Chapter 457: The Teachings of Sakumo Hatake
Outside the Konoha camp, the frigid night air thickened, heavy enough to freeze the breath in their lungs. Five resurrected powerhouses stood in the gloom, their combined chakra radiating a suffocating, unnatural pressure. Yet, amidst the chaos of the impending war, every gaze converged on the center of the battlefield. A father, a son, and the ghost of a traitor.
"Long time no see, Father."
Uchiha Itachi slowly opened his eyes, the dark sclera of the Reanimation Jutsu contrasting sharply with his crimson irises. His calm gaze swept past Fugaku, lingering for a fraction of a second, before finally settling on his younger brother. His voice was smooth, completely detached from the grim reality of his undead state.
"You've grown up too."
Sasuke's jaw locked. A low, guttural roar tore from his throat as blinding blue lightning erupted across his body. The air snapped and popped, ozone flooding the battlefield right before the shrill, deafening chirp of a thousand birds pierced the night. The Chidori flared to life in his palm.
"You dare speak my name?"
Sasuke stepped forward violently, his boots cracking the earth beneath him. Killing intent rolled off him in suffocating waves.
"Betraying the clan. Trying to slaughter our own blood..." His voice shook, vibrating with a decade of festering rage. "Uchiha Itachi, you disgusting piece of trash. And now you dare appear before me in this nauseating, pathetic state."
For the Uchiha Clan of today, honor was absolute. It was the lifeblood of their revival. And Itachi was the ultimate stain, a traitor nailed to their pillar of shame, a disgrace that could never be washed away.
Facing his brother's venomous hatred, Itachi's expression remained perfectly still. Only the faint dimming of his crimson eyes betrayed any emotion.
"Is that so..." he murmured, his voice barely carrying over the crackling lightning. "It looks like the clan really has changed a lot under that person's leadership."
A stern, commanding shout severed his words.
Fugaku Uchiha stepped to the front of the line. The complex pinwheels of his twin Mangekyo Sharingan spun slowly, radiating a cold, oppressive authority.
"Rebellious son." Fugaku's voice was a heavy stone dropping into a quiet pond. "In life, I failed to set you on the right path. I allowed you to commit monstrous crimes against your own blood. And now, in death, you are dragged back as a puppet to strike at your clan once more. As a father, that is my ultimate failure. And as the Clan Head, it is a disgrace to the Uchiha."
Itachi looked at Fugaku for a long, silent moment. The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a faint, self-mocking smile.
"Father, your gaze is steadier than it was before."
"Enough talk." Fugaku snorted coldly, his chakra flaring outward, climbing to a terrifying peak that distorted the air around him. "Today, I will personally obliterate you. I will bury you, and your twisted will, forever."
Fugaku barked a sharp command, his eyes never leaving his eldest son.
"Stand aside, Sasuke. Your help is not needed here."
Sasuke's lightning flared higher as he opened his mouth to protest.
"That is an order." Fugaku's tone brooked absolutely no defiance. "Go handle the others. Do not disgrace the Uchiha."
Sasuke clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. The knuckles of his free hand cracked loudly. But in the end, the ingrained respect for his father and the Clan Head held firm. He did not disobey.
With a furious, cold snort, he spun on his heel, redirecting his boiling rage toward the other side of the battlefield.
"Naruto. Gaara." Sasuke's voice dripped with lethal intent. "Those horned freaks are ours."
The battlefield exploded into motion.
"Youngsters these days are so full of energy." Kinkaku rolled his thick neck, the joints popping loudly as he watched the three young shinobi charge at him. A cruel, jagged grin stretched across his face, exposing sharp teeth. "Ginkaku, show them what real power looks like."
"You got it, big bro."
Ginkaku howled with manic glee. Puffs of white smoke erupted around him as several legendary Treasured Tools of the Sage of Six Paths materialized in his grip, radiating an ancient, ominous chakra.
In the span of a single heartbeat, Naruto, Sasuke, and Gaara crashed into the Gold and Silver Brothers, shattering the earth beneath their feet.
Elsewhere on the chaotic frontlines, another reunion was taking place.
"I never thought my opponent would end up being you."
Jiraiya stared at the pale-blue-haired man standing across from him. The Toad Sage's expression was a complicated mix of grief and grim acceptance.
"Dan Kato."
"Jiraiya, is it?" Dan offered a bitter, helpless smile. Even as he spoke, his hands blurred, forming hand seals completely beyond his own control. "Watch out. My Spirit Transformation Technique is going to be troublesome. I am sorry, my body simply will not listen."
Jiraiya drew a slow, deep breath, letting the cool air steady his nerves. When he exhaled, his gaze hardened into resolute steel.
"Do not worry, Dan. I will set you free."
Jiraiya's hands flashed through a rapid sequence of seals. His chakra surged, fueling the Wild Lion's Mane Technique. His spiky white hair rapidly lengthened and hardened, shooting forward like a barrage of lethal steel needles aimed directly at his old comrade.
A short distance away, Might Guy squared off against Hizashi Hyuga.
"The flames of youth burn brightest at moments exactly like this." Guy roared to the heavens, the sheer force of his opened inner gates causing a vibrant green aura of sweat and chakra to steam off his skin. He launched himself forward, unleashing a devastating tempest of high-speed taijutsu.
"The Konoha Strong Fist, huh..."
Hizashi murmured. The veins around his temples bulged as he activated his Byakugan. His vision shifted, tracking the explosive flow of Guy's chakra. His hands moved in fluid, circular motions, using the Gentle Fist Art to parry and deflect each bone-crushing strike with surgical precision.
"What a nostalgic feeling."
In a secluded, shadowed corner of the battlefield, steel clashed in a deadly dance.
Blades flashed like falling snow in the moonlight. A sharp, clear metallic ring echoed through the trees.
Kakashi was sent flying backward by a massive, overwhelming force. His boots dug deep trenches into the mud, skidding for a dozen meters before he finally managed to arrest his momentum.
Sakumo Hatake stood perfectly still in his original position, his expression unreadable as he watched his disheveled son.
"Kakashi. You hesitated."
Kakashi panted heavily, his chest heaving as his lone dark eye locked onto the painfully familiar figure.
That was his father. The man whose shadow he had chased his entire life. The White Fang of Konoha.
Sparks bloomed like fireflies in the dark night as they closed the distance in a blur. The two short swords clashed violently once more.
The webbing between Kakashi's thumb and index finger throbbed with agonizing pain. The blade in his hand—the very White Fang short sword that had once belonged to the man standing before him—trembled from the sheer kinetic impact.
Before Kakashi could even draw a full breath, Sakumo shouted a warning and vanished from sight.
"Here it comes again, Kakashi."
Kakashi's scalp tingled, every hair on his body standing on end as a lethal chill washed over him. Operating purely on honed instinct, he channeled his chakra into the short sword and slashed viciously at the seemingly empty space to his left.
Another crisp, deafening ring of steel on steel.
He barely managed to block the strike, but the sheer, unadulterated force behind his father's blow instantly numbed the entire left half of his body.
"Good reflexes." Sakumo's voice whispered right beside his ear.
A heavy boot slammed into Kakashi's stomach. The air rushed from his lungs as he shot backward like a fired cannonball, crashing through the underbrush.
Kakashi let out a sharp bark of pain, twisting mid-air to land on his feet, springing back up instantly.
Losing the Sharingan meant losing his all-seeing cheat. He could no longer predict movements or read muscle twitches before they happened.
But precisely because of that loss, his body and senses had finally broken free from the oppressive reliance on the Uchiha eye. He was re-adapting, returning to the raw, pure essence of combat.
"Watch closely, Kakashi."
Sakumo flicked his wrist. A brilliant, blinding white light flared along the edge of his short sword. His movement was no longer a mere blur of speed; it was a flowing, lethal moonbeam cutting through the darkness.
Kakashi's pupil shrank to a pinprick.
'I cannot block this.'
In the past, he would have simply copied the trajectory with the Sharingan or met the attack head-on with the piercing thrust of his Lightning Cutter.
Now... his only option was to dodge.
'No—it is too fast. I cannot dodge.''Then I have to meet it.'
Kakashi clenched his teeth, his own chakra surging wildly as he desperately tried to mimic the exact frequency and flow of his father's blade.
"Hatake Style Secret Art—" Sakumo's voice drifted on the wind, calm and absolute. "White Light Blade."
Kakashi saw nothing but a blinding expanse of white. The metallic, coppery scent of imminent death rushed at his face.
"Hatake Style—Slash."
Kakashi roared, abandoning all defense as he charged directly into the blinding light.
Two arcs of brilliant white crossed in the night.
Schlick.
Warm blood spattered across the grass. Kakashi dropped to one knee, a bone-deep gash carved into his left shoulder. Crimson instantly soaked through the fabric of his flak jacket, dripping steadily onto the earth.
Sakumo stood three meters behind him, his blade lowered. He turned slowly, looking down at his kneeling son.
"A blade is an extension of your arm, Kakashi. Do not try to control it. Make it a part of you."
With those words, Sakumo charged again.
Kakashi threw himself to the side, rolling through the thick mud. He parried, he dodged, he scrambled for survival. Wounds multiplied across his arms, chest, and legs, stinging with every movement.
Sakumo Hatake was not holding back. He was using the most extreme, dangerous, and bloody method possible to physically hammer the lost essence of Hatake swordsmanship back into his son's muscle memory.
"Do you see it now?"
Sakumo pressed his short sword down hard against Kakashi's blade, forcing the younger man to his knees. Their faces were barely ten centimeters apart, the older man's eyes burning with intense instruction.
"Do not use your eyes. Let your body remember." Sakumo twisted his wrist, breaking the lock. "Hatake Style—Chain Slash."
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