As Shirō spread his hands, countless explosive tags blinked into existence above him. Under his control they drifted forward like a rain of knives.
"W-what the—this many?!" someone blurted.
"That's impossible—what kind of ninjutsu is this?" another voice cried.
"It's so fast!" Rasa muttered, wide-eyed.
When Rasa had first seen Shirō's projection of explosive-tag arrows, he'd formed a guess. He had not expected the quantity to be this vast.
"How many explosive tags is that, Shirō-ge?" Xiao guang asked, staring at the clouds of tags.
Shirō allowed himself a private amusement at Xiao guang's timing and answered calmly, "Not many. Just a hundred million."
"A hundred million?!" The number landed like a blow. Everyone stared at Shirō as if he'd spoken madness. A hundred million—outside of a handful of prodigies, virtually no one could withstand that scale. It would take ages just to trigger them all.
To them one hundred million was astronomical; to Shirō, who'd seen other worlds, it was only a drop. It amounted to one six-thousandth of what Ren Nan possessed. Even so, summoning this many tags had taken Shirō a year's worth of chakra accumulation, and these weren't ordinary thrown kunai with tags.
These tags were linked by a sealing formation and could be detonated together for devastating effect. The versions he'd used previously had been different—those had been true explosive arrows linked as a single construct. These, however, could not be fully detonated at once; he still had to manage them and keep them from spiralling back toward him. Fortunately, he could steer their drift well enough. Otherwise the technique would have been suicide.
After replying, Shirō kept moving his hands—there was no point if the tags weren't anchored to the puppets.
When he finished attaching the last explosive tag, he formed a seal.
"Art of Explosion—Hah!" he shouted.
"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Outside the city wall the ground erupted into a rolling sea of fire.
Everyone watched the conflagration and the young figure set before it in stunned silence. A single thought crept into many hearts: in a few years Konoha would have another real powerhouse.
A murderous impulse flared in several onlookers' chests, only to be snuffed out the moment they caught sight of Nakamura and Pingyi. Even if they tried to take Shirō down, the gap between jōnin and real elite jōnin was too steep; without someone of elite-jōnin class, victory wasn't assured. A small strike would at best cost lives and at worst start a war with Konoha — a net loss. Reluctantly, they let their kunai drop a fraction.
Shirō, for his part, wondered why he'd never practiced a flashier activation method. A finger-snap would have been perfect for show; the hand-seal looked less dramatic than he'd hoped. Still, he wasn't foolish. He palmed his magic crystal with his left hand, hidden from view. He trusted Nakamura and the others to buy him time.
If things went badly, Shirō's group would still have two or three more jōnin-level fighters; that could make the outcome uncertain. But none of that came to pass. The explosions subsided, and a different sound filled the air—the roar of the moryō.
They turned their attention to it. A loach-like yokai writhed forward, a white mask fixed to its leading edge. Shirō squinted; its body bore only light scorch marks. The recent detonations had done little—no wonder it hadn't been slowed earlier.
"Lady Miko, stay here. Once we weaken it, you seal it," Nakamura ordered.
"Understood, Captain Nakamura," she replied.
"Lady Miko, you're humble. It's my duty." He looked at Taiyi and the others. "You protect Shirō and Miko. That thing's our problem."
Taiyi shifted closer to Shirō at Nakamura's look. "Understood."
Leaders from the other villages called their teams back as well, advancing with only their jōnin. Shirō stopped pretending to act cool. He'd been forcing himself to keep up appearances, thinking everyone would step forward. Now that they stayed behind, he allowed himself to focus.
Nakamura's group closed the distance. At a ninja's pace it took less than a minute.
"Wait—this thing's strong," a Kumogakure jōnin said, hair rising at the creature's chakra. He had faced tails before and judged this moryō only slightly weaker than an eight-tails in raw pressure.
"I misread it. Good call keeping others back," someone muttered.
"Unleash everything. Don't hold back, or you'll die." Lightning crackled around one jōnin's body.
"We can sense that," Pingyi said, grounding his sword. Chakra sharpened into the air as the dozen jōnin prepared.
"Charge!"
A barrage followed: "Wind Release: Pressure Damage!" "Lightning Release: False Darkness!" "Iron Sand Assault!" "Water Release: Water Dragon Bullet Technique!" The field is filled with elements.
The moryō laughed, a sound like grinding stone. "Useless—ants."
Bang.
Their attacks struck like stinging insects. Pingyi's opportunistic slash—imbued with wind chakra—scored nothing; the beast's hide was saturated with chakra and absorbed the blows. The others fared no better. Concentrate their attacks and the moryō regenerated; spread them thin and they merely grazed it. The clash settled into a stalemate.
Nakamura and his jōnin dodged and probed; the moryō blocked and answered. From her vantage, the miko watched and steadied herself, the weight of destiny written on her face.
"Lady Miko—what are you doing?" Rasa called.
"It's time," she said quietly. "I have known this fate for more than a decade. I'm ready."
"Lady Miko—if the moryō's body is destroyed, can you seal it without dying?" Shirō asked, breath tight.
"Yes. I can. But—"
"Then it's fine." Shirō exhaled. "Taiyi, take this—just in case." He handed over a scroll and a vial of his blood, then began charging his crest with the magic crystal.
He stepped toward the battle and called over his shoulder, "Lady Miko, prepare the sealing formation. I'm about to start a rebellion."
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