"The idea of using Lightning Release to counter Earth Release isn't wrong… but that only works when both sides are of similar strength," murmured Genji, his tone carrying weight. His eyes were locked solemnly on Kyoichi, who stood unshaken in the center of the training field. He realized now—he had underestimated the boy from the Koeda Clan.
In his long life, he had only ever seen a handful of shinobi who could ignore chakra nature affinities altogether—shattering type advantages through sheer overwhelming force. Every one of them had been a monster standing at the very peak of the shinobi world.
He remembered, near the end of the Warring States Period, watching Uchiha Madara unleash a Fire Release so fierce it could burn the world itself, incinerating one of Genji's Hōzuki comrades until not even bones remained.
Then, during the Second Shinobi World War, he'd witnessed the Third Raikage of Kumogakure withstand a dozen Wind Release jutsu at once. Cloaked in his so-called "strongest shield"—the Lightning Release Armor—the man tore through all twelve elite jonin by himself, forcing even Genshī to retreat.
And now—Koeda Kyoichi.
He was the third person Genji had ever seen capable of such a feat.
Of course, compared to Madara or the Third Raikage, Kyoichi was still green, still young—but the boy was only 15, 16 at most when the year turned. Saying he had "a boundless future" was no exaggeration. Reaching Madara's level might be an impossible dream, but even attaining the power of the Third Raikage would be staggering enough.
At the very least, for the next few decades, the Kirigakure would have nothing to fear—they finally had a pillar strong enough to uphold the village.
This time…
That old fossil Ōnoki really had handed Kirigakure a priceless gift.
"Yeah, the gap in power's just too big," sighed Yagura Karatachi, shaking his head.
No doubt, Fushō Tōya must have lost in exactly the same way.
But after his sigh came a growing excitement. The stronger Kyoichi proved himself, the more thrilled Yagura became. With someone like him joining the ranks, he might soon command the strongest generation of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen in history. And once that kind of force was his to wield, he could finally carry out the sweeping reforms he'd dreamed of for the village.
Under his leadership, the Kirigakure would reach heights never before seen.
Just thinking about it sent his blood surging—he could barely stop himself from launching his grand plan right this instant.
Still… first things first.
Before he could bring peace within, the threats outside had to be dealt with.
"Damn… that Earth Release hardening technique of his is ridiculous," muttered Jūzō Biwa, feeling a phantom ache in his teeth. "Even Lightning Release couldn't pierce it. If it were my Kubikiribōchō instead… tch, his fist would probably snap it clean in half."
His eyes drifted toward Hōzuki Mangetsu, Ringo Ameyuri, and Momochi Zabuza—a bunch of teenagers already burning with talent. For the first time, Jūzō felt a strange chill crawl up his spine.
Maybe… he was the one falling behind.
Perhaps it was time to ask the Mizukage for leave—to dig into the Forbidden Scrolls and pick up a new forbidden technique. After all, with his accumulated merit, he had more than earned that privilege.
Even Anzō Oniyuzu, the senior advisor who'd been silent all this time, finally stopped talking. Earlier, he'd thought Jūzō was exaggerating when he called Kyoichi a monster.
Now he knew better.
That boy truly was a monster.
"Hey, you're Ringo Ameyuri, right?"
From a corner of the viewing stands, Hōzuki Mangetsu called out to the girl clutching her twin Lightning Blades, Kiba.
"What is it?" she asked, voice flat and cold.
"Your Lightning Release… could it break through his defense?" Mangetsu pointed toward Kyoichi, who still stood calmly in the middle of the field.
"Not sure."
"Not sure? So you mean you're not confident?"
"His defense is terrifying. My Lightning Release is strong too, but whether it could break through…" she paused, eyes narrowing. "I'd have to fight him to know. But right now—I can't beat him. I can feel it. He hasn't even gone all out yet. If it were a real fight to the death, I'd be the one lying dead."
Her tone was level, her eyes unwavering.
"...Scary stuff," Mangetsu chuckled, baring his teeth in a grin.
Yet, deep down, he wasn't disheartened.
Joining the Seven Swordsmen was only the beginning. From here, he needed to master the Hiramekarei, and keep pushing his clan's secret arts further than ever.
Meanwhile, Kyoichi stood waiting.
He looked left, looked right.
No one else stepped forward.
He raised a brow. "That's it? No one else?"
The jonin exchanged awkward looks, all silently thinking the same thing—We're not idiots. Everyone knew stepping forward meant getting crushed. Why volunteer to be humiliated? They'd rather compete for the Shibuki—at least there they had a ten percent chance of winning.
But fighting for Kabutowari?
That was suicide.
"Alright then," said Yagura finally from the benches, his tone decisive. "Kyoichi, go claim your sword. No point waiting another five minutes. Let's clear the field so the rest can start the match for the Shibuki."
No one objected.
"Fine by me."
Kyoichi didn't insist on finding more opponents. These spars were held under strict no-kill rules anyway, and the current jonin weren't strong enough to push him any further. Ending it early suited him just fine.
He strode to the wall, reached out, and lifted down the Kabutowari—examining it closely in his hands.
To call it a "sword" was generous.
It looked nothing like a sword—just a massive iron axe and hammer bound together at the handles by a thick rope. Heavy enough that an ordinary man without chakra reinforcement would struggle to even lift it.
Still—
Weight meant power.
A single clean swing from either the axe or hammer would crush most shinobi outright.
"Mei," Kyoichi said as he returned to Terumī Mei's side, hefting the weapon easily, "tell me this isn't just here to make up the numbers? I swear, the First Mizukage must've hated the number six and decided to invent this thing just to round it out to seven."
Mei laughed softly, her lips curling into a bright smile. "Hah! You might not be wrong about that."
As she spoke, the final match began—the battle for the last of the Seven Swords, the Shibuki.
The defender was a jonin named Mizushiro—short, grassy-green hair, pale skin, and sharp eyes. He was one of the top contenders before the trials began, a seeded favorite to become one of the next Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist.