NoviceAuthor
patreon
[NTU] [ARC-23] Chapter : 313
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 17:39:51 +0000 UTC"Shisui, even if we capture—or kill—Konan, nothing in this world will truly change."
"All we’ll do is plant new seeds of hatred. And as shinobi, it’s our duty to fight against that hatred—not feed it."
"True peace can only come when we understand one another."
These weren’t just words. This was Jiraiya’s belief—his way of the ninja. He hoped that Konan, once his student, could still reach Nagato’s heart and bring him back from the darkness. As her former sensei, he had to lead by example.
Shisui hesitated, caught in the gravity of Jiraiya’s conviction. He stood frozen—unable to advance, unwilling to retreat. His eyes darted toward Toshiro, silently pleading for guidance.
“That’s enough, Shisui.”
Toshiro’s voice was cold and final. He understood Jiraiya’s words were meant for him, but he wasn’t interested in an ideological debate.
Jiraiya might’ve had the heart of a dreamer, like the old Naruto—but Toshiro had no patience for such things. There were no clean answers in a world built on shadows and survival.
“He’s made his choice. There’s no point in talking further.”
Konan was ultimately irrelevant. Her paper techniques were impressive, but they wouldn't sway the fate of nations. If Jiraiya wanted to spare her, fine.
But someone had to take her place.
“Forget the pursuit. Hold position and stand guard,” Toshiro commanded, casually spinning the flame-patterned fan in his hand. His gaze locked on Jiraiya.
“I’ll give you time to enter Sage Mode. But if you don’t impress me… you’ll die.”
He didn’t expect much. But it wasn’t like he could just resurrect the First Hokage for a sparring match.
.
.
.
Time passed, and the dense forest had turned into a battlefield of scorched earth and shattered trees. Craters marred the ground, smoke rising from the devastation.
“I didn’t think a Uchiha like this existed anymore… terrifying.”
A green-skinned toad in a gray cloak and white crest muttered, clearly exhausted.
“Jiraiya, my old bones weren’t meant for fights like these anymore.”
Being summoned to assist in a battle against the Fifth Hokage had pushed even the seasoned sage to his limits. It hadn’t been long, but the toll was already heavy. A few more exchanges, and who knew what would happen?
“Don’t let his bloodline inflate your fear, Paa,” Shima croaked sharply. “Uchiha, Sharingan… they're nothing in the face of true Sage Arts.”
Her sharp tone betrayed her irritation.
He was still caught by an illusion, after all.
“Anyway,” Jiraiya interjected before their bickering spiraled into another argument, “I couldn’t have held out without your help. Thank you—both of you.”
He turned back toward the battlefield.
“Where is he?”
Toshiro, who should have been immobilized by Fukasaku’s genjutsu, had vanished.
Jiraiya’s eyes widened.
“You celebrated too soon.”
Toshiro’s voice came from behind him.
“Damn it!”
Jiraiya realized the danger a second too late. He spun, but Toshiro had already closed the distance.
—Pffft!
Jiraiya couldn’t react in time—but Fukasaku could.
Still panting from before, the old sage moved with blinding speed. Without forming a single hand seal, he joined his palms and launched a high-pressure water blade, slicing diagonally toward Toshiro.
“Sage training really does make a difference,” Toshiro murmured, Sharingan gleaming as it tracked the subtle flow of natural energy.
Though he had mastered Sage Mode himself, his path had been solitary and incomplete. This was the perfect chance to witness the true art of Mount Myōboku in action.
Boom!
He raised the Gunbai, and a shimmering blue chakra shield unfolded, absorbing the water blade. With a flick, he converted the energy into a powerful gust and hurled it straight at Jiraiya.
Too close.
Jiraiya couldn’t dodge in time. The force of the wind slammed into him, hurling him backwards.
“Maa!” he shouted mid-air.
“Got it~”
“Sage Art: Wind Style – Dust Storm!”
Shima, the purple-skinned elder, clapped her hands and unleashed a massive sandstorm that blanketed the area for hundreds of meters, dropping visibility to near zero. The swirling dust veiled Jiraiya’s form, buying him precious moments.
But Toshiro’s voice cut through the storm like a blade.
“If Mount Myōboku’s Sage Arts are only tricks like this… I’m disappointed.”
Before Jiraiya, along with Fukasaku on his shoulder and Shima nearby, could finally catch their breath, Toshiro’s voice echoed ominously through the thick dust:
“Trouble.”
The surroundings were pitch-black, and Toshiro’s presence was nowhere to be seen. On high alert, Jiraiya instinctively wrapped himself in his hair to guard against an incoming strike.
Boom!
A muffled explosion echoed through the sandstorm. The ground trembled, as if struck by a falling meteor. A deep crater split the earth, its jagged cracks creeping outward.
Toshiro’s voice rang out again as he gently fanned the dust away, revealing a pit nearly 50 meters wide.
“How long are you planning to hide underground?” he asked with a calm menace. “Do I need to personally drag you out?”
Now in Sage Mode, Toshiro’s defense and resilience were nothing short of monstrous. Unless someone could match that level of force, an attack would do little more than inconvenience him.
From the crater, Jiraiya slowly rose. Debris tumbled off his battered frame. He looked disheveled, but clearly still capable.
“Even Toad Oil Barrier didn’t help… The Mangekyō Sharingan truly lives up to its reputation.”
Fukasaku narrowed his eyes, gazing at the intricate pattern spinning in Toshiro’s eyes.
“Jiraiya, maybe it’s time to make peace,” he said. “I don’t think the Hokage truly wants to kill us.”
Brushing off the dirt, Fukasaku tried to reason with him. At his age, continuing this battle might do more harm than good—to all of them.
Even Shima, who often quarreled with him, held her tongue this time. Her silence spoke louder than any complaint.
“Honestly, I never wanted to fight him in the first place,” Jiraiya admitted, casting a weary glance at Toshiro.
He hadn’t summoned the two Sages out of pride or strategy—it was desperation. Without them, he’d already have been torn apart.
“Then let’s—”
Before Fukasaku could finish, his fist suddenly shot out and clocked Jiraiya hard across the face.
“What the hell, old man?!” Jiraiya shouted, dazed and seeing stars.
Ignoring him, Shima stared at Fukasaku in shock.
Then, as if realizing something terrible, she quickly clapped her hands together.
“Genjutsu: Release!”
“What’s going on? Why is Jiraiya’s face swollen?”
Fukasaku blinked, the illusion breaking. He looked at the bruised, red mark on Jiraiya’s cheek with total confusion.
“You were under a genjutsu!” Shima snapped. Her long, tentacle-like tongue shot out and landed a heavy slap across Fukasaku’s face.
The blow missed, but she wasn’t finished—the tongue lashed out again, wrapping around Fukasaku and pulling him toward another attack.
“Ugh… Uchiha genjutsu!” Fukasaku realized, barely dodging. “Jiraiya! Watch out!”
“If watching out were enough, ambushes wouldn’t work,” Toshiro sneered, already ignoring the commotion.
He stepped forward, appearing beside Jiraiya like a ghost. With a flick of his right arm as a feint, he followed up with a brutal whip kick aimed at Jiraiya’s temple.
You want to break the illusion? Go ahead. But lock eyes with a Mangekyō Sharingan… and you’ll pay the price.
These pompous toads from Mount Myōboku acted like divine sages, but in Toshiro’s eyes, they were just frogs pretending to be kings. Now was the perfect time to humble them.
Seeing the attack coming, Jiraiya lifted his left arm to shield Fukasaku.
But something felt wrong.
“Wait… why my left arm?” he thought, confusion flashing in his mind. “Isn’t Fukasaku supposed to be on my right shoulder?”
“Be careful!”
The realization hit him just a second too late.
Before he could fully react, a Fukasaku smacked into his face.
“What the hell are you and Jiraiya doing?!” Shima shrieked, having just broken free from her own illusion.
She arrived in time to witness the awkward and very physical encounter between her husband and Jiraiya.
Bang!
Fuming, Shima landed a furious punch—right on Jiraiya’s other cheek.
He reeled from the blow, both sides of his face now bruised and swelling.
“What... what did I just go through?”
Jiraiya groaned, head spinning, not just from the punches—but from the deeply unsettling visual of what had just occurred.
Despite his reputation as a notorious pervert, at heart, he was still a virgin—and that memory would haunt him for a long time.
