Tsunade didn’t need anyone’s help on her side.
Out of the six people, she picked the three who charged at the front.
The first one lunged forward and swung his blade at her collarbone.
Tsunade lowered her center of gravity, shifted her footing, and spun out from beneath the blade.
Her right fist went from bottom to top.
She infused Chakra into her knuckles—not much, just enough.
Her fist struck the opponent’s chin, and the sound of bones dislocating was crisp.
When she heard this sound for the first time last night, her hands had trembled.
Not anymore.
It wasn’t that she was used to it.
It was that she had no time to be afraid.
The second opponent was a size larger than her; he swept his long blade horizontally, intending to crush her with brute force.
Tsunade didn’t retreat; she stepped forward—stepping into the blind spot of the long blade’s attack.
Once she was in close, he couldn’t swing his blade.
She stomped her right foot onto the side of his knee, her entire body weight landing precisely on his lateral ligament.
A shrill scream pierced the air, and Tsunade gritted her teeth.
As she turned, the third person lunged from behind.
She didn’t look back, judging the direction by the sound of footsteps—rear right, one and a half meters away.
She slammed her elbow backward.
It hit him right in the temple.
Tsunade stood amidst the three fallen bodies, her fists stained with blood.
She tilted her head, her gaze piercing through the dust and shadows, and accurately located Kitahara Kaede—his back was flickering amidst the blade light of the man in the gray jacket, his left arm bleeding.
Her fist tightened a fraction more.
Finish this quickly, then go help him.
…
Jiraiya’s side wasn’t as straightforward.
When the three people surrounded him, he subconsciously took two steps back.
It wasn’t cowardice; his brain was calculating at high speed—right shoulder injured, Kunai switched to the left hand, strength compromised.
A direct confrontation, and he might not even be able to take on one of them.
He had to use Ninjutsu.
He formed hand seals in front of him.
The speed wasn’t fast, but every seal was flawless.
He had practiced this technique diligently for three months.
When Hiruzen Sarutobi demonstrated it on the training ground, Kitahara Kaede learned it after watching it once.
Once.
Jiraiya had spent a week just to barely master it, and another two weeks to split it into five Shuriken Shadow Clones.
Then he practiced alone for two months.
Now.
The three people charged over, the one at the front less than five meters away. The source of this chapter is g.com.
Jiraiya took a breath, and the Shuriken left his hand.
“Shuriken Shadow Clone Technique!”
That Shuriken exploded in mid-air—one became two, two became four, four became sixteen; a sky full of steel rain covered the three enemies in front of him.
The three of them didn’t have time to react before being pinned to the ground.
Their bodies were pierced with varying numbers of Shuriken, mostly in their limbs and torsos, with no fatal wounds—it wasn’t that Jiraiya intentionally held back, but he hadn’t yet achieved precise control.
But it was enough.
All three had lost their ability to fight.
Jiraiya maintained the throwing posture, gasping for air.
His hands were shaking.
He had exhausted too much Chakra at once.
But his eyes were terrifyingly bright.
He confirmed one thing—the thing he had obsessed over for three months hadn’t failed him when he truly needed it.
His hard work hadn’t been in vain.
…
The battle on the perimeter was quickly wrapping up.
Two Shadow Clones were sweeping through the enemies on the perimeter; the left clone took down three within twenty seconds, and the right clone also dealt with two shadows attempting to pincer attack Tsunade.
Adding the two Kitahara Kaede’s original body took out at the start, the three Tsunade fought, the three Jiraiya pinned, and the five the clones cleared—sixteen people, they had been mostly wiped out.
The remaining enemies, without a commander, watched as their companions were taken down one by one; how could they have any spirit left to continue fighting?
They turned and fled in twos and threes, not even bothering to pick up their blades.
But all of them were casually dealt with by Kitahara Kaede’s Shadow Clones before his Chakra was completely exhausted.
…
The main battlefield.
The man in the gray jacket and Kitahara Kaede had been fighting for nearly two minutes.
Finally, Kitahara Kaede waited for that opportunity.
The man in the gray jacket’s left shoulder—a patch had been scorched when the Great Fireball Technique grazed him earlier, and the burn on his flesh had been aching constantly.
Every time he swung his blade, the muscles in his left shoulder had to engage, and every exertion exacerbated the tearing of the wound.
After six strikes, his blade speed was at least twenty percent slower than the first strike.
This was exactly what Kitahara Kaede had been waiting for.
He wasn’t waiting for him to make a mistake; he was waiting for his body to surrender before his will.
The seventh strike swept over—the force was weak, and there was a tiny pause halfway through the blade’s arc.
That was the pause.
Kitahara Kaede crouched down low, slipping underneath the blade.
The man in the gray jacket’s pupils contracted—experience told him what the opponent would do, but his body’s reaction was a fraction of a second too slow.
With his Kunai held in a reverse grip, he circled around from the outside and precisely stabbed into the tendon of the arm holding the blade.
The blade slipped from his hand.
The man in the gray jacket let out a muffled groan and reached for the Kunai at his waist with his other hand.
Kitahara Kaede was faster than him.
A knee drove into his ribs.
A dull thud.
A faint crack came from the area of his ribs.
The man in the gray jacket bent over, his mouth open, unable to make a sound.
The man in the gray jacket rolled his eyes back, his knees buckled, and he fell face-down, twitched twice, and went still.
Kitahara Kaede stood in place, gasping for air.
His Chakra was bottoming out.
Shadow Clones, plus the Great Fireball Technique, plus the infusion for that final knee strike—there wasn’t much Chakra left.
Two wounds on his left arm were oozing blood, and the cut on his waist from the Shuriken was also throbbing with dull pain.
He looked up, and the first thing he saw wasn’t the man in the gray jacket on the ground.
It was Tsunade.
She was standing amidst the three fallen enemies, her chest heaving, blood on her fists.
Tsunade was looking at him too.
Her gaze locked onto the bleeding wound on his left arm, her brows knitted tightly, and she had already started walking toward him.
“You’re injured.”
She walked up to him and reached out to pull back his sleeve, her movements even more aggressive than during the fight.
“Just a scratch.”
“Shut up, let me see.”
Her fingers pressed against the edge of the wound, and a faint green light shone from her fingertips—basic Medical Ninjutsu, used to stop bleeding.
It couldn’t be considered an advanced technique; at most, it made the blood vessels temporarily constrict to slow the bleeding.
Kitahara Kaede didn’t dodge; he lowered his head to look at her.
There was a three or four-centimeter graze on her forearm, and the shoulder area of her clothes was torn.
“What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
Tsunade glared at him, the corners of her mouth twitched, but she didn’t smile; she lowered her head again to treat the wound.
Jiraiya walked over from behind.
He looked at the enemies sprawled all over the ground, then at Tsunade bandaging Kitahara Kaede.
He was silent for three seconds.
“Can you two stop being lovey-dovey for a second?
I still have a hole in my shoulder.”
Tsunade didn’t even look up: “Didn’t you pull it out?”
“I pulled it out, but it hurts.”
“It’s supposed to hurt; it means you’re still alive.”
“…Can you show a little human compassion?”
“We’ll talk about human compassion when we’re back in Konoha; I don’t have time for you right now.”
Jiraiya opened his mouth, then decisively shut it.
Kitahara Kaede’s mouth twitched.
It wasn’t a real smile, but it was close.
Tsunade finished treating the wound and stood up; the three of them looked toward the village at the same time.
Faint sounds of metal clashing came from that direction—intermittent, echoing through the valley.
Murakami Takuya was still fighting.