Akane's breakthrough was not merely a personal triumph; it was a validation of Putin's entire Internal Forging methodology. The event sent ripples through the upper echelons of Uzushio Ryu, transforming the grueling, often frustrating practice of Chakra Densification from a theoretical exercise into a tangible, attainable power. The First Cohort redoubled their efforts, the air in the dojo now thick with the focused intent of two dozen nascent stars collapsing in on themselves.
Putin, observing this fervor, knew that theory alone was insufficient. The Internal Forging Method needed its own external expression, techniques that could only be performed with densified chakra. He retreated into his mind, his State now a well-honed tool for internal exploration. He visualized the densified chakra not as a cloud, but as a liquid, then a solid—a core of immense potential energy waiting to be shaped.
He emerged with the first true application of the method: the **Diamond Body Mantle**.
Gathering his disciples, he demonstrated. He assumed the Fudōtai no Kamae, but instead of simply rooting himself, he initiated the Spiral Compression Breath. The cadets felt the shift immediately. The air around Putin seemed to thicken, the light bending subtly around his form. He didn't just look solid; he looked… absolute.
"Kensō hardens the skin," he explained, his voice resonating with a new, deeper timbre, the vibration of densely packed energy. "The Diamond Body Mantle hardens existence. It is a permanent, low-level activation of densified chakra circulating just beneath the skin. It requires constant focus and energy, but it turns the body into a fortress without a single weak point."
He nodded to Daiki. "Strike me. With everything you have. Do not hold back."
Daiki, his confidence restored after weeks of intense training, didn't hesitate. He coiled his chakra, now noticeably denser than before, and launched a Shōken aimed directly at Putin's chest. It was a blow that could shatter granite.
The impact was a dull, profound *thud*, like a maul striking an ancient bell. There was no give, no flinch from Putin. Daiki cried out, stumbling back and clutching his fist. The bones weren't broken, but they were severely bruised; the rebound force of his own attack, meeting an immovable object, had traveled back up his arm.
"The Mantle is not a block," Putin said, the faint, diamond-like shimmer fading from his skin. "It is a state of being. An attack against it is an attack against a fundamental law of physics. You are not hitting me; you are hitting a concept."
The implications were staggering. A shinobi maintaining the Diamond Body Mantle would be nearly immune to mundane weapons, taijutsu, and even low-to-mid-level ninjutsu. It was the ultimate expression of the Uzushio Ryu's defensive philosophy, taken to a logical extreme.
But defense was only one side of the coin. For the offensive application, Putin developed the **Void-Shattering Palm**. Unlike the Shōken, which was a brute-force concussive blast, the Void-Shattering Palm was about focused penetration. The practitioner would compress their densified chakra to an even greater degree, focusing it into the edge of their palm, and upon impact, they would not simply release it. They would reverse the Spiral Compression, causing a micro-explosion of energy *inside* the target.
He demonstrated on a block of the same steel used in their ship hulls. Placing his palm against it, there was no grand wind-up, only a brief, intense concentration. Then, a sound like a peal of thunder contained within a teacup. A perfect, hand-shaped hole was punched clean through the inch-thick steel, the edges molten and smooth.
"This is not breaking the target," Putin stated, pulling his hand back. "This is telling a small part of the target to cease existing. It bypasses external durability by attacking the internal bonds of the material itself."
The development of these techniques marked a new era. The cadets were no longer just learning a martial art; they were learning to warp reality on a small, personal scale. The balance the user desired was being achieved. The technological might of the Tidal Warheads and steel ships was the clan's fist, projecting power across the seas. The Internal Forging Method was its unbreakable heart, beating within the chest of every loyal citizen.
This burgeoning internal strength did not go unnoticed. In the depths of Kiri, the Mizukage, a man shrouded in mist and bitterness named Yagura Karatachi, received the latest intelligence report. It detailed the failed assassination attempt on the *Sea Serpent* and, more worryingly, contained fragmented sensor data from the battle. The readings spoke of chakra signatures of a purity and density previously thought impossible, signatures that had effortlessly overwhelmed seasoned Jōnin.
Yagura was a pragmatist, and a paranoid one. He saw the trajectory. Uzushio was not just building weapons; it was building a new kind of shinobi. A shinobi who didn't rely on hand signs or elemental weaknesses. A shinobi whose very body was a weapon and a shield. This was an existential threat. If this "Uzushio Ryu" could be mass-produced, the entire balance of power among the villages would be obliterated.
He would not launch another costly frontal assault. Instead, he authorized a new, more insidious mission. A two-pronged attack targeting the very source of Uzushio's new strength: its knowledge and its leader.
The first prong was a deep-cover infiltration. A Kiri agent, a master of disguise and memory alteration, was to embed himself within the next wave of immigrants, gain access to the dojo, and steal the core scrolls of the Uzushio Ryu, particularly the secrets of the Internal Forging Method.
The second prong was a precision strike. A single individual, not a squad. A legend from the Bloody Mist's darkest days, a man known only as the "Sanguine Reaper." His specialty was not open combat, but the silent, guaranteed kill. He was a hunter of Kage and Jinchuriki. His mission: infiltrate Uzushio and eliminate Uzumaki Putin. The chaos from the loss of their visionary leader would, Kiri calculated, cripple the clan's meteoric rise.
The first sign of trouble was subtle. A new immigrant, a quiet, unassuming man named "Jiro" claiming to be a carpenter from the Land of Noodles, joined the Acculturation Program. He was diligent, learned the Earth-Stance with surprising speed, and asked thoughtful questions about the Tidal Breath. But Ren, whose analytical mind was now sharpened by internal cultivation, noticed anomalies. Jiro's chakra, while well-controlled, had a latent sharpness to it, a hidden edge completely at odds with his civilian background. He reported his suspicions to the Public Safety Division, who placed Jiro under discreet surveillance.
The Sanguine Reaper's approach was far more masterful. He didn't try to pass through the whirlpools or the mist. He came from below. Using a forbidden technique that allowed him to merge with water on a molecular level, he traveled through the underwater currents, bypassing the Shinigami Buoys and the Aegis Echo sensors that monitored the surface and the air. He emerged silently from the sea under the cover of a moonless night, scaling the cliffs beneath the main dojo like a phantom, his presence a void in the sensory landscape.
His target was clear. Intel placed Putin's personal quarters adjacent to the dojo, spartan and minimally guarded, a testament to his leader's confidence in his own security and the Defense Network.
That confidence was about to be tested.
Putin was in his quarters, reviewing blueprints for the next-generation Convergence-class ship. He was not in the State, but his senses, perpetually honed by internal cultivation, were preternaturally sharp. He felt it first as a drop in pressure, a slight chill that had nothing to do with the sea air. Then, the faintest scent of ozone and old blood.
He didn't move from his desk. "You can dispense with the theatrics," he said, his voice calm. "The air itself rejects your presence."
From the deepest shadow in the corner of the room, a figure coalesced. The Sanguine Reaper was tall and gaunt, clad in dark, form-fitting leather. His face was pale and utterly devoid of expression, his eyes the colour of a dead sea. In his hand, he held not a kunai, but a long, needle-like blade that seemed to drink the light from the room.
"A perceptive child," the Reaper's voice was a dry whisper, like sand sliding over bone. "It changes nothing."
He moved. It wasn't a shunshin; it was an omission of the space between them. The needle-thin blade, coated with a neurotoxin that could kill a summoning toad, was aimed with lethal precision for the base of Putin's skull.
Putin didn't dodge. He didn't block.
He simply *was*.
The Diamond Body Mantle activated not as a technique, but as an instinct. The chakra densified around him in an instant, a seamless, perfect defense.
The Reaper's blade, which had pierced the defenses of a dozen Kage, struck the Mantle and stopped dead. The sound was a single, high-pitched *ping*, like a crystal being tapped. The tip of the legendary blade, designed to penetrate chakra defenses, splintered.
For the first time in decades, a flicker of emotion crossed the Reaper's dead eyes: shock.
In that split second of stunned immobility, Putin moved. He didn't stand. He pivoted in his chair, his left hand lashing out in a movement too fast to see. It wasn't the Void-Shattering Palm; that was overkill. It was a simple, open-handed strike, the Tide-Palm technique, but infused with the devastating weight of densified chakra.
His palm connected with the Reaper's chest. There was no explosion, only a terrible, internal crunching sound, as if a bag of gravel had been compacted into dust. The Sanguine Reaper was lifted off his feet and thrown back against the stone wall. He slid to the floor, his chest a concave ruin, his eyes wide with the final, incomprehensible realization that he had not been defeated by a technique, but by a fundamental truth he could not process.
The entire encounter had lasted less than three seconds.
Outside, the door burst open as Daiki and Akane, alerted by the subtle chakra disturbance, rushed in. They saw the intruder's body and their leader, unharmed, still seated at his desk.
"Secure the body," Putin ordered, his voice unchanged. "And alert the Public Safety Division. The carpenter, Jiro. apprehend him now. He is a spy."
The simultaneous failure of both prongs of Kiri's plan was a catastrophic intelligence defeat. The agent Jiro, upon realizing his cover was blown, attempted to activate a suicide seal, but was subdued by cadets using the Gale-Step to close the distance faster than he could react. Under… persuasive interrogation techniques developed by the Division, he revealed the Mizukage's direct involvement.
Putin now had irrefutable proof of Kiri's treachery and an attempt on his life. He also had the body of one of their most feared assassins. He did not respond with a declaration of war. He responded with a lesson.
The body of the Sanguine Reaper was cleaned, preserved, and placed in a transparent, fuinjutsu-sealed casket. This casket was loaded onto a small, unarmed skiff. The skiff was set on a pre-programmed course that would take it, untouched by the whirlpools, to drift directly into the main port of Kirigakure.
Attached to the casket was a single, simple scroll. It contained no threats, no demands. It held only a single line of text, written in Putin's precise calligraphy:
*"The heart of the whirlpool is unbreakable. Send another, if you have any more to spare."*
The message was received in Kiri with silent, seething horror. The Mizukage himself viewed the body of his most potent weapon, broken by what appeared to be sheer, overwhelming physical force. The legend of the Uzushio Ryu, once a concern, was now a chilling, confirmed reality. They had poked the whirlpool, and the whirlpool had not just repelled them; it had spit back their best, broken and delivered with contemptuous ease.
The technological might of Uzushio had secured its borders. But it was the unbreakable heart of its martial art, beating within its leader and his disciples, that had just won its first, silent war. The message was clear to every village with the sense to listen: the age of the ninja was ending. The age of the cultivated warrior had begun.