Chapter 307: The Eve of Sealing
Late night. The moon hung fat and silver over Konoha, but its light did not reach the shadows where the ANBU moved.
Ragnar had shed his civilian clothes and donned the uniform of his former life—black combat attire, reinforced at the joints, and the mask of Rakshasa. The demonic visage grinned ferociously in the darkness, a face that had become legend in the underworld. As he moved through the secured perimeter, ANBU operatives stepped aside and inclined their heads in silent acknowledgment. No words were exchanged. None were needed. The mask spoke for itself.
"Captain." Ragnar entered the temporary command post, a concealed chamber near the sealing grounds. Hatake Sakumo stood at the center of the room, his White Fang blade resting against the wall behind him, his expression grave.
The Half-Sleeve was gone now, stored safely at home. In its place was the cold professionalism of the ANBU Commander.
"Ye Chen." Sakumo's stern features softened slightly at the arrival of his trusted subordinate. "You've been briefed on the sealing. ANBU's responsibility is absolute—we ensure the ritual proceeds without interference. No mistakes. No accidents. The consequences of failure would be catastrophic."
"I understand."
"Wait here. The sealing team is almost ready." Sakumo turned back to the tactical display, his jaw tight. "The Four Red Yang Formation is being erected now. Once it's active, we move."
Ragnar took a seat against the wall and closed his eyes. In the silence of his mind, he reached out through the link that bound him to the Five-Tails.
Kokuō. How dangerous is a Jinchūriki transfer?
The Five-Tails' voice echoed in his consciousness, tinged with the particular wariness of a creature who had experienced this process before. Very dangerous. Changing a Tailed Beast's container is always risky—for the old host and the new one alike. When the Rock shinobi transferred me between Jinchūriki, several candidates died. The chakra is too powerful for ordinary humans to contain. And the negative emotions...
She paused, and Ragnar sensed something almost like guilt in her mental voice.
It's not always the Tailed Beast's fault, you know. We are not inherently evil. When a human and a Tailed Beast share a body, their emotions become linked. If the human's heart is consumed by hatred, the beast feels it. Absorbs it. Reflects it back. The rampages... they are not always our doing.
Ragnar considered this. It aligned with what he knew from the original timeline. Naruto's empathy had calmed Kurama. The bond between Bee and Gyūki had transformed their relationship from jailer-and-prisoner to partners. The Tailed Beasts were not demons. They were ancient, powerful, and wounded—lash out at a world that had only ever tried to chain them.
Is there a way to reduce the risk? he asked.
Yes. Communication. But the Nine-Tails is too arrogant for that. He has been imprisoned by humans for so long—do you really think he will pass up an opportunity to strike back? The moment the seal weakens, he will attack with everything he has.
The Tailed Beasts have telepathy between siblings. If something goes wrong, connect my consciousness to the Nine-Tails. I'll have words with him myself.
There was a long pause. Then Kokuō's voice returned, tinged with something that might have been dark amusement. For some reason, I feel like the Nine-Tails is about to have a very bad night.
A crimson light erupted in the darkness.
Through the window of the command post, Ragnar watched the Four Red Yang Formation blaze to life. Four pillars of scarlet energy shot skyward from the sealing grounds, their light painting the surrounding forest in shades of blood. The barrier was immense—a rectangular prison of pure chakra, designed to contain even the Nine-Tails should the worst come to pass. Its glow was visible from every corner of Konoha.
"That's the signal." Sakumo rose, his posture shifting from commander to warrior in a single fluid motion. "The sealing squad is in position. ANBU, disperse. Perimeter defense. No one approaches the formation. No one."
Understood.
Black shadows flickered through the night. Eighty percent of Konoha's ANBU division deployed in moments, a silent army of masked operatives spreading through the darkness like oil through water. Sakumo himself would command from the front—the White Fang, standing guard over the most dangerous ritual the village had undertaken in decades.
Ragnar's assigned position was the eastern approach to the formation. As he moved into place, three familiar chakra signatures fell in beside him.
"Lord Rakshasa. It has been a long time."
Moonlight Hayate. Captain of ANBU Squad Nine. His voice carried the faint rasp that would one day become the trademark cough of the examiner from the Chūnin Exams. But now he was young, sharp, and fully operational.
"Long time no see," Ragnar replied.
"Congratulations on your promotion, my lord. The youngest Jōnin in Konoha's history. And well deserved." Yamanaka Kaiichi's voice was warm even through the mask. His sensory abilities were already active, scanning the surrounding forest for any trace of hostile intent.
"Congratulations," added Aburame Shikumi. Just two syllables. His personality remained unchanged—taciturn, reserved, more comfortable with his insects than with human conversation.
Ragnar studied the three squad captains. Moonlight. Yamanaka. Aburame. The same men who had served under him during the Rain Country campaign. Competent. Loyal. Trustworthy. He found himself wondering, absently, whether the Aburame standing beside him would one day father a son named Shino. Umino Okamoto had become Iruka's father. The world was smaller than it seemed.
"Use my codename," Ragnar said. "Rakshasa."
The three captains exchanged glances behind their masks. The hierarchy of Konoha was clear—subordinates addressed superiors with honorifics, with deference, with the formal respect due to rank. Ragnar might be young, but his position as Special ANBU operative placed him above them. Yet he was asking them to treat him as an equal.
They nodded. Understood. The formality dropped.
"Do you think the sealing will go smoothly?" Ragnar asked.
"I don't know." Yamanaka Kaiichi's voice was troubled. "But it will certainly be dangerous. This is the Nine-Tails we're talking about. Konoha lost many elite shinobi containing it in the past."
"Wood Release is the nemesis of Tailed Beasts," Aburame Shikumi observed quietly. "If Konoha still had a Wood Release user, the chances of success would be much higher."
Wood Release. The bloodline of Hashirama Senju. Its chakra suppressed Tailed Beast energy the way the black receivers of the Rinnegan suppressed chakra—absolutely. The First Hokage had bent the Nine-Tails to his will as easily as a man leashing a dog. But Hashirama was dead. His bloodline had thinned. Wood Release was a memory.
"By the way, Hayate," Ragnar said, his tone shifting to something almost casual, "is your Moonlight Clan known for the Transparent Escape technique?"
Hayate's mask tilted slightly—a gesture of surprise. "Yes. But I never learned it. No one in my generation has managed to awaken it."
So it's not a full bloodline limit, Ragnar thought. It manifests sporadically. Hayate's son will inherit it. But the father never will.
"That's a shame," he said aloud.
"The Transparent Escape is... unusual," Hayate admitted. "Not particularly useful in direct combat. But it has its applications."
Applications that every hot-blooded male in the shinobi world would kill for, Ragnar thought but did not say.
Inside the Four Red Yang Formation, the world was red.
The barrier's crimson glow painted everything in shades of fire and blood. The sealing squad—four elite shinobi positioned at the corners of the formation—maintained the barrier with steady, measured pulses of chakra. Sweat beaded on their brows. The technique was taxing, but they had trained for this. They would not fail.
At the center of the formation, two figures sat facing each other.
Uzumaki Mito. The first Jinchūriki of the Nine-Tails. The wife of the First Hokage. A woman whose strength had once been spoken of in the same breath as legends. Now she was old. Frail. Her hair had gone completely white, and her skin hung loose on bones that seemed too fragile to contain the power that seethed within her. But her eyes—those ancient, knowing eyes—still burned with quiet, unyielding fire.
And opposite her, Uzumaki Kushina.
Young. Vibrant. Terrified.
Her red hair spilled down her back, the same shade as Mito's had been in her youth. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap. She had trained for this moment. Prepared for it. Dreamed of it in nightmares. But nothing—no amount of instruction, no number of practice seals—could truly ready a person for what was about to happen.
The Nine-Tails. Inside her. Forever.
"Grandmother..." Kushina's voice was small. The bravado she had shown in the seal space, taunting the pinned fox while her grandmother suppressed it, had evaporated. This was real. This was happening.
"Don't be afraid." Mito's voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of absolute certainty. "You are an Uzumaki. This burden was always meant for you. And you are stronger than you know."
She reached out and took Kushina's hands. Her grip was weak—the grip of a woman whose body was failing—but the warmth of her touch was steady. Reassuring.
"The seal will hold. You will hold it. And when the time comes... you will find someone who understands your heart. Someone who can share your burden. The Nine-Tails is not merely a monster. It is a living being, born of hatred and loneliness. Someday... someone will reach it."
Tears welled in Kushina's eyes. She did not trust herself to speak. She simply nodded.
"Begin the transfer," Mito commanded, her voice suddenly strong, carrying across the formation.
The sealing squad moved. Hand signs flashed. The barrier's glow intensified.
And deep within the seal space, the Nine-Tails opened its eyes.
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