Chapter 79: The Forest of Thorns
After the profound expansion of his Observation Haki, Ragnar turned his attention to the unopened Silver Treasure Chest in his system storage. With a thought, he willed it open.
The lid lifted, and inside, glowing with a soft silver light, was a skill card. Information flowed into his mind.
Skill Card: Two-Sword Style: Seventy-Two Pound Phoenix.
An evolution of the single-sword technique he already possessed. Where the "Thirty-Six Pound Phoenix" created a vortex of cutting force with one blade, this technique utilized two blades. The sword waves would overlap, intersect, and reinforce each other, creating a denser, faster, and more devastating whirlwind of annihilation—double the blades, exponentially more complex and lethal.
He used the card immediately. Knowledge of stances, footwork, the precise angle and timing for dual-wielded strikes, flooded his consciousness, merging with his existing sword mastery. It wasn't just a new move; it was a new philosophy of combat for when one blade was not enough.
The night bled away into a gray, damp dawn. Yahiko and Konan were already up, moving quietly as they prepared a simple breakfast of reheated stew and hardtack. The silence was heavy with unspoken farewell.
Ragnar watched them, a flicker of something warm and inconvenient stirring in his chest. He pushed it down. Sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford, not with a mission ticking in his mind.
Everything that needed saying had been said. Konan was stable, sensible, her control superb. It was Yahiko who gave him pause—impulsive, fiery, proud of his new power.
"Be careful," Ragnar said, his voice low as he checked his gear. "Do not reveal you are shinobi. Do not use ninjutsu for show. Stay hidden, and you'll stay safe."
"Teacher, don't worry! That kind of reckless thing? I'd never!" Yahiko grinned, but the gleam in his eye betrayed the exact opposite impulse. The thrill of power was new and intoxicating.
Ragnar didn't press it. Some lessons had to be learned firsthand. With a final nod, he pulled the blood-red Rakshasa mask over his face. In an instant, the caring teacher vanished, replaced by the cold, efficient ANBU operative.
He turned and was gone, a blur of motion swallowed by the trees.
Behind him, Konan stood watching the empty space where he'd been, a small sigh escaping her. Her shoulders slumped just a fraction.
"Hey," Yahiko said, nudging her gently. "Teacher's the strongest person we know. He'll be fine. He'll deal with his business and come back. We just have to make sure we're here when he does."
Konan nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yes. You're right."
She hugged herself, looking at the forest. Be safe, Teacher.
Dark clouds smothered the sky, pressing down on a vast, tangled forest. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth, decay, and tension.
Among the dense trees, figures moved with purpose. Iwagakure ninja, their forehead protectors glinting dully, conducted a systematic, brutal sweep. They moved in teams, scanning the undergrowth, climbing trees to gain vantage points. This was a hunt.
"We cannot let her escape," growled the man leading the operation, a brown-skinned mountain of muscle named Iwato. An elite Iwa jonin, his voice was like grinding stone. "Killing her breaks one of Konoha's future pillars. It is a strategic victory."
This force was one of Iwa's premier hunter-nin teams. Alongside Iwato were three other jonin: Ishi, a tactical specialist; a special jonin named Garon; and the ghost of a fourth, recently killed. They commanded twelve chunin and a complement of genin, thirty-two shinobi in total—a small army dedicated to one quarry.
Sensory-nin fanned out, their chakra sensing extended like nets, feeling for any flicker of foreign energy in the natural chakra of the forest.
Jonin Ishi, a man with a perpetually angry scowl, spat on the ground. "A full elite team ambushing a single Konoha jonin… it should have been over in minutes. But that damn blonde she-devil… she fought like a demon badger. She carved a path right through our lines and vanished into this wood. Now we're wasting days."
Their target was Tsunade. The ambush, a joint operation with Suna forces, had targeted the legendary Sannin-in-training. The intervention of Hanzo and his salamander's poison had crippled Jiraiya, scattering the trio. To buy time for Orochimaru to stabilize their teammate and to seek an antidote, Tsunade had become the diversion, leading the most aggressive pursuers—the Iwa team—on a desperate chase. Now she was cornered, her back against the territory of Amegakure itself.
Iwato's face was grim. "She cannot get past us to Rain's borders. Hanzo would kill her for sport. She's in here. We find her. We avenge Tetsu." The fallen jonin's name was a fresh wound on the unit's pride.
The other side of the vast forest.
Deep within a thicket of ancient, knotted vines, Tsunade crouched. Her breathing was controlled but shallow, conserving energy. Her iconic blonde hair was matted with sweat and grime, her green haori torn, the flak jacket beneath scarred and dented. A long, shallow cut along her ribs seeped slowly; she was rationing her chakra too strictly to heal even that.
Her mind was a tactical map, cold and clear despite the fatigue. East leads to Rain. Suicide. North, south, west… crawling with Iwa scouts. Reinforcement? A bitter twist touched her lips. Orochimaru was guarding a poisoned Jiraiya. Sakumo was commanding a war. The Uchiha vanguard would probably celebrate her death. The Hyuga might be scanning, but would they find her in time?
She leaned her head back against the rough vines, closing her eyes for just a second. The odds were bleak. She'd known the risk when she volunteered to be the bait. A strange calm settled over her. If this was it, she'd make them pay dearly.
The forest's southern edge.
Ragnar arrived like a silent storm. The scroll's coordinates had led him here, to this sprawling, gloomy wood where Tsunade's last known signal had been lost.
Alone. No Hyuga scouts with their all-seeing eyes to pinpoint the needle in this green haystack.
But he didn't need their eyes.
He stopped at the tree line, the Rakshasa mask turning slowly as he scanned the oppressive wall of vegetation. He took a deep breath and let his consciousness expand.
Observation Haki: Level 4. Full release.
The world didn't just become clear; it became a transparent blueprint.
His perception didn't flow out in a wave; it simply was, a dome of absolute awareness with a radius of 1,500 meters. One and a half kilometers in every direction, instantly mapped in his mind.
He felt the chakra of every insect, every rodent, every root drinking water. He sensed the faint, sickly pulse of poisoned plants from some long-ago skirmish. And he felt the sharper, disciplined clusters of chakra signatures moving through the forest—hunting patterns, search grids. Iwa-nin. Dozens of them.
And then, further in, north-by-northwest… a single, potent, familiar chakra signature. It was flickering, weary, but burning with a stubborn, defiant will. It was coiled tight, hidden, like a wounded lioness in a thicket.
Tsunade.
The Byakugan saw. His Haki knew. It was a radar painting the entire battlefield in his mind. He saw her position. He saw the tightening net of Iwa hunters around her. He saw the paths, the gaps, the dead ends.
The mission was no longer a search. It was a route.
His hand rested on Yama's hilt. The two-sword style knowledge hummed in his muscles, ready for its first real test.
He didn't run into the forest. He melted into it, a red-and-black ghost with a map of the entire hunt etched behind his eyes. The extraction had begun.
(End of Chapter)
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