Now clad in traditional Ninshu robes, Shiraishi had to admit that the attire's aesthetic was far more sophisticated than the utilitarian fashion of the modern Hidden Sand.
While most shinobi gear was designed strictly for survival on the battlefield, the Ninshu garments possessed an elegant, timeless quality.
"This blade was once a gift from my father," Asura said. "Though forged from ordinary materials, it accompanied me through half a lifetime of cultivation.
Having bathed in the essence of natural life within this barrier for so long, it should be... adequate."
Adequate was an understatement.
The moment Shiraishi's fingers closed around the Sage's Sword, a torrential flood of chakra surged through his meridians.
The sheer pressure of the energy caused his face to turn deathly pale as the power threatened to overwhelm him.
"Steady your mind. Do not let the blade's power lead you astray," Asura warned, placing a calming hand on Shiraishi's shoulder.
Following Asura's instructions, Shiraishi struggled to keep his grip on the divine weapon. Just as his strength began to fail, the shattered remnants of the Silver Blade at his waist began to vibrate, emitting a low, resonant hum.
The familiar "encouragement" from his old companion sent a wave of warmth through Shiraishi's heart. Asura nodded approvingly. "Believe in yourself, and believe in your comrades. Sacrificing one side to perfect the other is not the Path you seek."
The outcome of the battle at Kikyo Mountain had become a chronic ache in Shiraishi's soul. The crushing weight of guilt and self-blame was exactly what had driven his reckless impulse during the fight with the Hidden Mist.
What is it that I truly seek? He asked himself.
To become the Kazekage, to bring prosperity to the Land of Wind—that was his immediate goal. Beyond that, his grander ideal was to find a way to unify the shinobi world and end this era of chaos.
Asura, though seemingly carefree, possessed a keen insight into the human heart. He did not want this descendant of Ninshu to lose his way through obsession or narrow-mindedness.
"Hold onto the love in your heart; that is where true strength lies. That love must be extended to others, but you must also keep a portion of it for yourself."
Under Asura's guidance, Shiraishi entered a state of deep reflection. As he let go of his pain, the Sage's Sword began to shift, morphing into the familiar shape of his Silver Blade. The shattered fragments at his waist dissolved into motes of light, flowing into the new weapon.
"I told you—have faith in your companions," Asura smiled.
The Sage's Sword remained the Sage's Sword, but the weight and "feel" of it were now identical to the blade Shiraishi had carried for years. The original Silver Blade had vanished, but it lived on, reborn within this transcendent weapon.
Shiraishi gripped the new Silver Blade and delivered an experimental swing. A massive, crescent-shaped vortex of wind erupted, shearing through the surrounding forest with terrifying ease. The sheer destructive force was several times greater than anything he had produced before.
This power...
Thwack! Asura delivered a sharp flick to Shiraishi's forehead. "Your control is still abysmal!"
To Shiraishi, the crescent gale was a masterpiece of power. To Asura, it was crude, wasteful, and lacked any semblance of finesse.
As the second son of the Sage of Six Paths, Asura's Ninshu focused on harmony with nature—perfectly balancing internal and natural energy.
In his eyes, Shiraishi's technique was a vulgar display of squandered chakra.
"From now on, no more shortcuts. No more using that strange mental stimulation of yours," Asura commanded. "Sit. Meditate. We start with the basics of chakra extraction."
Asura's tutelage began at the very foundation. As the ancestor of the Senju and Uzumaki clans, his depth of understanding was unparalleled in the history of the shinobi world.
Shiraishi sat cross-legged atop the surface of a vast, shimmering lake. As he extracted his chakra, he was forbidden from causing even a single ripple. The water had to remain as still as a mirror.
Back in the outside world, the connection between the Human Puppet Shiraishi and the original body had been severed once again. However, before the link died, the puppet knew the original had entered the deeper layers of the Asura Forest barrier.
In the Hidden Sand camp, Pakura's situation was growing dire. The Hidden Mist had intensified their offensive, and the Sand's position beneath a massive waterfall was a tactical nightmare.
If the Mist initiated a Great Waterfall Technique, the Sand camp would be obliterated by the deluge.
Sure enough, that night, Fuguki Suikazan and Juzo Biwa led the Mist forces in a massive coordinated strike.
"Water Style: Great Waterfall Technique!"
A violent wall of water crashed down from the heights. But just as the flood was about to hit, the ground beneath the Sand camp flared with glowing barrier seals.
"Earth Style: Earth-Style Wall!"
This wasn't a standard jutsu; it was an advanced tactical barrier Shiraishi had once used at Kikyo Mountain.
The puppet Shiraishi had deployed four earth clones at the cardinal points, manifesting a massive fortress of stone that rose from the earth.
The surging water hit the stone ramparts and was deflected back toward the Mist ninjas.
Damn it! Fuguki cursed.
While the Hidden Mist was a Great Power, they rarely fought Earth Style specialists, save for their historical skirmishes with the Hidden Stone.
They had assumed that with Shiraishi "dead," no one in the Sand camp could pull off such a high-level defense. This confirmed their worst fear: The Black Mist Shiraishi was still alive.
As the water receded, a strike team led by Maki launched a counterattack. Transformed into a minotaur-like juggernaut, she swung her massive polearm, reaping through the Mist's front lines.
Shiraishi...
Maki watched the puppet from a distance. Ever since his "return," he had acted perfectly normal. But her intuition told her something was wrong.
Though the face and the chakra signature were identical, this didn't feel like the man she knew.
The puppet Shiraishi, sensing her gaze, felt a pang of mechanical regret. He was glad she could tell the difference, yet he feared her worrying about the original's safety.
"Everything will be fine," the puppet said softly, offering a hollow comfort.
"Thank you..." Maki whispered, though her eyes remained shadowed.
The Mist ninjas quickly regrouped. Despite the setback, they were masters of water; they simply used the sodden battlefield to their advantage.
Fuguki Suikazan clashed with Pakura, his sentient blade Samehada shrieking as it collided with her Scorch Release orbs. The real battle had only just begun.
Back within Asura's barrier, the surface of the lake beneath Shiraishi was becoming increasingly stable. His control was sharpening at a remarkable pace.
"Little orange, go bother him," Asura said with a mischievous grin.
He scooped up the orange cat, which was currently busy snacking, and tossed it toward Shiraishi. The cat, knowing better than to defy Asura, performed a mid-air twist and landed squarely on Shiraishi's shoulders with its paws crossed.
This cat... why is it so heavy?! Shiraishi groaned inwardly, his balance wavering.
"Remember," Asura called out, leaning back. "Not a single ripple."
"I... I know..."
"Then keep it up."
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