight of the day settling on them in different ways.
Later, In the Camp
Jiraiya, having excavated himself, dusted off his clothes and made his way to Orochimaru's tent. He found the Snake Sannin already there, organizing scrolls with meticulous, silent focus.
"Hey, Orochimaru," Jiraiya said, leaning against the tent pole, his usual bravado somewhat subdued by the day's events.
Orochimaru didn't look up. "What is it?"
The air was awkward. Jiraiya cleared his throat. "So… about Rakshasa. His strength is… well, you saw it. It's in a league of its own. But who is he? A ninja that powerful doesn't just spring from nowhere. I know everyone in Konoha who's anyone. He's a ghost."
"That information is classified at the highest level, Jiraiya," Orochimaru replied, his voice flat. "Compartmentalized. Need-to-know."
"Come on, Orochimaru! We're brothers! Fellow students! Our bond is unbreakable!" Jiraiya wheedled, attempting to throw an arm around Orochimaru's shoulders in a show of camaraderie.
Orochimaru sidestepped the gesture with serpentine ease, giving Jiraiya a sidelong glance of utter disdain. "Our 'bond' does not override operational security. If you are so curious, why not ask Captain Hatake?"
"He's the ANBU Commander! He'd tell me less than you would!"
"Kuku…" A slow, knowing smile spread across Orochimaru's pale face. It was a smile that saw through layers of deception and understood the inevitable flow of events. "In that case, there is no need to trouble yourself. I suspect… it will not be long before the true identity of 'Rakshasa' becomes known to you. Of its own accord."
The statement was cryptic, final, and carried the chilling certainty of a prophecy. Orochimaru turned back to his scrolls, the conversation clearly over.
Jiraiya stood there, frustrated and intrigued. The mystery of the crimson mask deepened, but Orochimaru's words hinted that the mask itself might not stay on for much longer. The war was escalating. Secrets, like everything else, had a shelf life on the battlefield.
(End of Chapter)
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