At this moment, the lake had already taken on a faint crimson tint, stained by the blood Wen Lan had just spat out.
He slowly raised his blood-soaked hand, his fingertips brushing the hilt of his blade. His voice was hoarse, laced with mockery:
"You really think standing on water makes you safe?
I set the trap right in front of you—and you still jumped straight into it."
The Kirigakure jōnin felt something was terribly wrong. A powerful sense of danger exploded in his mind, yet he couldn't pinpoint its source.
Then—
The blood Wen Lan had spilled into the lake began to glow red.
In the next instant, the lake surface boiled violently. Wen Lan's blood spread across the water like a living thing, racing outward at terrifying speed.
"Blood Demon Art: Blood Explosion!"
Crimson patterns instantly crawled across the lake's surface. Wherever they reached, the water detonated, scarlet bubbles roiling violently.
In the blink of an eye, explosions rivaling dozens of explosive tags erupted across the lake. Towers of blood and water blasted skyward, swallowing dozens of Mist ninja whole.
The shockwaves tore the lake apart. Blood surges writhed like mad serpents, and before the Kirigakure ninja could even scream, they were shredded—limbs blown apart and flung into the air, raining down in a crimson storm.
Blood mist filled the lake's center, red ripples spreading outward like cursed seals. The air reeked of iron.
The nine jōnin reacted the fastest. The moment they sensed danger, they leapt away from the water—but even so, the blood explosions tore apart their armor, scorching their skin with searing heat.
Yūhi Kurenai and the other two stared in disbelief.
To cause explosions without hand seals, the only explanation should have been explosive tags.
But explosions of this magnitude would have required hundreds of tags detonating at once—and there were none on the lake at all.
The lead jōnin stared at the carnage in horror. More than half of the chūnin were dead, and the few survivors were pale as corpses, trembling as they staggered backward.
One jōnin, too slow to retreat, had already lost half his body, lying on the ground barely clinging to life.
"What kind of technique is this?! A kekkei genkai?! Explosion Release?!" the lead jōnin shouted, pupils shrinking violently.
"You want to know?" Wen Lan sneered, lifting his blade.
"Go ask in hell."
Lightning and flame entwined around the sword. The blade flashed.
Wen Lan burst forward, his ninja blade stabbing straight for the nearest jōnin's throat.
Before the blood mist even dispersed, the blade was already there.
Crack.
A head flew into the air, blood erupting like a fountain.
The blade didn't stop. Its momentum carried through, cleaving into a second jōnin's shoulder—bone and flesh separating with a dull, wet sound.
Wen Lan didn't slow down. Each step he took atop the boiling bloodwater sent crimson ripples spreading outward.
The third jōnin hastily formed seals. A water shield barely took shape before the blade pierced straight through, impaling his chest.
Wen Lan twisted, pulled free, and slashed sideways—
Another jōnin's head tumbled into the lake.
In just a few breaths, only one Kirigakure jōnin remained—the leader.
Golden lightning and crimson flames still lingered in the air, like panels ripped from a manga, sketching the path of death itself.
The last jōnin's pupils shook violently as he formed seals—but his vision blurred. A sudden chill passed his throat.
He looked down to see a blade tip protruding from his neck, blood flowing steadily along its edge.
His knees buckled. He collapsed into the bloodwater, his head lolling aside before dropping with a splash.
Clang.
The blade slid back into its sheath.
Wen Lan turned to Kurenai and the others.
"Let's go. Back to camp. It's time to settle accounts."
Naturally, the three didn't refuse. Asuma had fled, and without Wen Lan, none of them would have survived.
Kurenai glanced back at the lake, bodies floating amid blood-stained waves. Her throat tightened as she silently followed.
After they left, a black figure slowly emerged from beneath a tree.
It was Black Zetsu.
He gazed at the churning, blood-filled lake, a trace of gravity flashing through his eyes.
"This power… doesn't belong to this era of shinobi."
Black Zetsu had long been sent to Kirigakure by Uchiha Madara, tasked with orchestrating the sealing of the Three-Tails, Isobu, into Nohara Rin, to push Obito toward despair.
On his way to Kirigakure, however, he had witnessed Wen Lan's battle against the Seven Ninja Swordsmen.
Even then, Wen Lan's techniques felt wrong—completely mismatched with chakra flow, like a power from another world.
At first, Black Zetsu assumed it was merely some strange kekkei genkai. But seeing such a young child already possess a two-tomoe Sharingan, he decided he couldn't allow any unforeseen variables.
That was why he had used genjutsu on Might Duy, causing that momentary hesitation.
In truth, he had intended to make Duy kill Wen Lan.
Under normal circumstances, Duy would have fallen for it—but under the Eight Gates, his chakra was in complete turmoil, making control impossible.
Later, when Wen Lan displayed Kage-level power, Black Zetsu was genuinely shaken. From then on, he began secretly lurking nearby.
Until he witnessed what had just happened.
"…Forget it. I'll complete Madara's task first," Black Zetsu muttered.
"Mother… wait for me."
His body sank into the ground and vanished.
Back at the camp, Wen Lan sat on a stool, one foot resting on the table. His right hand gripped his sword hilt as he looked at Uchiha Fugaku and Orochimaru seated before him.
Fugaku's expression was dark, fingers clenched tightly against the table edge, knuckles pale.
Even Orochimaru was frowning deeply.
Asuma colluded with Shimura Danzō and contacted Kirigakure—this was outright betrayal of Konoha.
With war imminent, such a thing was intolerable to anyone.
Orochimaru's hoarse voice broke the silence.
"Mr. Wen Lan, Asuma never returned to camp. He most likely went straight back to Konoha."
"There are now two possible paths."
"First: expose Asuma's collusion with Kirigakure and let my teacher deal with him."
"But I don't agree with this approach. First, you gain nothing from it. Second, one is my teacher's son, and the other is his old friend. Based on what I know of my teacher, neither will receive serious punishment."
"And you know the Uchiha's reputation in Konoha well enough. Even if you spread the truth and try to pressure the Hokage through public opinion—"
"All it would take is my teacher saying a few words, claiming it was fabrication, and the civilians would immediately turn against you."
Neither Wen Lan nor Fugaku objected. This was, undeniably, the truth.
"Second," Orochimaru continued, "handle this privately with my teacher. I believe he truly knew nothing of this—he hasn't sunk that low yet."
"You can use this incident as leverage. Set conditions in exchange for the status and resources the Uchiha deserve."
"If handled properly, this won't just resolve the crisis—it could become an opportunity to reverse the entire situation."
Wen Lan looked at Orochimaru in surprise.
What Orochimaru proposed was almost tailor-made for the Uchiha—and exactly what they needed most right now.
Wen Lan slowly released his grip on the sword hilt. A sharp gleam flashed in his eyes as the corner of his mouth lifted.
"Then I'll thank you in advance, Orochimaru-sir."
"I'll stay out of this matter. I'll leave it to you and Clan Head Fugaku."
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