The clash between Yuto and the Sound Four hadn't lasted long.
So when Orochimaru emerged with Kimimaro at his side, only Tayuya's body lay somewhat intact. The other three were nothing but pulp—aside from Ukon's severed head, which had rolled to Orochimaru's feet, still alive and shaking.
"Orochimaru-sama, save me!" the head wailed.
Without another body to parasitize, Ukon couldn't last long, even with the Curse Mark sustaining him.
Orochimaru's expression darkened. In so little time, his painstakingly cultivated Four were gone.
Even in their Curse Mark Level Two states, they had been formidable—enough to trouble Orochimaru himself. That was why he had sent them without worry.
He had only meant to test Yuto's strength, to see if it had returned. Instead, the Sound Four had been erased in moments.
"Yuto-dono," Orochimaru hissed, his voice low and cold, "you kill my subordinates on my own ground… shouldn't you give me an explanation?"
Beside him, Kimimaro crouched slightly, ready to strike at the slightest signal.
"Explanation?" Yuto's smile was faint as he stepped closer. "Do I owe you one?"
To him, the Sound Four were only minor figures, bit players in a greater tide. They had mattered once, in Konoha's collapse—but their deaths now were only another ripple.
The true weight was on Orochimaru, not him.
Still, Yuto's gaze sharpened. Lately, he had begun to feel that "plot" itself was nothing but the flow of a larger force—a great current.
He had planned to revive in the Second or Third War, even left contingencies for it. Yet when his eyes opened, he had been thrust into this era instead.
As if some unseen hand had denied his earlier return.
The annihilation of the Yuki and Kaguya Clans, events that would not have happened had he revived sooner…
Black Zetsu, the Sage's lingering spirit, the Death God bound in seals, the great toads of Mount Myōboku who could foretell the future…
All signs pointed to a world heavier and stranger than it seemed.
Interesting. More and more interesting.
His smile deepened as he stepped forward, vanishing and reappearing just in front of Orochimaru.
"Oh? Half of one still left." He glanced at Ukon's head, then raised a foot to crush it.
Orochimaru's pupils shrank. His arm twitched, ready to intervene—but he stilled it at once, face blank.
To oppose Yuto here would be suicide. Not yet. Not unless forced. Not unless he was ready to use his final card—Hashirama's corpse.
Beside him, Kimimaro did not hesitate. A bone blade slid free from his palm as he lunged.
Yuto's eyes flicked toward him. The last bloodline of the Kaguya Clan—he had noticed the boy the moment he appeared.
Kimimaro's devotion burned hotter than reason. To him, Orochimaru being slighted was intolerable.
He sprang forward, bone blade aimed straight for Yuto's heart.
The edge drew close, just centimeters away. Kimimaro's eyes widened—his foe wasn't moving. Not even trying to block.
His strike quickened.
And stopped cold.
The blade pressed against Yuto's chest—and went no further. Not even his clothes had torn.
Kimimaro strained, every muscle taut, but the weapon refused to advance.
"Good speed. Good force. But no endurance," Yuto said evenly. "The Kaguya bloodline has taken too much from your body."
Kimimaro froze, shock flashing in his eyes. No one knew of his illness save Orochimaru and a handful within Oto.
How did this man know?
On the other side, Orochimaru's serpentine eyes gleamed. His lips curved with feverish hunger.
He had tried everything to cure Kimimaro's disease—no medicine, no jutsu had worked. It was in the bloodline itself, inseparable from the Kaguya's cursed strength.
Unless the bloodline itself were erased, the sickness would never fade.
And if anyone alive knew the truth of the Kaguya Clan… it was this man. The First Mizukage.
Back then, under Yuto's reign, Kaguya Ketsuya had shown no such weakness. No record told of it. No tale whispered it.
If Yuto knew the key…
"Care to join the Mist?" Yuto asked suddenly, voice light.
———
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