c136: I Admit That My Voice Is a Bit Loud
The cold wind was biting and the swirling snow cut across the mountainside like blades. Instead of easing, the storm thickened, a heavy curtain of white that cloaked the entire world.
A massive purple serpent writhed through the frozen hills, its scales glinting beneath the pale light. Atop its head stood Orochimaru, pale and calm, his golden eyes scanning ahead. On both sides, Konoha jōnin kept pace, and in the air above, a crimson fire-dragon rode upon rolling clouds of flame, its wings spread wide against the storm.
"Hey, brat, where did you drag this dragon out from?" sneered Manda, Orochimaru's most fearsome summon, its slit-pupiled gaze narrowing on the beast in the sky. "The so-called 'dragons' in Ryūchi Cave are only snakes by another name. Even the White Snake Sage is no dragon, no matter the horns."
The serpent's tone was laced with insult.
"Are all snakes from Ryūchi Cave this rude?" Gen Uchiha muttered, arms crossed, his eyes never meeting Manda's. His voice was cool, almost dismissive. "Either way, I'm not telling you."
Manda's tongue lashed out, the hiss echoing like a threat through the storm. The massive head reared higher, fangs gleaming. Even the jōnin escorting Orochimaru instinctively pulled back.
"You think being Orochimaru's disciple, holding a Ryūchi Cave contract scroll, protects you from me? I could devour you now if I wished."
"You won't," Gen replied simply. His tone was steady, his eyes fixed forward.
"And why not?"
"Because you're not strong enough."
With that, Gen's eyes bled into the three-tomoe Sharingan, and in a flash, Manda's vertical pupils warped, spinning into identical tomoe.
Even Sasuke Uchiha, years later, had subdued Manda with Sharingan genjutsu. Snakes' protective corneas could dull sudden flashes, like Kabuto once countering light-based genjutsu, but they could not completely nullify ocular illusions. With eye contact, resistance was futile.
"Hoh… Sharingan. Such a troublesome inheritance," Orochimaru chuckled, his voice slithering like silk. "To bind even Manda so cleanly… impressive, Gen-kun."
For all his strength, Orochimaru himself had never fully controlled Manda, who demanded constant sacrifices and rebelled when unsatisfied.
"Want me to help you discipline him?" Orochimaru asked idly.
"Pointless. Beasts like this don't change. And I've no interest in correcting him every time he bares his fangs," Gen said flatly, releasing the serpent from his genjutsu just as they reached the Konoha camp's outskirts.
The moment Manda regained control of his senses, fury surged. The giant head swung down, fangs gaping.
"I'll devour you, insolent brat!"
Again, Gen's gaze snared him, dragging the serpent into a mental world.
Inside the genjutsu, Gen towered over the snake. "Enough. Keep this up, and I'll force you to wallow in filth. Every flick of that tongue, every swallow, drowning in cesspits. Do you want that?"
Manda's body shuddered. For all his pride, the image made his scales crawl. "You…! So vile!"
"Then watch your tone."
"…Fine. Perhaps my voice was a bit too loud," Manda conceded, tongue flickering nervously.
Gen smirked, breaking the illusion. "That's better."
"Wait one question." Manda's voice was lower now, his coils twisting uneasily. "Where did that dragon come from?"
Gen tilted his head. "You truly want to know?"
"Yes."
"Then this time, your precious 'sacrifice' is waived."
Manda hesitated before grumbling, "So be it. Waived."
"Ask Orochimaru-sensei. He already knows." With that, Gen's form flickered, vanishing.
"…What?!" Manda froze, dumbfounded. "You could've just said that earlier!"
Outside, a cloud of white smoke burst into the sky as Manda's form dissolved, forcibly dismissed back to Ryūchi Cave. Orochimaru had already leapt lightly from the serpent's head, striding back into camp with a faint smile. Public quarrels with his own summons did not serve his image.
Gen landed quietly, disbanding his own summons as well. Zhu Rong's existence remained shrouded in mystery; only Orochimaru knew its true nature. Wu Sheng's independence had never been witnessed by outsiders who lived long enough to tell. Better to let myths linger.
Obito lingered in shadows, unseen, waiting. Knowing Gen possessed a special summon and understanding its true capabilities were two very different things.
Hungry from the long march, Gen slipped into camp. The smell of rations greeted him. Though supplies were strained war rarely allowed luxury the sight of steaming bowls gave comfort. Kirigakure had brought better stores, but their defeat had soured every bite.
After eating, Gen climbed toward the commander's tent. The camp sprawled up the mountain's base, streams threading through snow-dusted rocks. Water was plentiful, but always tested by medics for poison.
Along the snowy path, shinobi greeted him with respect. His background as an Uchiha earned recognition, but his deeds had sealed his place: five Mist jōnin, one of the Seven Swordsmen, and countless lower-ranked shinobi had fallen to him.
No ordinary jōnin could claim such a tally. Among the camp, only Orochimaru himself could surpass such feats. Already, whispers marked Gen as the second strongest presence at the Whirlpool front.
On the battlefield, where boredom gnawed and death stalked, nothing entertained soldiers more than recounting kill records. Gen's spread like wildfire, fueling awe and speculation.
Two chūnin stood guard outside the command tent. Spotting him, they stiffened to attention, one darting inside to announce him.
Gen, unlike many prideful Uchiha, inclined his head with a smile. "Good work," he said, stepping past them into the tent.
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