Chapter 41: Clash of Blades
"This is my mission," Ryouma stated flatly, his voice cutting through the rain as he finally drew his sword. The silver-white blade of 'Flash' gleamed like a shard of fallen lightning, its brilliance stark against the oppressive gloom of the sky.
"Then come!" Chōjūrō wasted no more breath on debate. His objective was clear: eliminate this threat with maximum speed and efficiency, then extract from the Land of Rain immediately.
Gripping the hilts of his two unique ninja swords, Chōjūrō closed the distance in the blink of an eye, his movement a blur of practiced lethality.
What?! His speed—! Ryouma's eyes widened in shock. He barely had time to register the movement before Chōjūrō was upon him.
Clang!
The shriek of steel on steel echoed through the canyon as Ryouma's 'Flash' met the bulk of Hiramekarei, Chōjūrō's primary sword. The impact jarred Ryouma's arms to the bone.
"It's not over yet!" Chōjūrō grunted, pressing down with Hiramekarei in one hand while his other sword, the nimble and deadly Kabutowari, sliced through the air in a horizontal arc aimed at Ryouma's torso.
Whoosh!
The attack was precise and ruthless. But just as the blade was about to make contact, its target vanished, leaving the sword to cut through empty air.
Speed? No, it's that teleportation! Chōjūrō's analysis was instantaneous. He didn't pause, immediately spinning on his heel and leaping backward, his senses flaring. He was just in time to see Ryouma reappear, his own sword-arm pulled back for a thrust aimed at the space Chōjūrō had just occupied.
"So strong!" Ryouma's mind raced, his earlier confidence shaken. Chōjūrō's combat prowess far exceeded his estimations based on the anime's timeline. This wasn't a future Mizukage in the making; this was a fully-fledged, elite Jōnin and master swordsman in his prime.
"A 700-point mission... of course it wouldn't be simple," Ryouma muttered, taking a sharp, steadying breath. He tilted his head back, letting the cold rain cleanse the surprise from his face and sharpen his focus.
Snap!
A faint sound—the displacement of water. Ryouma's head snapped to the side. Chōjūrō was gone from his previous position, the disturbed puddle where he'd stood still rippling, the kicked-up droplets still hanging in the air.
Call!
The whisper of wind was his only warning. Chōjūrō was already at his flank, Kabutowari swinging in a devastating, empowered slash.
Swish~!
Ryouma threw his weight backward, bending his spine at a dangerous angle. The flat of the blade passed so close he felt the wind of its passage against the tip of his nose. His reaction had been pure instinct, forgoing the Instant Eye in a gamble that had nearly cost him his life.
"It's not over yet!" Chōjūrō bellowed, his voice firm.
Impossible! The inertia from that swing should prevent an immediate follow-up! This is my chance to counter! The thought flashed through Ryouma's mind, only for his pupils to constrict in sudden, chilling realization.
He was wrong.
Chōjūrō's other hand, gripping Hiramekarei, slammed into the back of the still-moving Kabutowari with immense force, brutally altering its trajectory and driving it downward in a crushing blow aimed at Ryouma's prone form.
BOOM!!
The ground where the sword landed shattered, the concussive force of the impact roaring through the canyon like a thunderclap.
Ryouma vanished in a flicker, reappearing a few meters away. The moment his feet touched the mud, Chōjūruro was there again, a relentless phantom mirroring his movement.
Clang!
Steel met steel once more as Ryouma barely managed to bring his own sword up in a desperate block. The sheer power behind the blow sent him skidding backward through the mud.
"How... how is he so fast...?" The thought echoed, unbidden, in the depths of Ryouma's mind. This is the true strength of an elite Jōnin?
"Great Ball Rasengan!" Ryouma roared, his free hand snapping out as he flew backward. A sphere of swirling, golden energy materialized in his palm with a resonant hum.
"Huh?" Chōjūrō's eyes narrowed in genuine surprise at the appearance of the A-Rank ninjutsu. This kid... his foundational skills are lacking, but his arsenal is full of surprises. I can't afford to hold back.
Hum...
The air twisted as Ryouma used the Instant Eye, not to retreat, but to launch a direct assault. He reappeared at Chōjūrō's side, the Great Ball Rasengan held aloft.
"Drink!!!"
He thrust the devastating sphere forward, aiming to end the fight.
Chōjūrō's expression tightened. He met the attack head-on, not with a dodge, but by swinging the massive Hiramekarei upward to intercept the Rasengan.
Ssssskreeeetch...!
Instead of a cataclysmic explosion, a high-pitched, grinding shriek filled the air as the chakra-laden blade met the spinning vortex of divine power. The rain itself seemed repelled, sizzling and vaporizing before it could touch the clashing energies, creating a temporary dry sphere around the combatants.
How is this possible? He's stalemating my strongest jutsu... with just a weapon?! A cold dread seeped into Ryouma's heart, but his hands remained steady, pouring more and more power into the Rasengan.
My total Divine Power is too low. I can't overpower him like this. Should I exchange for a bloodline now? A powerful skill? The temptation was there, a siren call of instant power. But he immediately dismissed it. Even with a boost, victory wasn't guaranteed against an opponent who hadn't even begun to use ninjutsu or his swords' secret techniques.
"Burst!" Chōjūrō's command was a low, powerful utterance.
A visible shockwave of pure force erupted from Hiramekarei, slamming directly into the Great Ball Rasengan.
CRACK!
The golden sphere wavered violently, its structural integrity threatening to fail.
"Damn it!" Ryouma felt his control over the Rasengan slipping, the chaotic energy straining against his will.
"Hmph!" He grunted, channeling a fresh surge of Divine Power from his reserves, fighting to stabilize the collapsing technique.
"Burst!" Chōjūrō's voice was like thunder in his ears.
Another, more powerful shockwave hit. The Great Ball Rasengan contorted, its perfect spherical form warping into an unstable oval.
"Burst! Burst! BURST!"
FZZT! FZZT! POP!
Under the relentless, concussive onslaught from Hiramekarei, the Rasengan didn't even have the dignity of a final explosion. It was simply hammered apart, its energy dissipating into the rain-laden air with a series of pathetic sputters.
"BURST!"
"INSTANT!"
Fwoosh!
Ryouma vanished a split-second before the final, unimpeded shockwave shot forth from Hiramekarei like a cannon blast. It tore through the rain, creating a ten-meter-long tunnel of vacuum where not a single drop of water fell.
Hah... Hah... Ryouma reappeared further away, gasping for air. The hand gripping his sword was white-knuckled, while his other hand, the one that had formed the Rasengan, was a bloody, trembling mess, lacerated by the feedback of the technique's destruction.
"Konoha nukenin," Chōjūrō's voice was calm, his stance unwavering, both swords at the ready. "Who gave you this order?"
So cautious, even now...
"What does it matter if you know?" Ryouma shot back, his voice cold.
"I do not wish to kill unnecessarily," Chōjūrō stated, a flicker of something weary in his eyes.
"You mean you'd let me go?" Ryouma was thrown, uncertain how to interpret the swordsman's words.
"But if you insist on trying to kill me, I will have no choice but to end your life here." The finality in his tone was absolute.
"Enough talk! If you don't want to fight, then stop!" Ryouma snorted, but internally, his mind was a whirlwind of calculation. He could escape at any moment. The Instant Eye guaranteed that. But if he fled now, Chōjūrō would return to the heavily fortified Kirigakure, and the mission would become exponentially more difficult.
The rain continued to fall, but its intensity had lessened, the downpour softening to a steady drizzle.
"What are you waiting for?" Chōjūrō asked, his gaze unwavering.
"What are you waiting for?" Ryouma countered with a dry, humorless chuckle.
Both were waiting for the same thing: a momentary lapse in the other's concentration, an opening for a single, decisive, fatal strike. The stalemate was a battle of nerves, a silent prelude to the next, and possibly final, exchange.