Chapter 51: Fight continues
The masked shinobi moved first.
Kiyoshi barely had time to brace before the first strike came—a blur of motion. He leaned back just in time, the masked assassin's fist rushing past his chin.
No blade this time. Just raw skill.
Kiyoshi dodged, weaving through the next attack—a spinning kick aimed at his ribs. The force of the strike cut through the air where he had been standing a moment before. His opponent pressed forward, relentless, but Kiyoshi moved like water, slipping through gaps in the offense with uncanny precision.
Every feint, every lunge, every deceptive shift of weight—Kiyoshi read it all. His Chakra Flow Analysis tracked the micro-adjustments in his opponent's body, predicting attacks before they came. He didn't block. He didn't counter. He simply wasn't there when the blows landed.
Sparring with Might Dai had been brutal—countless hours of dodging with weighted seals, forced to evade barrages until his reactions were honed to an instinctual level. And now, unburdened by those weights, he was moving faster than ever.
The masked assassin's frustration became evident. Their strikes became sharper, more aggressive. Kiyoshi sidestepped a ruthless elbow, ducked a hook, and arched backward as a leg swept over his head.
Then—the another enemy entered.
It was the same rogue faction guard who had just defeated Daichi. The sight of him sent a wave of unease through Kiyoshi, knowing how skilled Daichi was—yet here his opponent stood, barely winded, ready to fight again. He wasted no time, lunging in with a dagger, aiming to catch Kiyoshi mid-dodge.
Still, Kiyoshi did not strike back.
He twisted, shifting between the two enemies, evading their combined attacks. It became a deadly dance—one shinobi attacking from the front, the other from behind, yet neither able to land a hit. Every movement of Kiyoshi's body was fluid, seamless, like the ebb and flow of a storm-tossed sea.
But even the most perfect defense couldn't last forever. The moment they adjusted, aiming to box him in—he changed.
Tsunade's lessons echoed in his mind. Strength meant nothing without timing. Power meant nothing without precision.
His stance shifted. For the first time, he retaliated.
A single, explosive movement—his palm shot forward, striking the first shinobi's chest with bone-crushing force. The assassin flew backward, skidding through the dirt, gasping for air.
The rogue guard, the one who had taken Daichi down, reacted instantly, slashing with his dagger, but Kiyoshi was already behind him. A devastating knee to the ribs sent him staggering. A hook to the jaw followed. Then—a final palm strike, infused with chakra, sending him hurtling across the battlefield.
The tide had turned.
But Kiyoshi did not stop.
The first shinobi staggered back to his feet, only to see Kiyoshi already in front of him. With a burst of speed, Kiyoshi ducked low and delivered a crushing uppercut, sending the masked assassin airborne. Before he could even descend, Kiyoshi pivoted, twisting into a spinning kick that slammed into his opponent's side, sending him crashing into a tree with a sickening crack.
The rogue guard charged again, trying to exploit any opening, but Kiyoshi's reflexes were sharper than ever. He side-stepped with inhuman speed, grabbed the guard's wrist mid-slash, and twisted—forcing the dagger from his grip. With a flick of his foot, Kiyoshi kicked the weapon high into the air, then spun behind the guard, catching it mid-fall.
One moment of silence.
Then—Kiyoshi struck.
With pinpoint precision, he slammed the hilt of the dagger into the rogue's pressure point, rendering his right arm useless. A brutal elbow to the sternum followed, stealing the breath from his lungs. As the guard collapsed to his knees, Kiyoshi finished it with a palm strike to the forehead, knocking him out cold.
The battlefield fell still.
Kiyoshi exhaled slowly, his breath steady despite the overwhelming speed and force he had just unleashed.
Then, from the corner of his eye—Mikoto and Ryota.
While Kiyoshi was weaving through relentless attacks, evading every strike with fluid precision, his teammates had been locked in their own battles. The battlefield was chaotic, yet within it, Mikoto and Ryota carved their own paths, each displaying the results of their grueling training.
Mikoto moved like a shadow, her Sharingan spinning violently as she dismantled her foes with ruthless efficiency. Every flicker of crimson in her eyes predicted an enemy's next move before they even made it. She was not merely reacting—she was controlling the fight.
A kunai whistled through the air toward her back. Without looking, she tilted her head slightly, letting it miss by mere inches. The attacker rushed forward, emboldened, his blade flashing toward her ribs. But just before impact—
Her eyes locked onto his.
A single second. That's all it took.
His vision blurred. The battlefield twisted and distorted. Shadows lengthened, figures multiplied—phantoms of Mikoto surrounded him from all angles. He swung wildly, striking nothing but air. His breath hitched. Panic set in.
He never saw her move.
Before the genjutsu shattered, her palm struck his chest with pinpoint accuracy, disrupting his chakra flow. His body convulsed, then collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Another enemy lunged from the side, blade drawn. Mikoto's Sharingan gleamed as she pivoted smoothly, stepping into the attacker's blind spot. She drove her elbow into his jaw with a bone-rattling crack, then finished with a sharp, controlled kick that sent him sprawling.
Not a single motion wasted. Not a single opponent spared.
Meanwhile, Ryota was a tempest of steel.
While Kiyoshi dodged and Mikoto manipulated the battlefield, Ryota had been locked in a vicious clash of blades. Gone was the hesitation he once carried—under Kenshiro-sensei's brutal training, he had become something else entirely. His sword was no longer just a weapon. It was an extension of himself.
An enemy came at him with a heavy downward slash. Ryota did not block. He stepped forward instead, angling his blade just right—redirecting the force rather than resisting it. The enemy's weapon slammed into the ground harmlessly.
Ryota's counter was instantaneous.
A swift, precise slash knocked the weapon clean from his opponent's grip. Before the attacker could react, Ryota spun his sword in a seamless arc, striking the back of his neck with the blunt side. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the dirt.
Kiyoshi smirked slightly, even as he remained focused on his own battle. They had all grown.
And this fight was far from over.