Kapitel 332: 331-Misdirection

The chamber was bathed in an eerie blue glow, flickering and pulsating in rhythm with the intricate seals that adorned the walls and floor. At its centre, Hano Ayame, her wiry frame tense with strain, lay strapped to a stone altar.

Tani, her soon-to-be replacement, stood nearby, her hands trembling as she clutched the edges of her ceremonial robes. It seemed she was questioning if she was ready for this lifelong mission.

Kudo stood over them, his gnarled hands poised in mid-air, fingers dancing through a series of precise, deliberate movements.

The process was well underway. Tendrils of chakra, wild and untamed, snaked through the chamber like living flames, coiling and writhing as if resisting their fate.

The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning incense and the metallic tang of blood—Hano's blood, which trickled from her bitten lip in defiant silence.

Kudo winced, his weathered face contorting.

{A/N: I made a mistake in the previous chapter by mistaking Kudo and Taira but I have already updated the changes.}

He wasn't just feeling the strain of Matatabi's chaotic chakra—no, that would've been manageable on its own. It was the noise outside, the constant explosions and the distant thwack of jutsus clashing against one another, that grated on his nerves. The walls vibrated faintly with each distant detonation, the chaos seeping through like water through a cracked dam.

"I told that brat to ensure there was no disturbance," Kudo muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with irritation. "But he didn't listen."

His voice, though low, carried the weight of someone who had endured centuries of unmet expectations.

And indeed, Kudo had lived long enough to harbour such grievances. His uncle, Kosuke Goto, had been the First Raikage, the founder of Kumogakure.

Kudo had witnessed the village's birth from a cluster of warring clans into a formidable shinobi nation. Through it all, he had remained in the shadows, honing his craft in fuinjutsu—a discipline that, at the time, had been dismissed as unnecessary when Uzushiogakure's mastery reigned supreme.

The shinobi world had relied on Uzushio's seals for decades. Why bother cultivating their own fuinjutsu experts when they could simply barter with the neutral and benevolent Uzumaki?

But Kudo had seen the writing on the wall. He had persevered, mastering a craft that few cared to pursue. His efforts had borne fruit when Uzushio allied itself with Konoha, when Senju Hashirama and Uzumaki Mito tied the knot, shifting the power balance and forcing the other villages to realize the value of self-reliance.

By the time Uzushio fell after the other shinobi villages became fed up with their cooperation with Konoha, Kudo had already established Kumogakure's fuinjutsu department, becoming its foremost authority.

And now, decades later, here he stood, the architect of Kumogakure's jinchuriki program. The transfer of the tailed beasts—the Two-Tails, Matatabi, and the Eight-Tails, Gyuki—was his responsibility.

A sharp crack from outside made Kudo grimace again, his concentration faltering for a split second. He took a deep breath, forcing the external chaos from his mind. He had performed this ritual more than he would have hoped, but the stakes were always high.

One misstep could lead to disaster.

"Focus," Kudo muttered to himself, his voice a low growl.

He pressed his hands firmly against the cold, unyielding surface of the altar, activating the intricate network of seals carved into it. The response was immediate—a surge of energy coursed through the room as the tattoos etched onto Hano's aged and weathered skin came alive.

Lines of ink, impossibly complex and glowing with an ethereal blue light, spread like veins of lightning over her frail body. The chamber was momentarily bathed in an otherworldly glow, the light flickering as though the energy itself was unstable.

Hano's body reacted violently, her muscles spasming as if struck by an unseen force. She arched off the altar, her wiry frame straining against the unseen force that held her in place.

A guttural sound escaped her lips, a mix between a grunt and a gasp, as she clenched her teeth harder. A single tear broke free from the corner of her tightly shut-eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek before disappearing into the deep lines of her face.

"Damn stubborn chakra," Kudo muttered, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Despite his vast experience, Matatabi's essence was proving to be as unruly as ever. The energy wasn't just resisting—it was fighting him, lashing out like a cornered predator.

"Hano, hold on," Kudo said, his voice gruff yet carrying an undercurrent of respect. "We're almost there. You're strong. Stronger than most."

Hano's only response was a strained grunt, her hands balling into fists so tight that her knuckles turned white. Blood seeped from the crescent-shaped marks her nails left on her palms, but she didn't falter.

The seals on the altar began to change, shifting and reconfiguring as Kudo adjusted his hand movements.

Matatabi's chakra surged again, more violently this time. The tendrils coalesced into a massive wave, slamming against the barrier of Kudo's own chakra.

"You think you can resist me?" Kudo hissed under his breath, his tone almost mocking as he tightened his grip on the energy. "You've been in my hands before, Matatabi. You know how this ends."

Despite his bravado, it was clear that this was no easy task. The years had taken their toll on Kudo, and his body wasn't what it used to be. His joints ached, his muscles protested, but his mind—sharp and unyielding—kept him moving.

The seals on Hano's skin flared even brighter, the light now almost blinding. The patterns writhed as though alive, pulsating with a rhythm that matched the erratic beating of her heart. Each pulse drew more of Matatabi's essence from her, the wild chakra swirling in the air like a storm contained within the chamber's walls.

Hano's lips moved faintly, forming words that were inaudible over the cacophony of crackling chakra. Kudo leaned closer, his focus unwavering despite the chaos.

Her voice was barely a whisper, her breath shallow and ragged. "...I won't scream."

Kudo's expression softened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something that might have been pride crossing his weathered face.

"You don't need to," he said quietly. "Your strength speaks louder than any scream ever could."

===

Meanwhile, Renjiro moved silently through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows against the cold, stone walls, creating an almost oppressive atmosphere. The distant sounds of battle echoed faintly, a reminder of the chaos he had orchestrated.

'I need to get there quickly before my chakra runs out,' Renjiro thought, his pace quickening.

Everything was going according to plan, perhaps too perfectly. He hadn't needed to engage with any of the S-rank shinobi stationed around the facility—a fact that both relieved and unsettled him.

When the ceremony had begun, Renjiro had made his move. He had created an army of clones—shadow, water, and earth—sending them to attack different parts of the facility.

The clones served their purpose well, drawing the enemy's attention and scattering their forces. Each time one set of his clones was destroyed, Renjiro created another set, ensuring the chaos continued unabated.

The strategy was simple but effective. Most of the Kumogakure shinobi would assume his target was the ceremony, where Hano and Tani were undergoing the transfer.

But that was a misdirection.

Renjiro's true objective lay elsewhere: the office of the head of the research department, where he was certain the tailed beast research documents were stored. At least that was what he got from the memories of a shinobi he sent to his maker.

As he moved, Renjiro activated his chakra field, the very sensory technique that allowed him to manipulate the movements of the Kumo shinobi like pawns on a chessboard. Each time one neared his destination, he adjusted the placement of his clones, drawing them away.

Finally, he reached the office. The door was reinforced with seals, their faint glow visible even in the dim corridor. Renjiro channelled his chakra into a kunai, the blade humming with energy, and slashed at the seals. They shattered with a faint crackle, the sound almost lost in the distant din of battle.

The door creaked open, revealing a dark, musty room filled with shelves of scrolls and tomes. Renjiro stepped inside, the air cold against his skin. He activated his Sharingan, the crimson tomoe spinning as they pierced the darkness, searching for any traps or hidden mechanisms.

As he scanned the room, his instincts screamed at him. A chill ran down his spine, and he flickered backwards just in time.

A figure emerged from the shadows, their presence oppressive and overwhelming.

"I was wondering which village was attacking us," the man said, his voice deep and resonant, like the rumble of distant thunder. He stepped into the faint light, his sharp features etched with a grim smile. "But seeing an Uchiha here... Konoha is probably behind this, right?"

Renjiro's breath hitched. He couldn't answer. Every fibre of his being was telling him one thing: this man was dangerous.

=====

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Kapitel 333: 332-But how are you going to escape?

The dim light of the small, disorganized office cast long shadows, making the air feel suffocating. Renjiro stood a few feet away, his Sharingan glowing faintly, every nerve in his body screaming caution.

"While we were expecting some attacks from the other villages," the man began, his voice smooth and condescending, "I wonder why Konoha only sent you." His tone was mocking, yet there was an edge of curiosity that cut through the arrogance.

He adjusted his stance, casually spinning the kunai in his fingers. "You might have a lot of chakra, but surely the Hokage didn't think you could bypass all our defenses alone?"

Renjiro remained silent, his crimson eyes locked on Sone, scanning every movement, every twitch. His senses were on high alert, and his mind raced to calculate his options.

Sone's presence wasn't just unsettling—it was oppressive. There was an aura about him, an unshakable confidence that spoke of someone who had no doubt he held the upper hand.

'Yeah, no shit,' Renjiro thought, his jaw tightening.

His mission was already precarious, and he hadn't managed to retrieve any documents yet. Retreating without accomplishing his goal wasn't an option, but the man before him wasn't going to make this easy. Especially if he decided to engage him.

"Unless…" Sone's smirk widened, his voice trailing off as if a sudden realization struck him. "The Jinchūriki transfer wasn't your real target."

Renjiro's heartbeat quickened. He kept his expression neutral, unwilling to give away anything.

Sone chuckled darkly, as if relishing the tension in the room. "But why would this even be your target?" His tone turned mockingly thoughtful. "Has the Hokage grown senile? I've heard he's getting old."

Renjiro moved without warning, jumping back to create more distance between them. The movement was fluid, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to signal his intent. His hands blurred through a series of hand signs, and in one swift motion, he hurled star-shaped kunais at Sone.

The sharp whizz of the kunai cutting through the air was followed by a brief whoosh as Renjiro exhaled, coating the projectiles in fire chakra. The kunai glowed orange, streaking toward Sone like fiery comets.

"I am Sone Kageyama, by the way," the man said nonchalantly, as if oblivious to the incoming attack. "Yes, I'm from that Kageyama clan. We're quite famous, despite our size, and that's largely because we—"

Sone cut himself off mid-sentence as he stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding the flaming kunai. His movement was effortless, almost lazy, yet precise enough to avoid the danger.

"Don't they teach manners in Konoha?" Sone sneered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I was in the middle of myself or are the Uchiha jus—"

POP!

The sudden sound startled Sone as the kunai he had evaded abruptly changed trajectory, veering toward him again with unnatural precision. His smirk faltered, and he was forced to dodge once more, this time with a sharp twist of his torso.

Renjiro's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. 'It's been a while since I used this jutsu,' he thought.

It was becoming annoying when Everyone referred to him as an Uchiha, but that was well out of his control. So he tried his best to let it go

Sone dodged each redirected kunai with increasing irritation, his movements fluid but lacking the ease from earlier.

Renjiro took the opportunity to flicker toward one of the cabinets he'd noticed earlier. Inside, he'd glimpsed scrolls that might contain the information he needed.

As he reached for the handle, a sudden rush of air was the only warning he got before a kick came hurtling toward his side. Renjiro ducked at the last second, the force of the kick passing just inches above him.

'He's faster than I thought,' Renjiro noted, spinning low to the ground and seamlessly transitioning to a sweeping motion aiming to knock Sone off his feet.

But Sone was ready. He jumped, flipping mid-air as he spat several wind bullets down at Renjiro. The sharp whoosh of the wind projectiles was deafening in the small room.

Using the momentum of his failed sweeping kick, Renjiro launched himself into the air with a front flip, narrowly evading the wind bullets. As he reached Sone's level, he thrust his palm forward, aiming for a decisive strike.

Sone mirrored the motion, their palms colliding with a resounding BOOM. The impact sent shockwaves through the room, scattering loose papers and knocking over a chair. Both men were thrown back, landing gracefully on opposite sides of the room.

"Ooh, so the documents are the real target," Sone mused aloud, his tone playful but laced with malice.

Renjiro clenched and unclenched the hand that had met Sone's strike. Something about the exchange felt… off. His hand tingled, not from pain, but from an odd, lingering sensation.

'Why does it feel weird?' Renjiro wondered. 'There's something unnatural about him… but I can't put my finger on it.'

Sone didn't give him time to think. His movements were swift and he was on Renjiro in an instant. A relentless flurry of punches, palm strikes, and kicks came at him from every angle.

The air around them filled with the sound of sharp, slicing movements—whip, whip, crack—as Sone's strikes cut through the space between them with practised precision.

Renjiro's Sharingan flared, the crimson tomoe spinning rapidly as he read each attack. Yet, even with the Sharingan's advantage, Sone's speed and technique left no room for error.

Renjiro shifted his weight, deflecting a sharp punch aimed at his ribs. He twisted to the side, raising his forearm just in time to block a powerful kick aimed at his head.

Each impact sent reverberations through his body. His muscles strained as he countered, aiming a sharp jab at Sone's shoulder, but Sone twisted gracefully, redirecting the blow as if it were a minor inconvenience.

"You know," Sone said, his voice maddeningly calm, even conversational, as if the fight was merely a warm-up, "I've never fought an Uchiha before." His tone carried an undercurrent of excitement, as though he were testing out a new toy.

"They say your Sharingan can see the future. Is that true?"

Renjiro clenched his jaw, refusing to answer. Every time he moved to counter, Sone anticipated it, deflecting and redirecting with an almost supernatural ease.

Sone's attacks intensified, his strikes now coming in unpredictable patterns. Renjiro gritted his teeth, feeling the heat of exertion building in his limbs. He needed to change the flow of the fight.

With a sharp burst of chakra, four shadow clones appeared around him, seamlessly joining the fray.

The room erupted into chaos as the clones synchronized their movements, weaving in and out of Sone's range with calculated precision. Renjiro's clones worked in tandem, their strikes aiming to overwhelm him from every direction.

But Sone moved like water, his body flowing effortlessly between attacks. He ducked under a sweeping kick from one clone, pivoted to avoid a punch from another, and deflected a kunai slash with his forearm. His movements were so fluid that it seemed as if he anticipated their attacks before they even committed to them.

Renjiro's frustration mounted. Even with the advantage of numbers, the tide of the battle wasn't shifting in his favour. Despite holding back, it annoyed him that the only thing he could do was keep Sone at bay.

He watched as Sone twisted mid-step, sweeping his leg in a wide arc that destroyed three clones in a burst of smoke. The remaining clone pressed forward, but Sone's counterattacks were merciless.

With a sharp crack, he shattered the defence of the final clone, dispersing it in a puff of smoke.

When the smoke cleared, Sone flickered toward one of the cabinets. Lightning chakra crackled around his kunai as he thrust it forward, aiming to stab just in front of it.

Clang!

Renjiro materialized in front of the cabinet, his hand gripping the electrified kunai. The lightning buzzed against his palm, but he held firm, his Sharingan glaring defiantly at Sone.

"You won't be getting this," Sone said, his tone dripping with arrogance.

"I don't need to," Renjiro replied his voice calm, almost mocking.

A faint smile played on his lips as his body dissolved into a puff of smoke. Sone's kunai sank harmlessly into empty air, and the cabinet in front of him shimmered, transforming into a plain desk.

"He used the Transformation Jutsu on the cabinets," Sone muttered, his smirk fading as realization dawned. His sharp gaze flicked around the room, scanning for any sign of the scrolls. One by one, the remaining cabinets shimmered and vanished, their contents disappearing along with them.

"Clever," Sone admitted, a grudging respect lacing his words. "But how are you going to escape?"

Renjiro was already in the middle of forming a hand sign. A confident smirk played across his face as he slammed his palm onto the ground with a resounding thud.

The force of the impact reverberated through the room, and a faint glow began to spread from beneath his hand.

But nothing happened.

Renjiro's smirk faltered, his expression shifting to confusion. He pressed his palm against the floor again, harder this time, but still, nothing responded to his chakra.

His eyes widened in shock. Panic began to creep into his chest as he realized something was wrong.

'I can't reverse summon myself!' The thought hit him like a blow, his heartbeat quickening as the weight of his predicament sank in.