The cries of the fallen echoed through the dust-filled air, the last remnants of the Anbu's formation collapsing under Moyu's overwhelming spiritual pressure. Only the Third Hokage managed to maintain his composure, though the strain beneath his calm eyes betrayed him.
Moyu studied the old man in silence. Even surrounded by the crushed remnants of his elite guards, Sarutobi Hiruzen's presence held—a quiet, tempered dignity that reminded Moyu faintly of the Captains of the Gotei 13. Perhaps that was why he didn't immediately strike again.
He approached, closing the distance between them in a single measured step, and rested a hand lightly on the Hokage's shoulder. "You've done well," Moyu said with calm sincerity. "Don't worry. I won't harm you. You've committed no offense that warrants death."
The unexpected mercy rippled through the survivors like a gust of disbelief. Even those Anbu still conscious looked at one another, unsure whether to feel relief or suspicion. The Hokage, however, understood the gesture immediately and allowed the tension in his stance to ease.
"It seems," Sarutobi said, his tone regaining a hint of its measured authority, "that my test has yielded its answer. You've proven your strength and restraint, Moyu. From this day forward, you are welcome in Konoha as one of our own—a shinobi of the village."
Moyu blinked, then let out a quiet exhale that was almost a laugh. The tension that had coiled inside him during the confrontation slowly began to unwind. "If that's the case," he said, his tone light but probing, "what rank will I hold? How do I fit into your system? Genin? Chūnin?"
The Hokage gave a small, knowing smile. "I have already seen your power firsthand. Even in a brief exchange, it was clear—you possess the skill and composure of a Jōnin. You'll be given that title."
At that, Moyu's composure nearly broke. For a moment, surprise and satisfaction flickered in his eyes. He knew well what that title meant in this era of war—Jōnin were the blades of the village, the few trusted with shaping battles and carrying its honor. To rise to that level immediately after arrival was more than a formality—it was a declaration of recognition.
In his own world, such acknowledgment would have taken decades of missions, victories, and death. But here, among shinobi, it was earned through sheer power and spirit. Moyu understood that language well.
He looked at the old Hokage again, unable to suppress a trace of wry amusement. For all the man's composure, he could sense the subtle wariness beneath that calm mask. A lifetime of command had taught Hiruzen to bow to strength when reason required it.
Still, Moyu inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, Hokage-sama. To be evaluated so highly, especially by someone of your strength, is no small honor. Even though you held back in our fight, I could still feel it—the pressure of death itself."
The compliment struck home. A faint, almost embarrassed chuckle escaped the Hokage before he disguised it as a cough. "Ah… well," he said, straightening his robes, "it wouldn't do for me to go all out. If I had, you might have been seriously injured—or worse. That would hardly serve either of us."
Moyu met his gaze, eyes bright with a sincerity that was both respectful and faintly amused. "Of course, Hokage-sama. Your mercy speaks louder than any jutsu."
The old man smiled faintly, content to let the matter rest. The air between them settled into something resembling understanding—a quiet acknowledgment that both had measured the other's worth, and neither had come up short.
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