CHAPTER 111

Uchiha Kai had already seen through the trick—this Iwa-nin was just a shadow clone. But what caught his eye wasn't just that. He could tell the original was a sensory-type ninja. And on the battlefield, sensory-types were a priority target. They were the village's eyes and ears. Eliminating one early could tilt the scales significantly.

He acted without hesitation.

Kai had expected Loess—Kitsuchi, a known commander of Iwa forces—to intervene. After all, killing a sensory-type was like blinding your own army. A shinobi of Loess' caliber wouldn't allow that… or so Kai thought.

But Kitsuchi didn't move. He didn't lift a finger to stop Kai as the Uchiha effortlessly dispersed the clone with a swift slice.

Kai narrowed his eyes. Something didn't add up. Still, he wasn't about to waste the opportunity. As a seasoned combatant—despite his young age—he knew hesitation was death.

The Sharingan scanned the haze of battle. Kai moved in a blur, hand snapping around an Iwa-nin's neck, twisting with a brutal crack. Without slowing, he flickered behind another, his tanto blade piercing cleanly through the ninja's chest. Smoke and screams filled the air, but Kai's eyes saw everything.

When the dust settled, he stood silently amid four fallen Iwa-nin. Kitsuchi watched him from only a few meters away. Kai smirked.

"You don't seem too broken up over your men," Kai said, casually shaking the blood from his blade. "Should I take that as a thank-you?"

Kitsuchi exhaled slowly. "For Iwagakure, perhaps. But for me... this is personal. I will avenge them."

"How noble," Kai scoffed. "But it sounds hollow. Iwa's talking peace, aren't they? What is it—pressure from Kumogakure? Or does my sensei have you sweating?"

Kitsuchi didn't answer at first. Then, calmly, he said, "Both. And neither. You're sharp, Uchiha. If you'd been born in Iwa, we might've been allies. But now... we're only enemies."

His tone was tired, but his resolve was clear.

Kai's smirk faded into something colder. He could see through the veil: Iwa had agreed to Konoha's terms. Kitsuchi was likely leading a squad of dissenters—not to crush Konoha, but to give Konoha the chance to crush them. A political purge masquerading as battle.

These "loyalists" weren't heroes. They were liabilities. And letting them fall to Konoha's blades allowed Iwa's leadership to strengthen their position—free of internal unrest.

How convenient.

"The executioner pretending to weep," Kai murmured, chakra flaring along his blade. "Spare me the hypocrisy. I'll send you to your subordinates now. Maybe they'll forgive your cowardice in the next life."

"You're the one who needs redemption," Kitsuchi growled, and in a flash, he charged.

The ground erupted beneath his fist as chakra surged through his body. The sheer force of his blow splintered the earth and toppled nearby trees.

But Kai was already gone, his slim frame slipping through the air like a wraith. He was only thirteen—his raw strength couldn't match Kitsuchi's—but that didn't matter.

He didn't need power. He had precision. He had speed. He had the Mangekyō Sharingan.

Kai watched Kitsuchi's movements closely. The Iwa commander was deliberately avoiding eye contact—trying to guard against genjutsu. Smart. But to Kai, it was laughable.

Too little, too late.

The air whipped between them as they clashed again. Chakra flared. Blades met fists. Sparks flew.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Their battle was a dance of extremes: raw strength versus lethal finesse. But it was clear who had the edge. Kitsuchi bled from several cuts. His movements were slowing, his body giving out. Meanwhile, Kei flowed like water—unharmed, untouched, unstoppable.

Every strike he made was precise. Every dodge was calculated. With the Mangekyō's heightened perception, he saw everything—the flex of muscle before a strike, the tremor in his opponent's stance. Nothing escaped him.

And as the fight dragged on, Kai could feel it: the war within his enemy. Kitsuchi was strong, but his heart wasn't in this. He was here to fall.

"You were never going to win this," Kai said quietly, a final swing tearing open Kitsuchi's side. "And you knew it."

Their eyes locked for one brief moment—not through genjutsu, but through understanding.

Then Kai twisted his blade.

And it was over.