Chapter 311: The Natural Chasm
A brief, deathly silence.
Then, like a drop of cold water into boiling oil, an uncontrollable cry of bone-deep terror erupted from the Hidden Stone Village ranks:
"Flying Thunder God! It’s the Flying Thunder God Technique!!!"
"The yellow flash? No... it’s the Sixth Hokage! He can use the Flying Thunder God too!"
The words "Flying Thunder God," along with the na "Minato Namikaze" that had long been etched into the nightmares of Hidden Stone Village’s Soul, acted like the most vicious curse, instantly awakening their fear!
That blonde figure, that elusive, uncatchable, and invisible golden flash that killed without a trace...
...was a nightmare abyss that countless Hidden Stone Village Seniors could not fill even with their blood and lives!
During the Third Great Ninja War, countless elites of Hidden Stone Village lost their lives in that single golden light before they could even see the enemy’s face.
"If you encounter Hidden Leaf Village’s yellow flash, you may abandon the mission and flee imdiately without punishnt."
This lesson, paid for with blood and tears from countless corpses, remains in the Hidden Stone Village Ninja regulations to this day!
Now, this nightmare-like golden light has reappeared in another blonde youth—one who is younger, stronger, and possesses even more bizarre thods!
The morale that had just been bolstered by the "Will of Stone" wavered violently once more in the face of this living, bloody slaughter!
The hands of many Hidden Stone Village Ninja holding their weapons began to tremble, their charging steps grew hesitant, and the shadows of terror clouded their eyes again.
Naruto shook his hands, the gold and green steam still boiling around him. As he watched the flood of Hidden Stone Village Ninja fall into panic at the na "Flying Thunder God," the smile on his face grew more wild, yet the Battle Intent in his eyes beca purer.
With his blonde hair dancing wildly and his clothes fluttering, Naruto traversed the battlefield; he was unstoppable!
, , , , , , , , , ,
This doesn’t make sense.
This thought seizes you even before death does.
Like the most stubborn brand of rock, it burns deep into your consciousness.
You are Yuta, an Elite Jonin of Hidden Stone Village, in your thirties.
Graduating at eleven and promoted to Chunin at fourteen, the Third Great Ninja War, forged in blood and yellow earth, was your coming-of-age ceremony.
In the mountains of corpses and seas of blood, you learned to wrap the most lethal killing intent in the hardest rock, to discern every fluctuation of Chakra amidst the flying dust, and to revere those nas that truly stand above ordinary Ninja.
For instance, the "yellow flash," Minato Namikaze.
You never faced him head-on; that was your luck, as well as your regret.
You only pieced together his image from snippets of battle reports and the pale recounts of colleagues: a fleeting flash of gold, accompanied by the cold glint of a Kunai, followed by a silent harvest.
You once thought that kind of art, combining speed and death, was a legend belonging solely to that man—a myth forged from the Souls of countless enemy Ninja and an undefeated record.
Later, he beca the Hokage.
You nodded, feeling it was only right.
Such a person belonged in such a position.
Later still, he died.
You silently wiped your Kunai, your heart undisturbed.
Heroes are always prone to early deaths; such has always been the story of the Ninja World.
The world does not uniquely love Geniuses; those Geniuses are either orphans and solitary by nature, die young, or eventually end up with nothing.
You continued your missions, walking along cliffs and borders. From Special Jonin to Elite Jonin, the bloodstains and mud on the s-rank mission scrolls were the steps of your ascent.
You grew accustod to the weight of rock, to the fact that the accumulation of strength requires ti and the tempering of life and death, much like the rising of mountains requires eons of pressure.
So, what exactly is all this before your eyes?
You look at that youth...
No, that is a monster.
There is still a lingering childishness on his face, his fra having just begun to fill out, similar in age to the Tsuchikage’s granddaughter in your mory.
But what is he doing?
He has abandoned his terrifying advantages, weaving through the siege of hundreds of Hidden Stone Village Ninja using only Taijutsu and a few Ninjutsu.
And then, he used that technique.
Flying Thunder God.
In that instant, ti seed to flow backward. mories of the battlefield, where the bodies were still warm, gripped your throat along with a cold dread.
The golden light was no longer just a rumor; it leaped, flashed, vanished, and reappeared before your eyes. The Hidden Stone Village formations, which coordinated perfectly, and their defenses, solid as bedrock, crumbled like sandcastles in a Wind before him.
The trajectory of the Kunai surpassed the limits of vision, leaving behind only the afterimages of comrades groaning as they fell.
He cannot be allowed to continue!
Your squad’s eyes turned red with desperation.
Those young Chunin were children you raised yourself. They roared, using the clumsiest yet most resolute thod—using their bodies as shields and their lives as bait—to forcibly create a "mont" for you within the trajectory of that golden lightning.
For an Elite Jonin like you, a mont is enough.
"Earth Release: Rock Fist!"
The condensation of your life’s Chakra, your understanding of the essence of rock manipulation, and your battle-hardened grasp of opportunity were all contained in this one punch.
The power of Earth Release surged into your right arm, transforming into a hard rock fist. With a roar that could shatter mountains, it slamd toward the golden figure whose back was turned to you.
A hit!
The contact was solid; the rock fist struck him squarely in the back.
Before your heart could even feel a spark of joy at hitting the target, you were subrged in boundless absurdity and coldness the very next second.
He didn’t even wobble.
This isn’t right. Clearly, Lord Kitsuchi’s Rock Fist caused him damage before!
It was as if that wasn’t an Iwagakure Style Profound Truth capable of shattering giant boulders hitting a human, but rather a falling leaf brushing against a towering mountain peak.
He didn’t even spare you a glance, rely taking care of the persistent Jonin comrade in front of him with a movent as casual as brushing dust off his shoulder.
Then, he casually struck backward with a palm, as if shooing away an annoying fly.
No hand seals, no charging up, no light.
Just an ordinary palm strike.
But what it carried was a terrifying power that overwheld your thirty years of understanding.
Your rock fist shattered inch by inch, and your Protective Rock Armor was like paper.
You were like a kite with a broken string—no, like a pebble flicked by a giant—crushing everything in your path without any power to resist.
Now, you lie in the ho of so evacuated villager, your life rapidly fading along with your body heat.
Outside the hole, the sounds of battle are fading; perhaps it has already ended.
That golden figure has likely already left, heading toward the next place he needs to "pass through."
Cold darkness creeps up from your limbs, but your eyes remain open, staring blankly and fixedly at the roof beam.
Why?
From the mont you learned to refine Chakra, nearly thirty years of bitter cultivation, fighting on battlefields, narrow escapes during missions, intensive study of Ninjutsu, and the tempering of your physique...
What was the point of all of it?
You have seen Geniuses; Hidden Stone Village has Ninja who beca famous at a young age too.
You understand the gap in talent, just as you understand that rocks can be hard or soft.
But this isn’t a gap.
This is a natural chasm.
It is the despair a Mortal feels when looking up at a god, unable to even touch the hem of their clothes despite giving their all.
Everyone is human, eating the sa food, breathing the sa air, and learning to refine Chakra in the sa Ninja Academy.
Why is it that at thirteen, he can so easily crush everything you built by the age of thirty?
Your strength, your experience, your resolve, along with the sacrifice of your subordinates...
Do they not even have the qualification to make him slightly serious?
That casual palm strike not only sent you flying but also shattered the very foundation of the entire Ninja World that you lived by and believed in.
Before the darkness completely swallowed your consciousness, one last image was frozen in ti:
A corner of the sky outside the hole, gray and gloomy, just like the usual hue of Hidden Stone Village.
And what was frozen in your pupils was not the fear of death, nor concern for the Village, nor even hatred for that golden figure.
Only a hollow, unresolvable...
Lack of understanding.
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