Finally, the blinding red-and-white aura surrounding the collision faded, dissolving into drifting sparks that hissed against the sea surface.
Shanks stood tall and exhaled, sheathing his sword with a decisive click that echoed over the water.
The Third Raikage, on the other hand, had no such strength left. A deep gash split his torso, carved cleanly from his stomach all the way up to just below his shoulder. And from that point upward, nothing remained—his right arm had been severed completely and was already sinking beneath the waves, blood blooming around it in slow, expanding clouds.
Raikage looked at Shanks and said, "You are very strong. I am happy that I am dying by the hands of someone stronger than me, because till today, I did not find anyone stronger than me. Only numbers can defeat me—only someone can exhaust me with tactics. But none could defeat me in a one-on-one battle. Yet you defeated me. I thank you for that."
As the words left his mouth, Raikage's eyes lost their light. In the next heartbeat, he was dead.
Shanks drew a slow breath and peeled off his overcoat, glancing down at his right chest. Blood seeped freely through the torn fabric of his white shirt, staining it dark and heavy.
He gave a low chuckle.
"Really, Raikage… your strongest spear was still able to penetrate my body and injure me."
The Third Raikage's body remained upright for a moment longer on the ocean surface, held in place only by fading chakra. Then, as the last of his energy vanished, gravity claimed him. He sank straight down—rigid, almost dignified—disappearing beneath the water in a silent descent, like a warrior refusing to fall even in death.
Shanks shouted toward one of the Kumogakure ships, his voice booming over the waves.
"I will allow one of you to take the body of your Raikage!
He was a respectful warrior, and he deserves a respectful burial.
Take him."
His words echoed across the water. Then Shanks turned away, his overcoat fluttering dramatically behind him as he strode back toward the island.
Today, both the strongest spear and the strongest shield had been broken—shattered by the Red-Haired Emperor, Shanks.
Meanwhile, the thousand ninjas Guy had fished out from the sea earlier were now fully conscious. And although the duel between Shanks and the Raikage felt short and decisive, the truth was that their clash had raged on for nearly an hour before the Raikage finally fell.
Now those thousand awakened shinobi—Kirigakure and Kumogakure alike—were locked in combat once more, facing off against the fresh graduates of the Uzushiogakure Ninja Academy.
One of the Uzumaki graduates sprinted across the island's wet sand, a squad of four shinobi from Kumogakure and Kirigakure close behind him.
Shuriken and kunai sliced through the air toward his back, but the boy slipped past every projectile—twisting at the last second, ducking low, turning his head just enough to track them. It was as though he had eyes hidden behind him.
Then, without warning, the Uzumaki skidded to a stop and pivoted sharply.
His pursuers froze as well.
Why stop now?
Their sandals scraped against the dirt, suspicion prickling through all four. They hesitated, certain they had walked into something dangerous—but not knowing what.
Before they could figure it out, the Uzumaki flashed into a hand seal and shouted,
"Sealing Technique: Mines!"
The response was instant.
The ground beneath and around the group erupted in a chain of explosions, earth and smoke blasting upward in violent bursts. The shockwave sent bodies flying as flames and dust tore through the clearing.
This technique sealed chakra into the ground in scattered points as the user ran, like buried charges waiting to be triggered. When unsealed, the condensed chakra detonated with force similar to a cluster of explosive tags—turning the battlefield into a death trap beneath their feet.
Immediately, the chasing ninjas were thrown off balance by the blasts—bodies scorched, limbs rattled, the air ripped from their lungs.
The Uzumaki graduate didn't waste a heartbeat. He flicked his wrist and sent four kunai flying with surgical precision—each one finding a target.
Three of the attackers fell instantly.
The fourth, however, burst into a puff of smoke at the moment of impact—Substitution Technique.
A log clattered to the ground in his place.
Smart, fast, and barely lucky enough to survive.
All across the island, other Uzumaki graduates were fighting with the same ferocity and creativity.
But the ones stealing the spotlight were the two Jonin graduates commanding the battlefield.
One of them—Saito—faced down a group of around ten Kirigakure shinobi alone.
His hands blurred, weaving five seals so fast the movements barely registered.
He slammed his palm onto the ground the moment the last seal aligned.
Black ink-like inscriptions spread in a web from beneath his hand, racing outward in jagged arcs. Six Kirigakure shinobi were too slow to leap back—the markings crawled beneath their feet and snapped upward, clinging to their bodies like chains.
The remaining four scrambled backward, retreating farther and farther until they were completely outside any supporting range. They could only watch helplessly.
They knew the jutsu—every shinobi did.
A sealing technique of the Uzumaki clan.
And within moments, they saw why it was feared.
The black lattice tightened, and the chakra within the trapped six collapsed.
Sealing Technique: Chakra Suppression.
Their bodies sagged, knees buckling, as their chakra systems shut down—strength draining like water from a cracked jar. They couldn't muster jutsu. They could barely stand.
Saito rose smoothly, drawing a short sword.
With one swift pass through the field of immobilized enemies, he ended all six lives—clean, quiet, efficient—before the sealing marks faded back into the earth.
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