Chapter 60 — All Quiet on the Western Front (Part 6)
"This time… not quite as effective. Usually, I can wipe them all out."
Senkiri Ryōsuke shook his head suddenly, speaking to no one in particular. The Rain-nin around him exchanged puzzled glances, unsure what he meant.
Without bothering to explain, Senkiri rose from his perch, brushed the dust from his clothes, formed a seal, and adjusted the question-mark mask on his face until it sat just right.
"Konoha reinforcements are here. About two hundred of them—good quality. …Leave one alive."
And with that, he vanished from the branch, sprinting toward Ren's position.
The Rain-nin moved in behind him. In an instant, the forest was filled only with the sharp whoosh of bodies slicing through the air.
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On Ren's side, he watched as the scarlet "leeches" bounced several times in midair, unable to latch onto anyone, before finally falling to the ground. After a few failed attempts, they dissolved into the soil.
A strange technique indeed. It reminded him of someone from the original timeline—Hidan.
Hidan, member of the Akatsuki, one of the few representatives of the rare "cursed arts" in the Naruto world. With Curse Technique: Death Controlling Possessed Blood, he speedran Sarutobi Asuma. Hidan himself didn't appear to possess natural abilities much stronger than Asuma's—proof enough that the power of curses was nothing to underestimate.
Ren rubbed his arm. By now, he'd shed the arrogance of a "transmigrator" who assumed that having a cheat meant automatic dominance.
Ninjutsu, fūinjutsu, curse arts, summoning contracts, dōjutsu… this world's power systems were vast, its knowledge deep. Without a humble, apprentice's heart like Orochimaru's, he'd end up capsized in the gutter sooner or later.
Switching from Sharingan to Byakugan, Ren began a sweep. If the Rain-nin had already launched their attack, they had to be nearby—no more than eight kilometers at most.
The Byakugan's world was completely different from the Sharingan's. It was a kind of x-ray vision, piercing through layer upon layer to reveal whatever you wanted to see.
Could it see Tsunade-sensei's exquisite treasures?
Might be worth testing later.
Thinking of Tsunade, Ren's lips curled into a grin. He was a modern man; he had no hang-ups about "disciple-master boundaries." And Tsunade… well, she was substantial.
A casual scan to the west revealed a cluster of white skeletal forms racing toward them. The leader's frame was slightly hunched, almost elderly.
Did the Rain Village have any notable old-timer powerhouses in the original? Ren couldn't recall. Not that he cared to waste time wondering. His hand settled on the hilt of Jūan.
"Stay sharp."
Minato took over giving orders in his place. The Chūnin still hadn't fully shaken off the horror of the "forest of flesh," but the Jōnin had already spread out, drawing kunai and blades.
Over two hundred shinobi fanned out through the trees, lying in wait for the Rain-nin to approach.
Whoosh—whoosh—
A stooped figure stopped at the edge of Ren's attack range. Moonlight gleamed on the pale base of his mask, drawing the eye to the large, engraved question mark.
A big, bold "?".
"You're… the Riddle!"
The words burst out of Minato. He'd heard of this man—straight from Sarutobi Hiruzen's own mouth.
Senkiri Ryōsuke. Codename: The Riddle. One of the Rain's most elusive operatives. His mission appearances had no pattern, no rhythm—but one thing was certain: unless it was a matter of great importance to the Rain, he would never make a move.
"You guessed it."
Senkiri nodded with a smile. The black question mark on his mask swayed with the motion.
"So… what's the reward going to be?"
Senkiri Ryōsuke followed up with that question, fingers already moving into a rapid sequence of seals.
Ren didn't answer. Instead, he studied the old man closely. The Byakugan in his eyes had already shifted back to the Sharingan, its dynamic vision locked unblinking onto every movement.
The moment Senkiri's hands began weaving the jutsu, a chill prickled across Ren's skin. He had only ever felt this sensation twice before—once from Orochimaru, once from Sarutobi Hiruzen.
How to describe it… oppression? No, not quite.
"Guess the name of this jutsu."
Senkiri's voice carried a spark of excitement. In truth, this was his favorite moment in any fight—not the kill itself, but the clash of techniques. If his opponent died without resistance, it was boring. But if they saw through his technique and countered on equal footing… then it was exhilarating.
Ren's gaze was drawn to the forming technique. A lump of black curse-matter, almost like an infant, dropped to the ground, then liquefied into a flowing black water.
And then he understood the feeling.
It wasn't oppression—it was condescension.
Orochimaru, Hiruzen… the strongest shinobi he had met all radiated it without meaning to. Around them, he was the child, they the adults. Adults didn't concern themselves with what children thought or screamed. The gap in power was simply too wide—almost like two different species.
Senkiri Ryōsuke was exactly the same.
The Riddle—was terrifyingly strong.
The black curse-water began to move outward, almost like it was hunting, locking directly onto Minato and Ren.
Nearby, the ANBU noticed the anomaly. With the Rain's main force not yet upon them, they tried to rush in as backup.
Senkiri frowned. He disliked being interrupted when "testing" the younger generation.
"Fūinjutsu: Four-Corner Cage."
With a casual slap of his palm, black iron-script seals shot outward, forming a four-cornered barrier that enclosed Minato, Ren, and a chunk of the forest within.
Sealing techniques in the shinobi world had many uses—sealing scrolls, erecting barriers—but few carried direct offensive power, like the Adamantine Sealing Chains or the Dead Demon Consuming Seal. The Four-Corner Cage was strictly a barrier—far less durable than the Four Violet Flames Formation, but doable by a single user.
Ren blurred into rapid shunshin, darting and pivoting inside the confined space. He didn't dare let that black curse-water touch him—it radiated wrongness.
Minato moved even faster. Since studying the Flying Thunder God, even his basic body flicker had become feather-light.
All the while, Ren's Sharingan tracked the curse-water's movements. He didn't believe in "unbeatable" techniques. In the shinobi world, everything had a counter. Understand the principle, and even the most fearsome jutsu could be undone.
Senkiri didn't pursue. He simply watched the two darting through the cage with amused interest. As the Rain's Head of External Affairs, he knew exactly who "Hannya" and "Sun" were—prodigies both. Killing them outright would be dull. If they were to die, it should be by the most interesting technique he had.
On the ground, the black script flowed like waves. Every few dozen meters, a ripple would swell, and from it two strange antenna-like tendrils would emerge. It was unnerving to watch.
Ren skidded to a halt. He stopped running.
He had a bold guess.
And if he was right—this jutsu would collapse on its own.