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Chapter 133n
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 15:43:50 +0000 UTCChapter 133n
2-in-1-chapter
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There are two ways to break genjutsu.
Depending on the type, the methods differ. For non-dōjutsu illusions, one can disrupt their own chakra flow to break free. For illusions cast by dōjutsu, however, it requires another person to interfere and disturb the victim’s chakra flow.
If Wind Release chakra were to be wrapped around the blade, it would help Orochimaru break free of the Binding Technique. That was the last thing Shisui wanted to see.
Yet just as his blade was about to touch Orochimaru’s neck, he caught the sound of sharp whistling—shoo, shoo, shoo—cutting through the air from a distance. Even with the sea wind and waves masking the noise, Shisui only noticed it when it drew near.
The scarlet glow in his eyes flared as his heightened dōjutsu power crushed down on Orochimaru’s consciousness. His short wakizashi came down even faster toward Orochimaru’s neck.
The next instant, blood spattered.
Once again, Shisui beheaded Orochimaru. This time, unlike the snake clones from before, fresh blood gushed from the severed neck. Yet Shisui’s face showed no joy, only resignation and regret. Ten holes marred Orochimaru’s neck, where finger bones had sunk deeply into his flesh.
Before Shisui’s blade severed the head, those ten finger bones infused with strong chakra had already pierced Orochimaru’s throat. The foreign chakra disrupted the flow that Shisui’s eye power had restrained.
In that instant, the long serpent Orochimaru had vomited forth drew back the sword it carried, and a small white snake slipped from his mouth. When Shisui’s blade cut through the neck, that snake tumbled into the sea below.
He had escaped.
Shisui held his bloodied blade and scanned the surroundings. He found no trace, only Orochimaru’s body and head weathering into ashen dust and dissolving into the waves. All that remained was the sword still lodged in Shisui’s shoulder, and a small boy standing on the nearby beach.
Orochimaru had fled.
“The Sannin… they’re truly difficult to kill.” Shisui muttered as he looked at the dripping sword in his hand and shook his head. Overhead, cawing crows gathered again and reformed into clones. They came to Shisui’s side and carefully drew the embedded sword from his shoulder. Their hands moved with practiced ease, stopping the bleeding and dressing the wound in one smooth sequence.
But such an injury was not something a bandage could fix at once. His right arm would not be able to make strenuous movements for now. Shisui realized that his mission to search for the Six Paths tools was most likely a complete failure. In this condition, he could not continue.
And if Orochimaru returned, capturing his true body would not be so simple. At that point, Shisui might have no choice but to rely on the Mangekyō Sharingan.
Beyond that, he was troubled by another question. Just as Orochimaru had asked him earlier, he too was curious—what was Orochimaru doing in this remote corner of the Land of Water? His instincts told him their purposes overlapped to a great degree. Whether that intuition was correct…
His eyes shifted toward the boy on the beach, already in a battle stance—Kimimaro.
“You want to fight me?”
Shisui walked forward slowly, careful not to approach too closely. The image of Orochimaru’s throat pierced through with ten bloody holes was fresh in his mind. That kind of power was dangerous even to him. Carelessness would mean injury, no matter that Kimimaro looked like only a seven- or eight-year-old child.
But when he himself was seven or eight, he too had already been fighting for survival on the battlefield.
He would not underestimate Kimimaro.
“I will not let you pursue Lord Orochimaru.”
From Kimimaro’s palms, elbows, shoulders, and knees, sharp white bones protruded. His small frame resembled a living weapon. The dense, feral killing intent around him proved he was no ordinary child. And from his words, it seemed he had chosen to stay behind willingly to cover Orochimaru’s escape.
Had Kimimaro not intervened, Orochimaru might never have broken free of Shisui’s illusion. Perhaps there truly had been a chance to kill him. Having witnessed Orochimaru’s bizarre methods, Shisui could no longer be certain of victory.
Even so, Kimimaro’s loyalty was remarkable.
But Orochimaru had fled without a thought for this boy.
Shisui held the broken wakizashi in his left hand, but he did not strike. He simply looked at Kimimaro. The crimson glow of his eyes locked onto the boy’s resolute gaze.
Genjutsu: Demonic Illusion: Sleep Technique.
Kimimaro’s young mind had no defense against Shisui’s genjutsu. The protruding bones receded into his body, and he fell backward onto the sand, fast asleep. A crow clone stepped forward, carefully lifting him. This child was likely the last survivor of the long-silent Kaguya clan. The Shikotsumyaku, like the Sharingan, was a unique mark in the shinobi world.
Even though the Kaguya clan had been gone for years, Shisui had done his homework before coming to the Land of Water.
“Let me see just what Orochimaru has been doing here.”
Suppressing the pain in his shoulder, he ordered his clone to pull open Kimimaro’s eyelids. Shisui projected his dōjutsu inside, sifting through the boy’s unguarded mind. Perhaps it was his youth, or perhaps it was because he was Orochimaru’s vessel, but there were no protective seals set in his memory.
This made the search easier.
It did not take long. Within Kimimaro’s limited memories, Shisui saw him raised as a weapon by his clan, then lured away by Orochimaru. Through that, Shisui glimpsed several of Orochimaru’s lairs, though most of that intelligence was useless. With Orochimaru’s cunning, any base Kimimaro knew of would surely already be abandoned.
Skipping past the bases, Shisui finally saw Orochimaru’s true purpose here. He had come for the corpses of the two legendary brothers of Kumogakure, Kinkaku and Ginkaku. Orochimaru had indeed found them, and had also swept up every other corpse he deemed valuable.
Shisui’s intuition had been right.
His mission was effectively impossible now.
Unless he could kill Orochimaru and take the spoils back, he had missed his chance. Hunting him down again would not be simple.
“Orochimaru… what misfortune.”
Shisui touched his wounded shoulder and sighed. “Such rotten luck.”
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Shisui once again pushed through the hanging curtain and stepped back into the diner, which was still open for business. The little girl serving customers froze halfway through her “Welcome,” staring wide-eyed at the returning guest whose body carried the heavy stench of blood. Her face turned pale in terror.
He was a shinobi.
This customer was a shinobi who killed without hesitation.
Her heart was full of fear. In the Land of Water, the Mist-nin had long earned a foul reputation for their cold-blooded methods, not unlike the way the Uchiha clan had once been treated in Konoha. Especially in a remote countryside place like this, shinobi in general—not just the Mist-nin—were demonized.
Murderers without mercy, cruel beyond measure, child-eaters… that was how the little girl understood shinobi.
Scared out of her wits, she was like a rabbit cornered by a tiger, too afraid to move, standing frozen and trembling.
“My stir-fried udon shouldn’t have gone cold yet, right?” Shisui sat back down at his previous seat. As for Kimimaro, whom he carried in hand, he laid him flat across two chairs opposite, still unconscious under genjutsu. “If possible, could you bring my stir-fried udon out quickly?”
Shisui put on his gentlest smile.
He knew well that he had just fought Orochimaru, that his bloodied appearance was terrifying, but the truth was he was hungry, tired, and hurting, and now he had an extra burden with him. At this moment, his greatest wish was simply to eat something good and sip a bowl of hot soup.
The little girl’s face remained pale and bloodless, yet his smile eased her heart slightly.
Stiff as a wooden puppet, she nodded toward him, then turned and walked into the kitchen with mechanical, halting steps. About ten seconds later, an elderly man with white hair and a stooped back emerged carrying a tray. Steam curled up from a plate of stir-fried udon, red bean soup with mochi, grilled pork, and fried chicken cutlet.
“Please enjoy your meal.”
The old man’s manner was exceedingly respectful.
“I’ll leave this town once I’ve finished eating.”
Shisui understood why the old man’s attitude was so deferential. He had encountered situations like this more than once on missions. He knew that at such times, it was pointless to protest, “I’m not a bad person, I mean no harm, I only came for a meal.”
It was far better to reassure them that he would depart quickly. That brought people more comfort.
The old man bowed his head in silence, then backed away.
Shisui exhaled quietly, shifted his focus, and turned to the long-delayed lunch.
On the chairs, the boy let out a faint groan, his lashes trembling slightly as his eyelids opened. His pale-green eyes wandered in confusion for several seconds before memory returned. He saw Shisui across from him, eating red bean soup with mochi.
Kimimaro bolted upright bone protruded from his palm in a sharp spike.
But before he could strike, Shisui looked up from his soup. Without a single hand seal or warning sign, Demonic Illusion: Shackling Stakes pinned Kimimaro in place. Only when Shisui swallowed the sticky bite of mochi did he speak.
“If you’d prefer to keep sleeping, I can make sure you dream for a very long time. If you don’t want that, then put away what you’re holding. The choice is yours.”
With that, Shisui released the genjutsu and lifted another long piece of mochi with his chopsticks.
Kimimaro remained still. The phantom pain of iron stakes piercing into his body lingered, but that was not what had stayed his hand. What stopped him was his refusal to sink back into that dream, and his awareness that the man who had defeated Orochimaru was far beyond his ability to resist.
His earlier motion had been nothing more than an instinctive reflex of the body.
Kimimaro did not know the term “reflex,” but he understood clearly enough what his mind was telling him. His quick, clever thoughts arrived at the conclusion that this opponent could not be defeated, and that as Orochimaru’s chosen vessel, he could not risk his life so recklessly.
So—
He sat down obediently in the chair opposite Shisui, staring wide-eyed at him without blinking as he ate. That intense, serious gaze made Shisui uncomfortable. His manners were hardly elegant to begin with when eating sticky mochi soup, and now he had a “spectator” watching his every move.
“Are you hungry?”
Shisui asked.
“No. I ate not long ago.”
Kimimaro answered quickly.
