At Tatsumi's speed, a hundred meters vanished in the blink of an eye.
Sakumo, who had been monitoring the battlefield the moment he arrived, had already noticed his presence.
Tatsumi's arrival signaled one thing—the Sand Ninja Jonin guarding the supply transport had already been handled. Though Sakumo had mentally prepared for this possibility, the reality still left him a bit stunned. After all, at Tatsumi's age, he himself couldn't have pulled off a feat like that.
Sakumo considered himself a prodigy. But now, someone even more monstrous had emerged. He had even heard that Tatsumi repelled Shukaku on his way back.
"Did this kid start training while still a fertilized egg?" Sakumo couldn't help but grumble inwardly.
Still, Tatsumi's presence on the battlefield was a net positive. Many of their wounded comrades had lost the ability to fight and desperately needed protection. A man who valued his team above all, Sakumo found his impression of Tatsumi subtly improving.
So, he issued his directive without hesitation: "Leave the main battle to me. You're on illusion support—protect the wounded."
"Okay."
Tatsumi nodded. Sakumo's strength was leagues above his own. Even without his help, Sakumo could have swiftly handled the elite Jonin ahead and moved on to assist other squads.
Now that Sakumo had assigned him to a backline role, Tatsumi was more than happy to comply. Support work was lucrative in its own way—hang back, toss out a few illusions, stay out of danger, and enjoy the quiet satisfaction of silently steering the course of battle like a seasoned tactician.
With his orders delivered, Hatake Sakumo shot toward the enemy like a gale.
The White Fang's charge chilled the hearts of the Sand Ninja Jonin. Some began forming hand seals, but Tatsumi's hands moved faster, launching a Genjutsu that disrupted their casting, especially one of the faster ninjas in mid-seal.
Sakumo was already engaging two elite Jonin again. Chakra surged from his White Fang short sword like blades of radiant light.
Tatsumi deployed another Genjutsu, using sound as a medium to silently infiltrate the mind of a Jonin near Sakumo.
The man raised his hand to strike—but froze. A strange scene unfolded before him. His body refused to move.
"Body Binding Technique?" he thought.
It wasn't. But it didn't matter.
The next moment, his head was severed cleanly by Sakumo's sword, blood spraying high as the body crumpled.
Sakumo dipped low, accelerating even further, and charged toward the next target.
That Jonin, who had just watched his comrade fall with no resistance, was gripped by fear. He still attempted to form seals, but before he could complete them, his hands halted mid-motion.
A beat later, another head flew skyward.
One Sand Jonin, determined to deal with Tatsumi, locked eyes with him—only to see the swirling tomoe of the Sharingan.
Terror surged. His body trembled, frost creeping through his veins.
Puchi!
Lost in the illusion, the Sand Ninja didn't even notice Sakumo's kunai piercing his chest. Blood burst forth in a wave as Sakumo shoved the corpse away with one swift strike.
The remaining Sand Ninjas were rattled. Before Tatsumi arrived, they had been locked in a balanced standoff against the White Fang. Now, with this one Chunin's support, the tide had completely turned.
Sakumo's blade moved like a god of death—swift, precise, inevitable. One by one, Jonin fell.
And it was all because of that Chunin. The one who had faced down Shukaku… and won.
Since when did Konoha Chunin become this terrifying?
This… this wasn't ninja-like at all.
Several elite Jonin faltered, and the thought of retreat crossed their minds. Standing their ground meant certain death against this lethal duo.
"There are reinforcements, be careful!"
Tatsumi's dynamic vision picked up movements from the battlefield's edge—faster than even Sakumo could detect. Several Sand Ninja were charging in from the periphery.
Of course, they were afraid. Who wouldn't be?
These weren't mere high-level grunts. These were top-tier Jonin—some of the best their village had to offer.
Even the fabled Third Kazekage couldn't execute kills this cleanly.
But now, the unthinkable had happened.
Tatsumi provided relentless crowd control while Sakumo played the role of high-speed, high-damage assassin. It was a textbook team fight. If you were on the other side of this combo, fear was the only logical response.
The Sand Ninja intensified their assault. More Jonin joined the fray, though most were still tangled with Orochimaru and Tsunade's forces.
But Sakumo, now operating at maximum efficiency, was on a rampage. He landed in front of a Jonin bound by illusion, and a burst of lightning-style chakra from his blade ended that man's life instantly.
Then without missing a beat, he dove into the reinforcements.
His sword sliced through a puppet master's arm, followed by an illusion to disorient. He adjusted his angle and cleaved horizontally—
Half the Jonin's head was gone. He didn't even have time to scream.
Despite their elite training, the Sand Ninja Jonin were crumbling under the surgical coordination of Tatsumi and Sakumo.
And so, the battlefield bore witness to the debut of the Konoha Lightning Fang—a tag team so deadly it turned battlefields into execution chambers.
From the distance, Chiyo's eyes burned with fury. She stared at the figure who was single-handedly dismantling her Jonin.
But Sakumo was in his element. Every swing, every dodge, every kill felt like poetry. With Tatsumi covering his flank, he no longer had to worry about surprise ninjutsu or enemy tactics.
For the first time, he could fight freely, purely.
It was a feeling of clarity, elegance—almost romantic.
Yes… Hatake Sakumo had fallen in love.
With the art of slaying Jonin like cutting weeds.
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