The processing plant was so silent you could hear a pin drop.
The three Kirigakure ninjas swung their calves anxiously, their faces pale.
What I was seeing and hearing felt like something out of a dream—no, a fairy tale.
The Watermelon Mountain Pufferfish Ghost… was dead?!
Not assassinated. Not surrounded and ambushed.
A one-on-one fight. A fair, direct confrontation.
And he was beaten to death.
Like a stray dog left on the side of the road.
Didn't they understand the Stand's combat intelligence was at a disadvantage?
Even Logan didn't fully understand what kind of jutsu the Watermelon Mountain Pufferfish Ghost had mastered, or what sort of monstrous powers Samehada—the living sword—possessed.
This had been a truly fair fight.
In fact, the Pufferfish Ghost even had the home advantage.
And still, he died.
The three Kirigakure ninjas slowly turned their heads toward Logan. Their stiff necks creaked with disbelief as their wide eyes locked onto the figure who had brought down a monster. One thought formed in their minds:
"We couldn't even touch his clothes."
This wasn't a battle between equals.
This was slaughter.
They couldn't comprehend how the Watermelon Mountain Pufferfish Ghost had actually been killed. More than that, they couldn't believe that someone had dared to do such a treasonous act on the land of the Water Country.
Stupid.
That was the only word that came to mind.
Only a complete fool would challenge the authority of the Water Country and Kirigakure—for the sake of a few hundred commoners, treated worse than livestock.
The Pufferfish Ghost had said it himself: all the major organizations were aware of the human trafficking network operating through this facility.
And yet none of them dared interfere.
Why?
Because none of them were clean either.
If Logan dared to mess with them, then they would retaliate.
But instead of mutual destruction, the reality had long since settled into a quiet rule—everyone turned a blind eye, exploiting the helpless and raking in profits.
Despite the world's silent screams for justice, nobody dared break the system.
Except him.
What kind of madman was this Logan?
Click.
The sound of a retreating footstep broke the tension.
Logan's gaze flicked toward the source. Their eyes met.
In that moment, one Kirigakure ninja's mental defenses collapsed. Dread filled his soul. He turned and ran.
The other two quickly followed, sprinting in different directions. Instinct and training kicked in—they knew that if they ran separately, Logan could only chase one.
Maybe the others could escape and warn the village.
The pounding of their hearts and their ragged breaths echoed in their ears as they bolted.
Behind them, Logan didn't move.
When they dared glance back and saw him standing still, joy surged in their chests.
He's not chasing!
The broken skylight above was within reach. If they could get through it—they'd survive!
But one of the ninjas suddenly froze mid-run.
Something was wrong.
Why couldn't he hear his heartbeat?
He looked down.
A sharp pain bloomed in his chest. A crimson spot spread across his shirt. Blood poured from a bullet wound.
Panicked, he forced chakra into his eyes, just as the Pufferfish Ghost had done.
Only then did he see it.
Aerosmith.
The miniature warplane arced through the air and returned, its twin machine guns blazing.
Da-da-da-da!
A barrage of bullets rained down on the fleeing trio.
Screams tore through the air. Their bodies, riddled with holes, collapsed one by one with dull thuds.
Silent.
Still.
Dead.
Blood seeped through the cracked concrete floor and spread across the ground, reaching the feet of the four hundred prisoners.
They looked up.
Their gaze landed on Logan's back.
Outside the skylight, the wind blew gently, parting the clouds and revealing a waning moon.
Moonlight streamed in, casting a silver glow over Logan's form.
He stood tall, bathed in pale light.
Like a god.
The light in the prisoners' dull gray eyes began to return—not from the moon, but from the man before them.
Like a blazing fire, he rekindled a spark of hope that had long been extinguished.
One person stepped out of the cage, into the pool of blood.
Then a second. A third. A fourth.
One by one, the prisoners emerged.
They followed behind Logan, maintaining a respectful five- or six-meter distance. No one dared approach closer.
Then—they knelt.
Devoutly, humbly, they lowered their heads to the ground and chanted:
"God… thank you for saving us."
In their eyes, Logan wasn't human.
He was divine.
How else could they explain what had just happened? He hadn't moved an inch, yet the feared Pufferfish Ghost and three elite ninjas had died horribly.
It was too incredible. Too miraculous.
No ordinary ninja could accomplish such a thing.
Only a god could.
Logan turned his head slightly, glancing back at the hundreds behind him.
They raised their heads, as if waiting for an oracle.
His voice was calm, steady.
"Stand up. Don't kneel."
Everyone froze.
He had said this once before—to keep them from submitting to fear.
Now he said it again—to keep them from submitting to blind worship.
"You are free."
Silence followed.
The prisoners looked around in confusion.
Free?
What did freedom even mean anymore?
Some of them were natives of the Water Country. Others were travelers, like Xiaotao. But now that they were free… where could they go?
Return home?
Would they just be arrested again later?
And now that the Pufferfish Ghost was dead, would Kirigakure hunt them down in revenge?
Maybe the authorities wouldn't pursue them immediately—but what about after public outrage died down?
Doubts flooded their hearts. Anxiety choked them.
"Please, sir, show us the way."
Someone called out.
Others joined in.
None of them stood up. Instead, they knelt even lower.
They were terrified of returning to the life they had just escaped—the torture, the despair, the endless darkness.
Logan gazed at them for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Come with me."
"Yes!"
More than four hundred people kowtowed in unison. Their foreheads pressed into the bloodstained floor. When they rose again, blood streaked their brows and dripped into their eyes—washing away fear.
They stood.
Logan picked up Samehada and slung the Pufferfish Ghost's body over his shoulder.
He walked forward.
And over four hundred people followed.
When they stepped outside the processing plant, all the spies from various organizations who had been secretly monitoring the building were struck speechless.
What… had just happened?
Had the Fourth Great Ninja War begun?
Because to their knowledge, it was unthinkable that a member of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen—the Watermelon Mountain Pufferfish Ghost—would be killed, on his own turf, in a time of peace.
No one dared provoke a Hidden Village like that.
No one—except Logan.
And Logan, with his calm steps and composed demeanor, sent a message loud and clear to the world:
He kills those others fear.
He saves those others discard.
At the gates of the processing plant, Logan turned around.
Aerosmith, upgrade.
Soul fragments surged into the Stand, reducing by 400.
Aerosmith evolved to Level 2.
It flew faster now, more agile, with an upgraded arsenal.
"There's no reason to stay here anymore."
「Roger.」
In the cockpit, pilot Smith gave a thumbs-up and flew over the plant. The belly of the plane opened, dropping several fist-sized missiles.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A chain of thunderous explosions rocked Mirage City.
Flames rose sky-high, evaporating the mist that had long blanketed the city in a humid, ghostly shroud.
The air—finally—felt clean.
Logan took a deep breath.
He marched forward, and the crowd followed in silence.
Behind them, firelight illuminated their path, painting the streets red.
At that moment, every hidden observer watching had the same thought:
Though they all lived in the same city, Logan and his people walked in firelight—while the rest hid in shadows.
Two worlds.
pàtreøn (Gk31)