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Chapter 61 - Chapter 61: A Realistic Study of the Consequences of Lacking Anti-Air Defense

Once... no, "once" is the wrong word. In the future, there will be a Chunin-level youth obsessed with the idea that "Explosion is Art." He will use a specialized Earth Style technique to breach the Hidden Sand Village with ease, riding a clay bird at low altitude.

He will rain down a colorful variety of clay bombs, shouting "Katsu!" as he levels the village in a cacophony of madness.

If the Fifth Kazekage of that era hadn't already been "rehabilitated" by a certain Talk-no-Jutsu master—receiving a permanent SSS-rank buff to "Protect the Sand"—he wouldn't have sacrificed himself to shield the village. Without that sacrifice, the Sand would have been reduced to rubble.

Of course, that artist's primary goal will be the Jinchuriki, not total destruction.

But today, someone else was adopting that very same infiltration method.

The goal? Pure, unadulterated sabotage.

The future exploits of that "explosive teen" prove a fundamental flaw in the Sand's defenses. It isn't just the Sand; every major shinobi village shares this weakness. Aerial attacks are historically impossible to defend against.

Yata's arsenal might not be as diverse as C4 explosives, and its individual blasts aren't as theatrical as massive clay constructs, but it has one undeniable advantage: Quantity.

If one doesn't break you, it's fine. We have a whole warehouse of them ready to go.

After flying for some time, the roar of the battlefield faded into a memory. In the thin air of the high altitude, Ui allowed Yata to push its limits, soaring at full speed.

Down below, there were no counter-measures. At this height, there weren't even effective detection methods. It was a state of being: "I fly through the sky, but the sky leaves no trace of me."

This was the legendary "Asymmetric Warfare."

By conventional standards, targeting a civilian population is a moral atrocity. But in the shinobi world, strategic hubs are where people cluster for safety. Collateral damage isn't an accident; it's a statistical inevitability.

Ui had no intention of differentiating between shinobi and civilians. In the eyes of a Leaf ninja during the Great War, anything shaped like a human in the Land of Wind was an enemy.

This was the brutal reality of the Shinobi World War. There was no room for "Humanitarianism."

Years ago, when Orochimaru encountered three famous orphans in the Rain Country, he said: "How pitiful. They won't survive the war anyway, might as well kill them now." It was a dark logic, but it was a form of shinobi mercy.

Ui felt no psychological burden. His actions fell strictly within the established norms of the era.

Yes, Ui had the face of a fragile youth, but beneath it beat the heart of a true sadist.

By his estimation, the Hidden Sand was currently a hollow shell. Given their losses in the previous war and the sheer manpower they had poured into the current front... they had squeezed their village dry.

Both sides were treating this clash as the final roll of the dice. The result would be total surrender or total annihilation.

The Hokage had led Konoha's final reserves into the Land of Wind. Faced with such a blatant "home invasion," the Kazekage had no choice but to respond with everything he had.

This left the village's internal security pathetic. It was a golden opportunity for infiltration—and an even better one for large-scale devastation.

Maintaining the image of a Great Nation? Please. That's civilian thinking. Look at the Cloud Village—a military superpower that regularly sneaks into Konoha to kidnap women and children. Honor is a luxury for the peaceful.

Would Ui's bombardment hasten the end of the war? If the results were satisfactory, absolutely.

Was he doing it for that noble reason? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But regardless of his intent, the impact would be undeniably "positive" for the Leaf.

After five hours of full-throttle flight, Ui signaled Yata to descend. The Hidden Sand was near.

In the middle of a barren wasteland, a target as large as the Sand Village is hard to miss—provided you aren't flying so high that the desert haze blurs everything.

Ui's judgment was sharp. As he leveled off at 500 meters, the village came into focus.

The Sand had been built for defense, hidden within a jagged, natural fortress. Attacking from the ground was a nightmare. But from the air?

The sky was an open door.

Still, Ui remained cautious. No one knew if the Sand had an offensive barrier covering their airspace. He refused to drop below 300 meters.

In truth, he was being overly paranoid. At most, a village might have a detection barrier to alert them of aerial intruders. A high-altitude, offensive barrier that could suspend lethal force in mid-air was technically impossible with current technology.

At his height, he wouldn't trigger a thing.

Ui circled the village like a vulture, whispering to himself:

"Let's start with the biggest one..."

Since he couldn't tell which building held the most strategic value, he used the simplest metric: size.

It was a sound choice. Power and height usually go hand-in-hand. The building Ui selected had a massive character for "Wind" (风) painted on the side.

It was the Kazekage's Office.

Target locked. Loading...

Bombs away.

It's unclear if anyone noticed the bird first. All they knew was that before a single alarm could be raised, a cluster of pale, egg-shaped objects slammed into the roof of the Kazekage's Office.

Only then did the thundering BOOM-BOOM-BOOM begin.

The first wave was massive, but the building held. A defensive barrier flared into life, rippling like a dying screen.

But no barrier is infinite. As the explosions continued, the light flickered and dimmed.

By the third wave, the barrier shattered.

Without its chakra shield, the office was nothing more than brick, mortar, and dried mud. In a few heartbeats, the centerpiece of the Hidden Sand was reduced to a jagged pile of smoldering ruins.

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