The waves of screams made Mei Terumi—who had secretly tailed them from afar—give a little twitch of the eyelids, but under the night sky and with a fresh bank of fog rolling ahead, she simply couldn't make out what was happening.
"Is Biwa Jūzō really that strong?"
Listening to the cries muffled inside the mist, Mei frowned, murmuring to herself, "Even the Mizukage came personally this time, with over thirty Mist Anbu. Surrounding one Biwa Jūzō should be easy—he ought to be running, not fighting back.
"Yet it sounds like he's not only counterattacking but cutting down a lot of Anbu and badly injuring more. Did he really improve that fast after defecting?"
Just then, she noticed a sudden gale whip up inside the fog in the distance, scattering huge swaths of it.
"Wind Release…?" Her brows knit tighter. She remembered Jūzō's dossier.
Biwa Jūzō specialized in close-quarters combat and Water Release.
As one of the former Seven Ninja Swordsmen, he wasn't exactly known for Wind Release.
Her doubt barely formed when the mist fully blew clear. In the weak moonlight, she could just make out a scene so shocking her pupils shrank to pinpoints.
In Mei Terumi's line of sight—jet-black, twisted thornwood spikes stretched for at least a kilometer in every direction, so dense they'd wrapped a number of village houses in bristling coils.
Mist Anbu were trapped throughout the thickets.
Some were hoisted high, scarlet blood dripping steadily as the light faded from their eyes; some were trussed tight, the spikes' barbs punching hole after hole through flesh.
A few reacted fast, hacking frantically at the thorns trying to ensnare them, carving out the smallest "safe zone" they could, then glancing around, shaken to the core.
Seeing comrades everywhere either gravely wounded or dead on the spot left them stunned—and terrified.
Momochi Zabuza was drenched in sweat.
A spike that burst from the ground had slashed his Anbu mask, exposing half his face beneath the cloth guard; a thin cut marked his cheek, bleeding slowly.
He was breathing a little hard, more than a little rattled.
On either side of him, one teammate had been turned into a sieve by the spikes; the other let out a strange gurgle—Zabuza glanced over to see the man's carotid torn, his whole body convulsing, air going out faster than it came in.
In only a blink—
More than half of the thirty-odd elite Anbu were already down.
The survivors were on their feet, but there was hardly a scratch-free one among them; most had at least some cuts. And the one who started all of this… was Biwa Jūzō's companion.
"This… is that the legendary Wood Release—"
Zabuza peered through the layered, tangled bramble of spikes, his wary, shaken gaze settling on Uchiha Chizumi in the near distance.
"Don't tell me… he's from Konoha."
Now he understood why the veteran Jūzō dared strut back into the Land of Water after defecting from the Mist.
So he'd latched onto Konoha—or even joined them outright.
Zabuza's frown deepened.
Truth be told—
He didn't bear Jūzō much ill will. He even had a bit of respect for him. Zabuza himself thought the Bloody Mist had become a lost cause; every extra day in the village made his skin crawl, and the internal carnage was hard to stomach.
If Jūzō had just defected and fought his hunters on his own, fine.
But joining Konoha felt… cowardly.
"Have the Seven Swordsmen really fallen that far?"
He wiped the blood from his cheek, muttering in disappointment.
On the other side—
Taking it all in, Yagura Karatachi's brows pulled tight. He looked again at the Anbu penned in by the black thorns and barked, "Why are you stopping? This is the Land of Water! Not a place for outsiders to run wild!"
His voice went colder; deep in his eyes a faint red gleam flickered, smothering some barely seen struggle as killing intent flooded out. "Keep going! Kill him!"
The Mizukage's order left the remaining Anbu no choice but to grit their teeth and coordinate a volley of Water Release.
In moments, torrents surged through the brambles, smashing the not-so-sturdy black thornwood to pieces.
Freed, the Anbu scattered at once.
All of them kept what they thought was a safe distance from Uchiha Chizumi, spreading to faintly encircle him and the others.
The air reeked of blood from their comrades' bodies, and the injured Anbu's suppressed groans still leaked out—
Sweat beaded in every palm.
Biwa Jūzō looked around at the now-visible Anbu. Most still wore their masks, but he could make out a few familiar faces.
"You lot are really going to offer 'loyalty' to a Mizukage who's been puppeted?" he said coldly. "To the mastermind, your loyalty is a joke. What you're doing now isn't for the Mist—it's for the one pulling the Mizukage's strings.
"Wake up! He just wants to toy with the Hidden Mist, to keep it in endless civil war until it vanishes from history. In his eyes, you're nothing but pawns!
"No—you don't even qualify as pawns. You're playthings he toys with until you die in despair!"
He didn't speak in riddles; he laid out the truth he knew right there before them.
Among the Anbu, most remained unmoved, gripping their weapons, eyes full of murder.
A smaller number froze.
Zabuza was among them.
Those few, without meaning to, glanced back at Yagura—because in their eyes, their Mizukage's behavior had, in fact, been… different.
Many times—
As if he were someone else.
"Jūzō, stop this pointless struggle. I'm the Mist's perfect jinchūriki. A jinchūriki can't be controlled by the Sharingan. Are you trying to take the Anbu for fools?"
Yagura spoke, staring past a couple of Anbu at Biwa Jūzō. "They're the Mist's elite. They've given their lives to the village. Your cheap talk won't shake their hearts."
Jūzō laughed. "Chizumi was right—Uchiha Obito's an idiot. The only reason he counts as a 'mastermind' of this chaos is because real masterminds prop him up as his external brain.
"Mizukage-sama, when did I say you were controlled by the Sharingan? Why are you so sure about that? I don't think I'm talking to the Mizukage right now—he's a smart man, after all.
"Isn't that right, Uchiha Obito?"
At that, a tiny tic crossed Yagura's otherwise blank face.
This time even most of the previously unmoved Anbu couldn't help turning to look back at him—while still keeping an eye on Chizumi's group.
"Nonsense!"
Yagura snorted, killing intent wiping all light from his eyes. He hefted a pitch-black hooked club and stepped forward. "A traitor's words aren't worth a thing!"
As his voice fell, a visible shroud of tailed-beast chakra surged over his body. Cracks crawled through the ground at his feet, and pebbles quivered, hopping under the chakra's pressure.
"With me!"
His compact frame exploded forward, moving so fast he left only an afterimage.
By rights, he should have executed the rogue Jūzō first.
Instead—
He aimed straight at Uchiha Chizumi.
"Kill Konoha first!"
With a harsh bark, he whipped the coral staff sideways at Chizumi's head, like he meant to pulp it in one blow.
Chizumi leaned back slightly.
The staff skimmed past the tip of his nose.
"Watch his tailed-beast chakra!" Jūzō snapped. "It makes coral grow on your body!"
In the next instant—
Chizumi's ninjatō flashed free, his cut still faster than Yagura's charge.
Before the Mizukage could launch a second strike, that razor edge was already at his throat.
Clang—clang— Two Anbu sprinted in, shouldering up beside Yagura to catch the blade on their swords. Yagura shifted, driving the coral staff straight for Chizumi's heart.
!!!
The coral staff punched through Chizumi's chest. The magma-hot heat tried to melt it, but the tailed-beast chakra wrapped around the staff spawned fresh, heat-hardy coral in a rush.
In the blink of an eye, coral covered Chizumi's chest.
A smile just touched Yagura's lips—
And then Chizumi's body slumped into a pool of magma.
The blast of heat from above made Yagura's scalp prickle.
His pupils tightened.
He snapped his gaze upward—
A giant fist of magma, hundreds of meters across, was already plummeting from overhead to smash him flat.