CHAPTER 144: THE BUTCHER'S TRUTH
BOOM!
The sound that followed the Golden Buddha's palm striking the earth was primordial—like the fist of a creator god pounding the anvil of the world. It wasn't just an impact; it was a seismic event. The ground rippled in visible waves, deep, jagged fissures snaking outwards for hundreds of meters. Every ninja on the battlefield, friend and foe, felt the tremor in their bones, a thunderclap that seemed to originate in their own skulls.
Konoha and Iwa forces, locked in their own desperate struggle, froze mid-clash, heads whipping towards the source of the cataclysm. A single palm. A compassionate, serene smile on a golden face. And beneath it, the earth itself was made to kneel and shatter.
This power… it had left the realm of human conflict. The sixty-meter colossus was a force of nature, a divine judgment made manifest.
The shockwaves from the Buddha's palm didn't just travel across the surface; they plunged into the depths of the earth. Soil, stone, and bedrock were pulverized in an instant, turning the ground into a treacherous, collapsing slurry.
Before the battle, Chiyo, ever the tactician, had ordered Suna ninja with digging puppets to burrow underground, creating a network of tunnels for ambushes and reinforcements. It was a classic Suna stratagem.
But against Ragnar's indiscriminate, tectonic fury, it became a death trap.
As the earth convulsed and collapsed, a series of muffled, final roars echoed from below. The tunnels caved in completely, the irresistible pressure wave from above crushing them flat. The ninjas lying in wait underground didn't have time to scream. They were simply erased, compressed into nothingness within the grinding stone.
The death toll from Ragnar's actions could no longer be counted in tens. It was in the hundreds, swiftly approaching a thousand. Chiyo's legend spoke of her Ten Puppets defeating a thousand soldiers. Those 'soldiers' were likely conscripts, not shinobi. Yet here, before their eyes, a single being was accomplishing a feat of similar scale, but against trained ninja. It was a record of slaughter that would etch his name into the darkest annals of shinobi history.
But for Ragnar, it wasn't about glory or record. It was arithmetic. Killing is the fastest path to strength. Every life extinguished was experience points, fuel for his system's terrifying engine.
The Golden Buddha, a symbol of compassion and enlightenment, now felt like a grotesque parody. Its serene smile, viewed through the lens of the carnage below, seemed twisted, mocking. The heart of the god was cold, its actions merciless.
A chilling silence, thick as the settling dust, blanketed the field. It was broken by a sound that was pure, undiluted agony.
"AKAHOSHI! MY SON!"
The shriek was Chiyo's. The battlefield was a shattered mess of churned earth, rocks, and broken bodies. Amidst the chaos, the Suna elder knelt in the mud, cradling a limp form. The red-haired young man who had rallied them, her son, Akahoshi.
Caught in the periphery of the Buddha's shockwave, his luck had run out. His chest was a concave ruin, ribs shattered, organs pulverized. Blood seeped from his lips and ears, painting his pale face a ghastly crimson. He was already more corpse than man.
"Mother…" The word was a wet, fading sigh. The light in his eyes dimmed, guttered, and went out.
Chiyo, a master of medical ninjutsu second only to her puppetry, poured chakra into his still form with desperate, trembling hands. Her lips moved soundlessly, begging, commanding life to return. But the flow of energy met only stillness. The heartbeat she sought had already fallen silent. She was filling a vessel that was broken beyond repair.
Her son, her flesh and blood, was gone.
She refused to believe it. She kept pumping chakra, her own body shaking with the effort, tears carving clean paths through the grime on her face. But the body in her arms only grew colder.
"NO! NO! NOOOOO!"
The wail that tore from her throat was the sound of a soul being shredded. The world's greatest sorrow—a parent burying a child. Her son, so young, with a new wife and a child waiting at home. The promise of a peaceful future after the war, a simple family happiness… all shattered in an instant. Her world, built over decades, collapsed into ash and blood.
"Lady Chiyo…" a wounded Suna jonin nearby whispered, his own face a mask of shared grief.
From his throne within the Golden Buddha, Ragnar watched. He had been about to deliver another blow, but he paused, observing the scene of maternal devastation below.
His amplified voice rang out, calm, analytical, and utterly devoid of empathy.
"Does it hurt?"
"Does it fill you with despair?"
"Does it make you burn with rage?"
Each question was a needle of ice driven into the heart of the mourning. He slowly retracted the Buddha's giant hand.
"In the grand scheme," he mused aloud, the words carrying to every ear, "it is… efficient."
His tone shifted, becoming one of cold, disdainful observation. "How pitiful. This 'family bond' you cling to."
"Is this what a ninja is?"
"Pathetic. All of you."
He swept his gaze—and the Buddha's gaze—across the shattered, hate-filled faces of the enemy.
"Hah!" A short, derisive laugh escaped him. "People like you… you speak of bonds? Of family? You understand nothing." Chiyo's voice rose, a hoarse, hate-filled croak. "You are just a butcher! A mindless killer!"
"BUTCHER!"
"BUTCHER!"
"BUTCHER!"
The cry was taken up, a ragged chorus of pain and fury from the surviving Iwa and Suna ninja. They pointed, they screamed, they united in their hatred for this golden demon. He was the villain of their story, the monster against whom their sacrifice was justified.
Ragnar listened to the chant. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, visible even within the Buddha's glow.
"'Butcher.' I like that name. It fits."
His voice dropped, losing its divine echo, becoming colder, sharper, more personal. "You speak of bonds? Of not regretting death? Living in this world as you do… it is the mistake."
"HOW DARE YOU?!"
"YOU DENY THE NINJA WAY!"
"TRAITOR!"
"YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE A SHINOBI!"
The accusations flew, born of outrage and a desperate need to categorize his evil as something alien.
Then Ragnar's expression smoothed into one of absolute, chilling calm. He began to speak, his voice flat, a simple narration of facts.
"A year ago, this 'butcher' was a child. Not a shinobi. A child in a small, nameless village on Konoha's border. A peaceful place. No ninja. A haven."
He paused, letting the image form.
"Then you came. You and your 'noble' wars, your 'justified' conflicts over borders and resources. Your shinobi descended on that village one night. Not for strategy. Not for a military target. For… what? Sport? Practice? Elimination of 'potential witnesses'?"
His voice remained even, but a undercurrent of something dark and frozen ran beneath it.
"They slaughtered everyone. Men, women, children. The elderly in their beds. They burned the homes. They left nothing but ashes and silence."
He looked directly at Chiyo, then at the massed enemies.
"What you don't know… is that they missed one. A single survivor, hiding in the ashes, covered in the blood of his neighbors."
He let the silence hang, heavy and awful.
"That survivor stands before you now."
"You speak to me of bonds? Of family?"
"You took mine. You burned it. You turned it into your training ground."
"So do not preach to me about the sanctity of your loved ones. Do not weep to me about your losses."
"The blood on my hands started with the blood you spilled on my doorstep."
"Today…"
The Golden Buddha's eyes seemed to glow brighter.
"...I am just returning the favor."
(End of Chapter)
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