Ryuha Uchiha’s voice was very soft, almost a whisper.
Yet those syllables carried an ancient, frigid rhythm—as if ringing out from the bottom of an abyss—echoing clearly through the dead-silent forest:
“Ye lord!”
The rogue ninja swinging his blade at Kazuya Haruno paused slightly.
Not because he understood the words, but out of pure instinct—the instinct of a beast whose fur stands on end when facing a predator.
“Mask of flesh and bone, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man!”
At the center of Ryuha’s palm, a single speck of crimson light began to condense.
Unlike the blue of Chakra or the orange-red of Fire Style, it was a deeper, far hotter dark crimson, resembling the molten core of lava.
Ryuichi Matsumoto’s pupils contracted sharply.
No hand seals.
No sign of Chakra gathering.
What was that?!
“Scorching heat and discord, surge south across the sea, march forth—”
The dark crimson light spun, compressed, and expanded within Ryuha’s palm.
The surrounding air warped from the intense heat; fallen leaves stirred without wind, and tiny pebbles on the ground levitated into the air.
“Hado #31: Shakaho.”
The instant the final syllable fell—
*BOOM!!!*
A torrent of crimson fire over four meters wide erupted from Ryuha Uchiha’s palm!
Utterly unlike the explosive burst and dispersion of the Great Fireball Jutsu, this was ultimate concentration and penetration.
Veins of molten heat flowed across the fireball’s surface, surrounding a core of blinding, scorching white.
Everywhere it passed, the air scorched into distorted waves; fallen leaves carbonized instantly, and the bark on the surrounding ancient trees crackled, charred, and split open.
It was too fast.
From incantation to release, no more than two seconds passed.
Before the savage grin on the rogue ninja’s face could even turn into shock, the crimson fireball swallowed him whole.
There was no explosion.
Only a loud *hiss—* like white-hot iron plunging into ice water.
Then, a human silhouette—evaporating within the crimson glare.
His upper body, from shoulders to waist, dissolved into ash in a split second.
The katana melted into liquid iron and dripped to the dirt.
The remaining lower half tottered once, then collapsed backward.
The severed edge was scorched pitch-black, without a single drop of blood having time to bleed.
Time seemed to stand still.
The remaining two rogue ninjas lost every trace of ferocity on their faces, instantly overwhelmed by boundless terror.
They usually just robbed alongside Kiu Mikami and had only taken this bounty job on a whim—how could they have anticipated running into something like this?
“Monster…”
“Run!
RUN!”
They screamed shrilly, turned around, and bolted into the forest with every ounce of power in their bodies.
They didn’t even care about their leader, who was still locked in combat with Ryuichi Matsumoto.
And Kiu Mikami himself suffered a fatal hesitation in his movements the moment Shakaho erupted.
“You’re distracted,” Ryuichi Matsumoto’s cold voice whispered in his ear.
A Kunai pierced cleanly through his heart, twisted, and pulled out.
Kiu Mikami looked down at the blood spouting from his chest, opened his mouth without producing a sound, and crashed heavily to the ground.
The battle was over.
From the moment Ryuha raised his hand to the death of one rogue ninja and the flight of the other two, less than ten seconds had elapsed.
Silence fell over the forest once more.
Only the charred trench left by Shakaho’s path remained on the ground.
That, and the pungent reek of burned flesh and wood wafting through the air, proved what had just transpired.
Kazuya Haruno sat paralyzed on the ground, his mouth wide open, staring blankly at the charred lower half of the corpse.
Slowly, he turned his head to look at Ryuha Uchiha, who was still holding the cat cage with an unfazed expression.
The Kunai in Itsuki Fujiwara’s hand clattered to the dirt, completely unnoticed by him.
He could only stare fixedly at Ryuha, raspy wheezes escaping his throat.
Ryuichi Matsumoto stood frozen, his hand gripping his Kunai trembling slightly.
He slowly turned his head toward Ryuha Uchiha.
The black-haired youth had already lowered his hand and was looking down to check on the cat inside the cage.
The white cat, “Tama,” seemed startled by the noise and was curled up in the corner of the cage, ears alert.
Ryuha pulled another piece of dried fish from his pouch and held it out inside the cage; after a moment’s hesitation, the white cat leaned forward and began nibbling on it.
As he did all this, his posture remained composed, even carrying a hint of casual indifference.
As if the person who had just evaporated a Genin in an instant through unknown means wasn’t him at all.
“S-Sensei…” Kazuya Haruno finally found his voice, though it was terribly raspy.
“W-What was that?
No hand seals…
Fire Style…
Fire Style can be used like that?”
Itsuki Fujiwara looked toward Ryuichi Matsumoto as well, his eyes filled with bewilderment and shock.
Ryuichi Matsumoto didn’t answer.
He stared dead at Ryuha, his lips pressed into a tight, rigid line.
As a Jonin, he had seen countlessly many Ninjutsu.
The five elemental style jutsu, Secret Techniques, Kekkei Genkai…
but he had never seen a “Fire Style” like this.
No, was that really Fire Style?
No hand seals—that was impossible.
It wasn’t a Genjutsu inherent to a Kekkei Genkai like the Sharingan.
All other Ninjutsu required shape and nature transformation of Chakra, and weaving seals was the most stable, universal method to guide and control that change.
Seal-less casting existed only in legends—a realm reachable only by shinobi of the First Hokage’s caliber.
Yet Ryuha Uchiha just now had indeed woven no seals.
He had only chanted…
those strange, utterly incomprehensible syllables.
And the sheer power of that fireball…
Ryuichi Matsumoto’s eyes fell upon the charred trench.
The trench was half a foot deep, the soil along its edges vitrified into glass—an effect achievable only by instantaneous, extreme heat.
A standard C-rank Great Fireball Jutsu possessed a wide area of effect, but its power was dispersed, relying mainly on impact and burning.
Whereas that crimson fireball just now was extremely compressed, possessed terrifying penetrating force, and reached an absurdly high temperature—evaporating a human body in an instant.
How high did the temperature need to be for that?
This was definitely no ordinary Fire Style.
This power, this speed, this method of casting…
Ryuichi Matsumoto’s heart began to beat violently beyond his control.
Unbelievable.
Along with a sliver of…
awe that even he didn’t want to admit.
“Ryuha.”
He finally spoke, his voice dry.
Ryuha Uchiha raised his head, pushed up his glasses, and looked at him calmly.
“What you just used,” Ryuichi Matsumoto took a deep breath, speaking each word with immense difficulty, “what on earth was that?”
The forest wind swept through the charred trench, carrying a few wisps of ash.
Kazuya Haruno and Itsuki Fujiwara held their breath as well, turning their eyes to Ryuha Uchiha.