The blinding white light born from the clash of Shanks and Hanzo gradually began to fade, its brilliance retreating like the ebb of a storm. As vision slowly returned, the battlefield revealed itself once more to those watching—the hidden spies from distant villages and the Sannin, who had positioned themselves carefully at a safe vantage point.
What they saw left them stunned.
The once somewhat even ground had been utterly torn apart. At the centre lay a massive crater, gouged deep into the earth by the sheer force of the collision. From its edge stretched a long, straight trench, carved into the soil as though something enormous had been hurled and dragged across the terrain for an impossible distance. The battlefield was scarred in a way that bore silent testimony to the destructive power unleashed in that single strike.
Jiraiya's eyes widened as they fixed upon the scene. Only one figure stood within the devastated clearing—Shanks. Hanzo's presence had vanished entirely. In a voice tinged with disbelief, Jiraiya muttered, "What… what just happened? Did Hanzo actually lose to Shanks Uzumaki? Hanzo—the man who never bows in single combat—defeated in a one-on-one battle? This is… unbelievable."
Beside him, Orochimaru's serpentine eyes narrowed as he studied the evidence carefully. His tone, though calm, carried the weight of certainty. "If my guess is correct, the crater was born from their collision… and that trench stretching outward is no random scar. That is the mark of Hanzo's body being driven back by the impact. He was hurled away by sheer force. It seems clear—Shanks overpowered him in strength."
Jiraiya and Tsunade exchanged glances, then slowly nodded in agreement. Neither could deny the logic in Orochimaru's deduction. And indeed, the truth was not far from his words—Hanzo had been overwhelmed, not by trickery or tactics, but by raw, undeniable power.
…
Shanks stood tall in the ruined battlefield, his breath steadying as he slid his blade back into its sheath with a clean, deliberate motion. His gaze shifted toward the long trench carved into the earth—the path Hanzo's body had taken after their devastating clash.
The memory of the impact replayed in his mind. His sword, cloaked in crackling lightning and reinforced by Armament Haki, layered further with the indomitable aura of Conqueror's Haki, had met Hanzo's sickle head-on. The weapon had not withstood the collision; it had shattered completely, splintering under the overwhelming force. The strike did not end there—his sword's energy had surged past the broken weapon, tearing through Hanzo's mask and leaving a deep, ragged cut across his shoulder. That blow had launched him backward, dragging him mercilessly across the ground and carving the long mark now visible to all.
Yet in that defeat, Hanzo found an opportunity. The shattering of his mask, though a weakness, carried with it a dangerous consequence. From his exposed mouth would now seep his own poison—far more concentrated and deadly than even the venom of Ibuse, his giant salamander. Combined with the open wound on his shoulder, the toxins would quickly spread through his system. Hanzo understood better than anyone that remaining here would mean death, whether by Shanks' hand or his own failing body.
For him, the only strategy was retreat. He needed to escape, to flee back toward the depths of his Amegakure and seek recovery. And when he moved, he moved with such sudden speed that even Shanks' sharpened senses could not react in time to pursue. In the blink of an eye, Hanzo was gone.
Shanks did not follow. He had no desire to end Hanzo's life. His siblings were safe—wounded, yes, but alive. That alone was enough. And in truth, Hanzo's survival served a greater purpose. So long as Hanzo remained alive, he would continue to occupy Konoha's attention, keeping their eyes turned elsewhere. That distraction would grant the Uzumaki clan the breathing room they needed to grow stronger and rise without interference.
Shanks knew he possessed the strength to confront Konoha directly if it came to that. But if circumstances allowed the village to be entangled by Hanzo's shadow instead, then so much the better. For now, the balance favored the Uzumaki.
Perhaps as a result of the massive clash between Shanks and Hanzo, the steady downpour that had blanketed the battlefield finally ceased. The clouds lingered overhead, but their oppressive darkness had lessened, allowing pale shafts of light to break through and spill across the scarred ground. In that silence after chaos, Shanks' aura diminished, the storm-like pressure around him calming completely.
Then his voice rang out, firm and unyielding, carrying across the battlefield like a commandment.
"Spies of Amegakure, hear me well. And Hanzo—make sure this reaches your ears. If you dare raise your hand against my brothers and sisters again, I swear on my name… I will bring ruin to Amegakure itself."
The threat lingered in the air, heavy and absolute. With that, Shanks turned his back on the shattered field and began striding toward the caravan where his clan siblings waited, slightly injured. His footsteps were steady, his presence unshaken. He had barely covered ten, perhaps twenty steps, when movement cut across his path.
Tsunade appeared before him in a flash, her figure materializing with speed and precision. Shanks halted, his gaze sharpening, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her without speaking. In the next instant, with the soft hiss of air splitting, Jiraiya and Orochimaru arrived as well, flanking her.
The three Sannin now stood before him, their expressions a mix of caution and curiosity.
Tsunade stepped forward, her voice strong yet carrying a note of urgency. "When you spoke to Hanzo earlier, you said that when you learned your clan was attacked, only two possibilities crossed your mind—that the attackers were from Amegakure, or from Konoha." Her eyes locked on his, demanding an answer. "Why would you say such a thing? Konoha and the Uzumaki are allies. We would never turn our blades against your clan."
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