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Chapter 114n
🕑 Added 2025-07-30 15:22:45 +0000 UTCChapter 114n
2-in-1-chapter
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“Planning to self-destruct?”
Rēn gave a cold laugh. “Wishful thinking! You can die if you want, but your body stays with me!” The deep crimson Susanoo appeared once again. This time, it was not clad in armor, but only a ribcage and skeletal arms stripped of flesh.
The arm of Susanoo reached across the gap between Rēn and White Zetsu.
Before he could cover his body fully with explosive tags, White Zetsu was seized in Susanoo’s massive grip. The curse marks along the colossal finger bones slithered onto White Zetsu’s body the instant they touched, spreading densely over him like black serpents. His body stiffened at once, frozen in place.
This was—
Self-Made Curse Binding Seal.
Rēn had obtained this sealing jutsu while probing Danzō’s brain. Originally a secret sealing art of the Uzumaki clan, after the clan’s destruction, Konohagakure inherited their legacy. The Konoha leadership at the time, including Sarutobi Hiruzen and Shimura Danzō, naturally claimed their share. The Self-Made Curse Binding Seal was one of those techniques.
This was no ordinary sealing technique, yet it still could not truly restrain White Zetsu.
Almost all White Zetsu, regardless of strength, possessed an innate, overwhelming resistance to curse seals. The Curse Binding Seal’s effect began to fade after only a short while, the black markings across his body vanishing rapidly.
As he regained control of his body, White Zetsu instinctively tried to detonate the explosive tags on himself and in his Root‑forged hands.
But—
Why wasn’t there an explosion?
The thought of confusion surfaced in his mind, until the world before his eyes spun. He saw his own headless corpse clutched tightly in the hand of Susanoo. In that instant, he understood—his head had already been severed.
“If you want to die, I can oblige. But damaging my spoils… that’s out of the question.”
Rēn extended his left hand, and White Zetsu’s head dropped firmly into his palm. By now, the Transformation Jutsu disguise had been dispelled. The pale head weighed heavy, and though no blood spilled from the severed neck, the eerie sensation against his hand was unsettling.
But such minor discomfort was nothing.
Susanoo’s arm placed the headless body gently onto the back of the dark‑feathered hawk. With a forceful sweep of the Gunbai fan in his right hand, Rēn sent a gust that blew every explosive tag from the corpse. They erupted in midair with a thunderous roar, not so much as grazing White Zetsu’s remains.
This display showed the depth of Rēn’s control over the Gunbai.
He stowed the fan away and sealed the corpse carefully into a scroll.
It was precious research material. The future prosperity of the Uchiha clan might rest upon this very body. The curse of blindness from the Mangekyō Sharingan had shackled the clan’s future, and White Zetsu’s body could very well be the key to breaking that curse.
An overabundance of Mangekyō Sharingan…? I find myself looking forward to it.
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Mei Terumī rubbed her eyes hard, shut them, counted to three in her mind, and then opened them again. The colossal wooden humanoid, resembling a temple Arhat, still stood before her. This was no illusion, nor was she under genjutsu. The wooden giant was real.
“Wood Release?”
“Wasn’t it said the inheritance had been severed?”
Her voice was a low murmur.
She pressed a hand to her forehead, still struggling to believe.
And not just her—any shinobi with even the faintest learning knew what Wood Release meant. In name, it seemed akin to Boil Release, Lava Release, or Ice Release, all Kekkei Genkai. But one man, Senju Hashirama, with his unbroken record of victories, had raised Wood Release to the supreme throne of the shinobi world.
Even today, the legend he left behind still weighed deeply upon all shinobi.
“What’s going on? Weren’t we told this was the Mizukage? Why is there Wood Release? Could this be Konoha’s doing?” Hōzuki Mangetsu’s voice was thin, his complexion pale. He was indeed weak; twice struck by Uchiha Shisui’s Fire Style, he had survived only thanks to the Hōzuki clan’s formidable survival ability.
“The one who just severed the wooden giant’s head was the ‘Flame Demon,’ Uchiha Rēn.”
Momochi Zabuza countered.
His own voice lacked strength.
Compared to Mangetsu, whose pallor was extreme, Zabuza was in worse condition. Thick bandages wrapped his chest and right arm, applied by the few medical‑ninja who accompanied Mei. Kirigakure had nowhere near the numbers of medics Konoha boasted.
He had taken two slashes from Uchiha Shisui and lived only by sheer toughness.
He had forced himself along until finally rejoining Mei to receive treatment.
Of the three, only Hoshigaki Kisame could be called in good condition. Blessed with a chakra volume many times greater than most shinobi, and with his water techniques honed to a high level, he had, alongside Mangetsu and Zabuza, managed to escape from Shisui alive.
However, it was only because Shisui hadn’t pursued them relentlessly. Had he done so, whether any of the three still breathed would be doubtful.
“If it wasn’t Konoha, then who else could it be?”
Mangetsu did not speak the words aloud, but the thought ran through his mind. He didn’t argue with Zabuza. Mei was right—something was off. Unlike Mei, he lacked subtlety, but instinct told him something was wrong.
He narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze fixing on the approaching figure of the Fourth Mizukage, Yagura Karatachi.
“Mizukage‑sama?”
Mei too noticed Yagura. Without hesitation, she wove hand seals, taking a clear defensive stance. She spoke with a warning: “Please, do not come closer. Until we verify your identity, forgive my offense.”
The matter of two Yaguras had not yet been resolved. Who knew who this one truly was?
“…You are impressive. Caution is a fine habit.”
At her words, Yagura halted. He raised his gaze slightly toward Mei. In his memory, Mei had always been the little girl learning at her mentor’s side, the noble heiress of one of the two remaining Kekkei Genkai bloodlines of Kirigakure.
His eyes shifted to the “prodigy” Hōzuki Mangetsu, the boy hailed as the hope of restoring the Hōzuki clan’s glory from the days of the Second Mizukage, arrogant and unrestrained.
Then to Momochi Zabuza… from a small clan, yet the one who had single‑handedly changed the Academy’s graduation exam. In his year, he had been the sole graduate, for he had slaughtered every one of his classmates.
And finally, Hoshigaki Kisame.
The finest young man in the Kirigakure ANBU, the intended next wielder of the great blade Samehada. If only Samehada had not fallen into the hands of Uchiha Rēn. With that blade, Kisame’s immense chakra paired with its chakra‑devouring ability might have rivaled even a Jinchūriki in endurance.
Looking at the youths before him, Yagura’s expression grew distant.
So… they had all grown this much without him realizing.
“You have all done well.” His voice softened. “But now, time is short. There’s little left for words. Mei, use your authority to tell every living Mist shinobi: cease fighting the Konoha shinobi. We… have lost.”
He forced the word “defeat” from his mouth.
At that moment, he suddenly understood why the Third Mizukage had chosen to abdicate after the Third Shinobi World War, passing the title to him, only to die not long after. Back then, Yagura had thought the Third fortunate to live so long.
Now, he saw the truth. Perhaps it had been the defeat in the Third Great Ninja War that had stolen the Third Mizukage’s life.
To admit defeat—
For a Kage, there was no greater humiliation.
Even in death, his failure would be seared into the memory of those who came after… Even though Yagura Karatachi had thought himself mentally prepared, he now realized his preparations had been far from enough. Bitterness filled his mouth, making it almost impossible to force out the words.
But he could not remain silent.
“Move quickly. We’ve already shed enough blood. It’s more than enough. Continuing to bleed is meaningless. We’ve already lost.” Yagura’s face was twisted with deep pain. But if it was for the village, for the Mist shinobi, for the future, he was prepared to sacrifice everything.
Life, soul, honor—nothing was too much to give up.
“Defeat?”
Momochi Zabuza repeated the word loudly, a word he had heard many times six years ago and now again after six long years.
His eyes widened, and in the black pupils one could almost see flames—flames of anger. He clenched his fists. Blood seeped through the bandages on his arm, staining them red, but he seemed not to notice that his wounds had split open.
“Mizukage‑sama, are you saying we’ve lost again?”
His tone and bearing were openly accusatory.
This cruel, ruthless, and ambitious man believed with unshakable conviction that he would one day change Kirigakure. Even in the original future, after failing in a coup and fleeing, he continued plotting the next one, accepting assassinations from nobles and merchants at any price if it furthered his plans.
Twisted as it might seem to some, it was clear Momochi Zabuza’s feelings for the village ran deep.
Yagura avoided meeting the searing gaze that felt as if it could scorch his soul. Staring instead at a puddle on the ground, suppressing the pain and agitation in his heart, he said dully, “That’s right. We’ve lost. Once again, we’ve lost to Konoha.”
Zabuza’s eyes felt like they were about to split apart, fury mounting in his chest like a volcano about to erupt.
“Zabuza, be silent!”
Before he could explode, Mei Terumī’s face hardened as she snapped, “Mangetsu, Kisame, what are you two standing there for? Keep an eye on him—don’t let him do something stupid.” She was in just as foul a mood as Zabuza, her temper bleached with anger, but unlike him, her reason was not overwhelmed by it.
No matter how harsh the word “defeat” sounded, she knew the Mist had lost. In truth, she had realized it earlier, which was why she had ordered the Chūnin and Genin to retreat, and the Jōnin not to seek kills but to preserve their own lives above all. Everything she had done was to preserve what strength the village still had.
Hōzuki Mangetsu and Hoshigaki Kisame, their faces equally grim, stood to either side of Zabuza, making sure their furious comrade didn’t act rashly.
“Mizukage‑sama, have you still not regained control of the situation?”
A black ink Hawk dove down, landing steadily. It lowered itself, spreading its wings like a ramp, and when Uchiha Rēn stepped off its back, the creature dissolved into a pool of ink, staining the ground. Rēn came to stand beside Yagura, speaking in an all too familiar tone.
“Need a hand? Looks like your reputation as Mizukage isn’t much to speak of. Want me to take out that murderous, no‑eyebrowed fellow for you?”
Murderous, no eyebrows—
He was referring to Momochi Zabuza.
The moment those words left his mouth, Mei Terumī and the others bristled instantly. What did this mean? Why was Mizukage‑sama so familiar with the Flame Demon, Uchiha Rēn? Was this Mizukage a fake? Or had their Mizukage betrayed the village?
“That won’t be necessary, Uchiha clan head. Speaking of which, has that impostor already been dealt with?”
“Naturally. Unfortunately, there’s no body. That impostor blew himself up with explosive tags—nothing left but ash.” Rēn lied without a flicker of expression. The White Zetsu’s corpse was far too valuable to share, especially this one. In his view, every White Zetsu varied greatly, those capable of using the Wood Human Technique were surely few in number.
Yagura did not press further about the impostor. Though he very much wanted to capture and study that Wood Release-faker, circumstances left no room for such concerns. Compared to that small matter, the urgent priority was ending the battle raging across the island.
“If he’s dead, then there’s nothing to be done.”
Yagura let out a faint sigh before continuing, “Uchiha clan head, please restrain the Konoha shinobi. There’s no need for further fighting. Any more would only mean pointless casualties. This time, we Mist shinobi have lost.”
He bowed his head toward Rēn.
