Under Asura's tutelage, Shiraishi's mastery over chakra control advanced by leaps and bounds. While he hadn't learned any flashy new secret techniques, the way he felt the Silver Blade in his hand was fundamentally different from before.
He was also slowly adapting to the crushing weight of the orange cat. Despite its tubby appearance, the "Large Orange" possessed a weight that defied physical laws, as if it were a mountain condensed into fur.
During one particular session of deep meditation, Shiraishi's consciousness slipped into a chaotic state. Scenes of past slaughters and the horrors of the battlefield flickered through his mind like a broken film reel.
Suddenly, the cat on his shoulder let out a caterwaul of pure terror, its fur standing on end as if it had spotted a natural predator. It scrambled toward Asura, crying out, "Meow! Meow-waa!"
Master! There's a snake! Scared the whiskers off me!
"Honestly... you've lived this long, and you're still afraid of snakes?" Asura sighed.
Prompted by the cat's warning, Asura sensed a disturbance. He flicked three wooden needles from his fingertips, pinning them into the Curse Mark on Shiraishi's neck. Instantly, a foul, malevolent chakra began to seep outward.
Shiraishi's heart had been "wounded" since the battle at Kikyo Mountain. In his desperate pursuit of power, he had recklessly accepted the Curse Mark.
Though he had used his mental world to isolate the intrusion, the darkness had been waiting for a moment of weakness. As Shiraishi quieted his mind to meditate, that sinister will had seen its opening.
The power of a serpent...
Asura's needles were imbued with the purest natural energy. Faced with the primordial force of the Ancestor of Ninshu, Orochimaru's lingering chakra will tried to flee, but it was futile. It was systematically hunted down, purified, and erased from existence.
With the "ghost" of Orochimaru purged, the chaotic and dark nature of the Curse Mark vanished. What remained was a reservoir of pure, unadulterated natural energy.
Shiraishi opened his eyes, feeling as though a thick shroud had been lifted from his soul. The subtle interference he had lived with for weeks was gone. He looked at Asura in shock. "What was that?"
"The sealing jutsu you placed on yourself was clever," Asura explained. "You used your mental realm to wall off that chakra's consciousness. But after a grueling battle, your will was at its lowest ebb. That chakra was breaking through your barriers to invade your body."
In this era, Orochimaru's research into Curse Marks was still in its infancy. It was a prototype, a mere seed compared to the refined versions of the future. Thus, Asura was able to easily cleanse it, removing the hidden threat to Shiraishi's autonomy.
As Orochimaru's will dissipated, the mark on Shiraishi's neck shifted, transforming from its original shape into a simple, elegant oval.
The raw natural energy within was still potent—and potentially corrosive—but how Shiraishi chose to harness it was now entirely up to him. Asura had simply opened the door; it was up to Shiraishi to walk through it.
Unlike the modern shinobi system of rote memorization, Ninshu focused on the essence: understanding the origin of chakra, the flow of nature, and the harmony between body and spirit.
Once a practitioner understood the "why," the "how" (techniques and secret arts) would follow naturally. It was this very philosophy that had allowed the early disciples of Ninshu to branch off and create the various clans and Kekkei Genkai of today.
Shiraishi stood up and leaped from the lake's surface, landing gracefully on the shore. He drew the Silver Blade, and in that instant, his chakra erupted.
With a fluid twist of his wrist, he unleashed a horizontal slash. A massive crescent moon of wind-fire roared into the sky with such speed and force that the atmospheric aftershock sent him gliding backward like a bird on a thermal.
The fusion of his Gale Blade and Iaijutsu was now more powerful than ever before.
"Your talent is remarkable," Asura admitted. "Your control has reached a new level, though you still lack the most basic foundational discipline."
To Asura, many of the "secret techniques" Shiraishi knew were bizarre and overly complex. He preferred to stick to the basics. He picked up a wooden training sword and tossed it to Shiraishi.
"Now, we spar. Forget your jutsus. Forget your gadgets. Use only your body and your senses to feel the battle."
The two stood on the surface of the lake, wooden swords in hand, facing each other in silence.
Shiraishi moved first. He spun through the air, his movements as elegant and cold as a winter storm. His blade work was a masterpiece of the "art of killing"—efficient, relentless, and overlapping. Asura watched with genuine admiration.
But it lacks essence, Asura thought.
Shiraishi's technique was at the peak of what a human of his age could achieve. In fact, Asura recalled that at Shiraishi's age, he himself hadn't been nearly as skilled with a blade.
Asura caught Shiraishi's wooden sword with a single-handed parry and struck back.
The collision of wood on wood rang out across the water. Shiraishi felt a crushing weight behind Asura's blow. There were no flashy feints or complex maneuvers—just a simple strike that seemed to see through every angle of Shiraishi's defense.
"My turn," Asura said.
His wooden sword didn't seem fast, yet it felt impossible to dodge. When Shiraishi raised his own sword to block, the sheer pressure of the impact forced him back several steps across the water.
How? Shiraishi wondered. He isn't using chakra or special techniques. It's just... a strike.
"Feel it with your heart," Asura urged.
The two clashed again. Sparks (or the wooden equivalent of friction) flew as the intensity increased. While it was "just" a physical exchange, the shifting of their stances and the flow of their blades represented the pinnacle of combat theory. Speed, skill, and power were being reforged in the fires of defeat and adaptation.
Meanwhile, at the Revelation Mountain Range on the border of the Land of Wind and Earth, Lady Chiyo entered the Kazekage's office once more.
She checked on Rasa's condition. His physical wounds were healing, but he had yet to regain consciousness.
The war with the Hidden Mist was devouring resources. The Sand needed explosive tags, soldier pills, and medicinal supplies, most of which were stockpiled at Revelation Mountain and Kikyo Mountain. However, without the Kazekage's official seal and command, these strategic reserves could not be released.
Chiyo was growing frantic. She ordered the medical teams to work double shifts to manufacture new supplies, but they couldn't match the years of stockpiles Rasa controlled.
Shortly after Chiyo left the tent, the "comatose" Fourth Kazekage slowly opened his eyes. There was no trace of a man clinging to life.
"The Hidden Mist is even more useless than I imagined," Rasa hissed, his voice cold and sharp. "All those people... and they still couldn't kill that brat."
A murderous aura filled the tent, turning the air heavy and oppressive.
If you want to read more, join my Patreon/kazama677
I will drop 1 bonus chapter for every 50 Power Stones