Chapter 223: The Tale of Jiraiya the Gallant
A sharp, searing pain erupted between Jiraiya's shoulder blades, a cold fire that stole the breath from his lungs. He stumbled forward, his eyes wide with shock, fixed on the Uchiha Ren who stood mockingly before him. But then, the image flickered, the form dissolving into a cascade of splintering wood and unraveling chakra.
Wood Clone... The realization was a colder chill than the blade in his back. Of course... I was too focused on the front.
"So... this is how it ends," he coughed, a bitter smile twisting his blood-flecked lips. "Stabbed in the back... not very heroic..."
"It is over, Jiraiya."
The true Ren's voice was a soft, venomous whisper from directly behind him. While the clone had held his attention, the real predator had used the chaos as a shroud, closing the distance in that fatal moment of distraction. The Ryūko, already slick with his blood, was wrenched free, and with it came a fresh, agonizing wave of heat. Ren's unique chakra, injected into the wound, ignited. Crimson flames, not of this world, began to consume him from the inside out, licking at the edges of the deep gash.
"Jiraiya-boy!" Shima's shrill cry of alarm was distant, muffled by the roaring in his ears. Fukasaku, ever the pragmatist, began weaving hand signs, his aged face a mask of fury and desperation.
Ren merely snorted, leaping back with effortless grace to avoid any counter-attack, his Sharingan watching dispassionately.
Pfft— Another, hotter gush of blood spilled from Jiraiya's mouth. His legs, no longer able to bear the weight of his failing body, buckled, sending him crashing to his knees. He pressed a hand to the wound, a futile gesture against the internal inferno. The world began to swim, the colors bleeding together, the frantic voices of the two great toad sages fading into a dull, meaningless hum.
The flames... they're burning my chakra pathways... my very life force... His consciousness, once a vibrant, roiling sea of ideas and energy, was now a receding tide. Is this... my death?
His body slumped to the scorched earth, his vision tunneling. The vibrant greens and browns of the battlefield faded to a dull grey. He could see Fukasaku and Shima shouting, their mouths moving soundlessly. He was a spectator to his own end.
A ninja's life... they say how you live isn't what matters... it's how you die... The value of a ninja is determined by their final actions...
Memories, not as clear pictures but as feelings, washed over him. A lifetime of failures. Tsunade's rejections, a painful refrain. The sight of his friends leaving, one by one. The bodies of his master, the Third, and his own student, Minato—Hokages who died as heroes, protecting the village. His own legacy felt messy, a series of near-misses and unfinished stories. A perpetual wanderer.
I wanted to die like a Hokage... A story's quality is decided by its final page... They say failure is a good seasoning for a hero's tale... that it builds character... I believed that... I thought my final act could redeem all my past mistakes... to die a splendid death as a great ninja... that was supposed to be my ending... but this... heh...
A strange, sudden clarity pierced the fog of pain and regret. A final, defiant spark of will.
...No.
His gaze, which had gone loose and distant, sharpened. With a grunt of immense effort, he pushed himself up, forcing his body back onto its knees. A smile, genuine and free of bitterness, touched his face.
It wasn't all for nothing. "Wherever there are leaves dancing..." he whispered, his voice a ragged but steady thing, "flames will forever burn... The fire's shadow will illuminate the village... and new leaves will sprout... Third Hokage... I think I finally understand your Will of Fire."
His thoughts turned to the boy with sunny, determined eyes. Naruto... I failed to protect you from this monster. What a shameful master I am... I leave the rest to you. Find the answer... find the peace we all searched for.
He thought of his life's work, the countless travels, the information gathered across the nations, the epic tale he had always been writing. My story... "The Tale of the Gutsy Ninja"... it needs an ending. This one... has a certain ring to it. 'Fallen leaves return to their roots'... Yes... that's fitting.
He felt the final curtain falling. Time to put the brush down... Now, for the title of the sequel... His smile widened. Naruto Uzumaki... Yes. That's perfect.
The light in his eyes, the great Jiraiya of the Sannin, the Toad Sage of Mount Myoboku, faded. His body went still, his tale complete. He had died as he lived—thinking of the future, and of his student.
A wave of palpable grief and shock rippled through the Konoha shinobi who witnessed it. But Ren's sharp eyes, untouched by sentiment, scanned the crowd. He saw one figure who did not mourn. A masked ANBU, who, instead of bowing his head, turned and melted into the shadows with a swift, almost panicked urgency.
ANBU? Or Root? Ren's mind, cold and logical, connected the threads. Sasuke should have dealt with Danzo by now. With the old warhawk and the Toad Sage gone, only the two Hokage's advisors remain. A cruel, predatory grin spread across his face. Koharu Utatane. Homura Mitokado. Hiding in some rat hole, no doubt. This revenge will feel hollow if I leave you two breathing. I will dig you out from whatever rock you've crawled under.
With a final, contemptuous glance at the fallen sage and the grieving village, Ren's form flickered and vanished from sight, leaving only the raging Nine-Tails as a distraction. The Konoha ninja saw him leave, but none could follow. None, that is, except for the one he was now following—the panicked, masked shinobi leading him straight to his final prey.
It wasn't long before the ANBU, believing himself safe, slipped into a concealed entrance hidden by genjutsu and earth. To Ren's perfected senses, it was as clear as a beacon.
There.
He stood before the hidden refuge, his perception feeling the two familiar, feeble chakra signatures within. The grin returned, wider and more terrible than before.
"Old fools," he murmured, the Ryūko humming softly in his hand. "You are the last. Your time has come."
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