"So young, and already an elite chunin! Impressive!"
"And quite pretty too!"
"By the way, how many tomoe does your Sharingan have?"
Tsunade's rapid-fire, off-the-wall questions overwheld Uchiha Mikoto. The dignified, heroic image of the Sannin was crumbling fast. Mikoto could only offer a strained, polite smile, utterly at a loss.
"I… I should go scout the periter," she stamred, executing a swift but flustered retreat from the cave.
This… is not the Lady Tsunade from the stories, she thought, bewildered.
Once Mikoto was gone, Ragnar spoke, his voice dry. "You did that on purpose."
"Call sister," Tsunade countered, glaring at him, clearly dissatisfied with his formal address.
Ragnar simply shrugged, an unspoken you can't make in the gesture.
Tsunade sighed, the playful act dropping away. "Even though she's Kagami's descendant, there are things I don't want her privy to just yet. Hence… the distraction."
"Hn." Ragnar acknowledged her point.
"Ragnar," Tsunade's tone turned serious again. "That fire ability. Is it a Kekkei Genkai?"
He'd been expecting this. "You're still on that?" he deflected.
"Is it?" she pressed.
"Yes, Sister Tsunade. You'll keep it secret for ." It wasn't a question.
"You really are a little monster," Tsunade groaned, massaging her temples. "Where do you even get these powers?"
"Can't help it. I'm just talented," Ragnar replied, a hint of his old smirk returning.
"I will keep your secret," Tsunade promised, her gaze steady. "I understand your caution."
Ragnar nodded. In truth, with his current power, secrecy was becoming less of a life-or-death necessity and more of a tactical preference. If Konoha ever turned on him, he had options. The worst-case scenario was a clean, dramatic exit.
"Get so rest, Tsunade," he said, ending the conversation.
Later, Uchiha Mikoto returned. Tsunade remained approachable, but the eccentric interrogation didn't resu. Mikoto, sharp as she was, understood the unspoken ssage and didn't pry.
The night passed quietly in the hidden cave, an odd pocket of calm in the war-torn land. Over the next day, a tentative camaraderie ford. Tsunade found herself liking the quiet, intelligent Uchiha girl. Ragnar, for his part, sought solitude to train.
Ti was limited, so he focused on refining what he had. He chose the Navy's Six Powers: Shave.
Shave!
BOOM!
His leg pistoned into the ground, which erupted under the force. His body beca a blur, crossing fifty ters in an eyeblink to slam a fist into a thick tree trunk, pulverizing it.
Fast. But not perfect.
He wasn't satisfied. In the shinobi world, speed was everything. The future Yellow Flash, Namikaze Minato, had proven that. While the system-granted Shave skill could be upgraded with EXP, Ragnar had discovered its fundantals could be honed through pure, grueling practice. His lightning-chakra-enhanced physique provided a base, but there was always a higher ceiling.
The principle of Shave was simple: dozens of ultra-rapid kicks against the ground to generate explosive reaction force, enabling near-instantaneous movent.
Reaction force… strength…
An idea crystallized. What if I combine it with the Strength of a Hundred? Use 'Strange Power' in the kicks themselves?
The potential was exhilarating.
Strange Power: Shave!
This ti, the result was cataclysmic. The ground didn't just crack; it detonated in a localized earthquake. There was no blur, no afterimage. Ragnar simply ceased to exist at one point and reappeared over a hundred ters away, as if space had folded.
It was akin to short-range teleportation.
The speed had more than doubled.
He nearly overshot his intended stopping point, slamming into a rock face before he could arrest his montum.
"This…!" He stared at his own hands, then at the devastation his takeoff had caused. A fierce grin spread beneath his mask. This is it. The pinnacle of pure speed for this technique.
After the shock wore off, he practiced relentlessly, learning to control the monstrous, sudden acceleration. The improved Shave was breathtaking, but it ca with significant costs.
It was hell on his legs and absolutely destroyed his footwear.
The mutual force of the reaction was trendous, placing imnse shear stress on his calves and ankles. Without his Haki-tempered body and Senjutsu-enhanced resilience, his legs would have shattered. This version of Shave was a technique that scaled directly with the user's physical durability. The stronger the body, the greater the force it could withstand, and thus, the greater the speed.
His shoes, however, were not so blessed. After a few uses, they were reduced to shredded leather and rubber. He'd need to find sturdier gear.
With this new level of speed, a restless hunger ignited in him. He yearned to test it, to clash with a true apex predator of this world—a Kage-level opponent. He needed to know where he stood.
Finding such an opponent wasn't easy, of course. But his growth was so explosively fast it defied all conventional shinobi progression. To reach this threshold at his age was unheard of.
Am I Kage-level? He didn't know for sure. Only a life-or-death fight against one would tell him. And he craved that fight. He needed it.
He was aware that in the grand, horrifying scale of the Naruto world's future, even Kage-level power would eventually beco commonplace, even underwhelming. The monsters that would later appear—the Akatsuki, the Otsutsuki—operated on a different plane entirely. But here, now, in the blood and rain of the Second War, the Kage were the pinnacle. And Ragnar needed to know if he could stand on that peak.
(End of Chapter)
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