A flicker of cold light preceded the sword stroke—a whisper of honed intent slicing through the air, carrying the chill of a midwinter gale.
"AHH!"
A shrill, surprised scream echoed as the single, perfect slash bisected the strange, pitcher-plant creature where it erged from the tree. The slash ignored the fibrous shell as if it were air.
THUNK! THUNK!
Two more blades followed. One, a standard black chakra blade, pinned the white, flailing half of the creature to the trunk. The other, the legendary Kusanagi Sword, skewered the dark, oozing half to the forest floor.
Ragnar stepped forward, his steps silent on the damp leaves. He looked down at the two squirming, pinned entities. Did they really think my Observation Haki was for show? Their integration with nature was flawless… until they started bickering and leaking chakra-laced agitation. Amateurs.
"Ow! My body!" the white half—White Zetsu—wailed. Even as a divided entity, the sensation was apparently unpleasant.
"You fool," the black half—Black Zetsu—hissed, its form a puddle of thick, dark liquid struggling against the blade pinning it.
White Zetsu's bisected form was already regenerating; white, bulbous flesh sprouted and knitted together with disturbing speed. Black Zetsu seed more liquid than solid, a stain on the earth.
"Don't kill ! It won't do you any good!" White Zetsu pleaded.
Ragnar observed them with detached interest. An Oscar was owed to these beings. Their performance had fooled a legend like Madara for decades. White Zetsu, a war-born fungus monster, was one thing. But Black Zetsu… this was the puppet master, the silent editor of the entire shinobi historical narrative. The Sage of Six Paths might be the progenitor, but Black Zetsu was the ghostwriter. Most of the world's drama could be laid at its… feet? Stains?
"Who are you?" Ragnar asked, playing the part of the ignorant, deadly operative.
"We're just… passersby! Really! Let us go!" White Zetsu babbled.
… Ragnar remained silent. Of course it was White Zetsu who cracked first.
"We an no harm, Lord Rakshasa," Black Zetsu interjected, its voice smoother, more calculating.
"You know ."
"We are… information specialists. It is our business to know."
"Then you should also know," Ragnar's voice dropped, the air growing colder around them, a killing intent as tangible as frost forming on the leaves, "that those who learn my identity… tend to die."
"Such terrifying intent!" White Zetsu squeaked.
Black Zetsu remained outwardly calm. It had seen millennia, weathered countless storms. "Lord Rakshasa, my continued existence holds more value to you than my death. We have no direct conflict. Perhaps… we could discuss cooperation."
"Cooperation?" Ragnar feigned surprise. Here it cos. The sches.
"Yes, indeed. We could—"
SHING!
A black blur. Ragnar's arm moved. Yama flashed.
"Ah? A bit… chilly?" White Zetsu's expression turned confused. Then it noticed its perspective shifting. Its head was tumbling, detached from the regenerating body.
THUMP.
The head rolled to a stop right in front of Black Zetsu's puddle-form. White Zetsu's eyes t Black Zetsu's for an instant, then glazed over. The body it left behind deflated like a punctured balloon, collapsing into a puddle of white, foamy sludge.
"You… you killed him?!" Black Zetsu exclaid, genuine shock in its voice. He didn't negotiate? He didn't even hesitate!
"I kill things. It's what I do." Ragnar raised Yama again, a flicker of crimson deep in his pupils. The demonic purple miasma coiled eagerly around the blade. "You speak of cooperation. Cooperation requires equals. Survive this. Escape . Then… perhaps we can talk."
The murderous intent pouring from Ragnar was no bluff. It was a promise of erasure. Black Zetsu understood. To this creature, 'cooperation' was not a diplomatic opening; it was a privilege earned by proving you were not rely prey.
Run.
Just before Yama descended for the final cut, the puddle of black liquid that was Black Zetsu liquefied completely, losing all cohesion. It seeped through the cracks in the soil and the dense weave of roots, vanishing into the earth's depths without a trace.
Ragnar watched it go, then calmly retrieved the Kusanagi Sword. The outco was expected. Black Zetsu was the manifested will of Kaguya Otsutsuki, less a living being and more a sentient phenonon. It had no true form. Its strength wasn't in direct combat, but in millennia of patience, infiltration, and an arsenal of bizarre, opportunistic techniques. Killing it here was likely impossible.
White Zetsu, however, was a different story. Countless clones, weak individually, but perfect for… testing. And as the system notification quietly chid in his mind, confirming his EXP had finally tipped over the 50,000 threshold, he knew the 'test' had been fruitful. Ti for an upgrade.
He turned and walked back toward the hut.
By the Hut
Yahiko, Nagato, and Konan were taking a water break when they saw Ragnar return.
"Teacher! Where did you go?" Yahiko called out.
"To get supplies. Nutritional supplents. Your bodies need fuel to grow." Ragnar held up a bag of gathered roots, nuts, and dried at he'd actually collected on the way back. No need to ntion the extracurricular activities.
"Aweso! A feast tonight!" Yahiko's earlier solemnity was temporarily forgotten in the face of food.
"Yes, the teacher's stew is the best," Konan agreed, a soft smile on her face.
Nagato didn't speak, but he nodded, a rare, small smile touching his lips. The constant training, the improvent in his once-sickly physique, the sense of belonging… he owed it all to this enigmatic teacher who had walked out of the blood-stained fog of war and into their lives.
"Enough training for today. Rest. We'll prepare the al together."
The four of them moved into the hut, the simple act of preparing food together weaving another thread into the fabric of their makeshift family.
The Hidden Cave
A panicked stain of black ooze bubbled up from the stone floor. "Madara-sama! Trouble! White Zetsu is dead!"
In the darkness, a single scarlet eye ignited, its pressure instantly crushing the already tense air.
"What did you say? White Zetsu is dead? Explain." Madara's voice was a low rumble of tectonic plates shifting.
"We were discovered! By Rakshasa! His perception… it's monstrous!" Black Zetsu reported, the mory of that chilling, indifferent sword stroke still fresh.
(End of Chapter)
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