Chapter 141: You Adapt Quite Fast
"You adapt quite fast…" Masamichi said quietly, his voice flat yet carrying a faint vibration, like the scrape of a blade being drawn across a whetstone. His eyes gleamed under the firelight — sharp and dark like obsidian. "But still far too soft."
Masamichi's fingers began to move rapidly, forming a sequence of hand seals. Each motion was precise, leaving no room for hesitation — the deliberate grace of someone who had long danced with death.
Panda reacted within seconds. Its metal feet struck the sandy ground hard.
BOOM!
The heavy sound rippled through the air, the sand beneath Panda rising like inverted ocean waves.
With a single, thunderous strike to the ground, the earth quaked violently — then split apart. From beneath the surface, iron wires burst forth like living serpents. Their tips gleamed razor-sharp, hissing as they twisted and lunged toward Souta and Makima in a spiraling formation, attacking from every direction at once.
Souta moved instinctively. His breath hitched for a moment, but his hands were faster than his thoughts. In one swift motion, he severed the link to Sōtōken and reconnected to Tetsujun.
The colossal puppet stepped forward. Tetsujun's movements were heavy, yet each step landed with the weight and certainty of a steel hammer striking stone. Its massive legs dug deep into the sand before it lifted both of its iron shields, crossing them into a flawless defensive angle.
BRAAAAK!
The metallic wires slammed into the steel shields with bone-crushing force. Sparks exploded into the air — like a shower of stars falling in the middle of a desert night. The impact waves distorted the air; the clash of metal on metal screamed so loudly it made their ears ring.
Through the flurry of sparks, Pakura saw an opening.
"Now!" she shouted.
With a burst of momentum, Pakura leapt onto Tetsujun's shoulder. Her movements were light and fluid — a dancer's grace fused with a warrior's precision. As she spun midair, her hands flashed, pulling out a pair of kunai, each wrapped with a golden paper seal that shimmered faintly in the dusty light.
"Kamaitachi no Jutsu!"
She sliced the air in a clean arc. A spiral of razor wind formed instantly, propelling the kunai far faster than any normal throw.
SHWIIIIING!
The kunai cut through the heated air with a sharp whistle, embedding itself into Panda's shoulder joint.
BAAAM! — a small explosion erupted. Metal and wood shattered partially, embers spraying through the air before fading into thin wisps of smoke.
But Panda didn't falter. Instead, it spun with startling speed, its motion rumbling like a war engine coming to life. From its swinging arms, a wave of raw air pressure burst outward — like an invisible hammer blow.
Makima, Pakura, and even Tetsujun were forced backward. Sand erupted around them, rising into a thick, choking cloud that obscured their sight.
Souta dug his heels into the shifting ground, bending his knees to maintain balance. The tips of his fingers trembled, channeling chakra through each delicate thread that connected him to his puppet — ensuring the bond wouldn't snap under the raging pressure.
Every strand glowed faintly blue, shimmering against the storm like threads of moonlight. The tension in them revealed how much force Souta was enduring just to keep control.
Masamichi stood behind Panda — tall, unmoving, composed. His shadow merged seamlessly with the machine's hulking form, as though the two were one: puppeteer and puppet fused into a single entity. The hot wind whipped through his black robes, making the fabric dance wildly amid the swirling dust.
His face remained expressionless, but his eyes — sharp and glacial — held the quiet intensity of a teacher watching his students brush against the edge of true understanding in battle. There was no malice in that gaze, only a faint, dangerous satisfaction.
"You've begun to attack with proper coordination," Masamichi said, voice calm yet tinged with faint amusement. "But don't forget one thing — in the world of shinobi, a puppet is merely an extension of its master's hand. It is the puppeteer who decides victory."
...
Chapter 142: Who Will Lose Control First
Those words struck Souta's heart harder than Panda's earlier blow. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, sweat running down his temples, but beneath the pressure a faint smile appeared. It was a thin, unsteady smile — yet filled with unshakable determination.
"In that case…" Souta muttered, his voice low but sharp, his gaze locked directly on Masamichi. Souta's eyes gleamed with the reflection of blue sparks still crackling in the air, his smile widening with a dangerous resolve. "Let's see… who loses control first."
The chakra threads at Souta's fingertips tightened, vibrating with tension like bowstrings about to snap. His hands moved swiftly — rhythmically — precise as a master violinist playing the most impossible melody ever written. In an instant, three streaks of bright blue light flared to life, connecting him to three puppets at once.
And the three Kugutsu began to move.
Shōnin shot into the air, his small wooden body spinning in a tight spiral. Chakra light shimmered along his carved frame, casting ghostly blue reflections across the swirling sand haze. From Shōnin's open mouth, a long metallic wire whipped forward like a lightning spear, coiling around Panda's head with lethal precision.
Sōtōken lunged in from the right. Its twin steel jaws roared — GRRRHHH! — before clamping down on Panda's leg with spinning fangs of serrated metal. The grinding of steel against steel shrieked through the air, deafening, like swords being dragged across a stone forge.
Sōtōken's teeth sank deep. Fragments of metal burst out, scattering across the sand like sparks. Panda tried to pull back, but the machine's grip held unyielding, as though the puppet's iron jaws were alive, driven by pure killing intent.
Meanwhile, Tetsujun advanced from the front. Each of his steps made the earth quake, the ground trembling under the weight of his massive iron frame. He lowered his stance slightly, then — BAAAAAM! — slammed his entire body forward, colliding into Panda with the full force of an iron titan.
The clash of two mechanical war-beasts erupted into a metallic explosion that shook the entire training arena.
CLANG! CRANG! KRAAANG!
Each impact sent shockwaves of hot air and dust rippling outward. Sand whipped violently into the air, forming a miniature sandstorm that swallowed the battlefield whole. Sparks of blue chakra crackled between them, lightning arcs dancing wildly through the storm like frenzied spirits born of war.
Thick dust filled the air, obscuring sight, but in the shifting chaos flashes of metal still flickered — blinding bursts of light that revealed two hulking shadows striking, parrying, and tearing at each other without pause.
Makima and Pakura didn't remain idle. The moment they caught a brief opening between the puppets' furious assault, they exchanged a single glance — a sharp, silent understanding passing between them.
Makima raised her hand. Wind chakra spiraled tightly around her fingertips, forming a blade-like vortex that hummed with deadly speed. On the other side, Pakura's hands blurred through a rapid sequence of seals, her fingers weaving so fast that the air itself seemed to tremble.
When their chakra waves met — the very pressure in the air dropped violently. Then, with a thunderous BOOM!, they released their jutsu at once.
The combined blast unleashed a shockwave of staggering force. A sphere of compressed wind, forged from their merging techniques, tore forward in a perfect horizontal line, slicing cleanly through the rolling sand fog. Its trajectory was direct — toward Panda, still struggling under the simultaneous assault of Souta's three puppets.
The impact was cataclysmic.
The sound that followed wasn't a cry of pain, but the tortured scream of metal under unbearable strain. Panda's entire body shuddered violently. His chest plate cracked open, panels splitting apart under the blast. From the fissures oozed a thick, black lubricant, glistening under the blue chakra light — like cold, dark blood bleeding from a machine's heart.
Yet Panda did not fall. The crimson light in its eyes burned brighter — far brighter — until it blazed like molten coals awakened from death. The vibrations running through Panda's steel frame grew erratic. Souta could feel it through his chakra threads — something wild, unstable, terrifyingly alive, stirring deep inside the puppet's core.
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