Chapter 9: The Fall of a Legend

The Third Kazekage hit the sand like a broken marionette, half-buried in the dunes, blood seeping into the golden dust as the desert drank greedily.

His ribs were gone. His spine was probably a suggestion at this point. And his lungs were filing noise complaints with every breath.

Every nerve in his body screamed.

And over it all, a single thought pressed down like a vice:

I'm dying.

Then—a shadow.

Zeldris.

The boy stood there with that same quiet arrogance, like he'd just knocked over a vase and wasn't sorry about it. His silver hair caught the breeze. His expression said "Tuesday."

Nothing else.

No emotion. No triumph.

Just stillness.

The wind had stopped. Even the desert held its breath.

The Kazekage blinked through the pain, his gaze dragging upward like it weighed fifty pounds. He met Zeldris's eyes and found no hate. No fury. Just that cold, unreadable calm.

Not fear. Not anger.

Just confusion.

How?

How the hell did I lose to… that?

He wasn't old. He wasn't tired. He wasn't even caught off guard.

He was just… outclassed.

Outclassed by a silver-haired kid with glowing fists and zero respect for chakra physics.

He tried to speak—to demand answers, or maybe just stall for time—but nothing came out. His mouth opened.

Closed.

And then—nothing.

His head slumped. The desert claimed him.

The strongest Kazekage in history… was gone.

Dead.

Zeldris looked down at the corpse for a moment like he was evaluating a used appliance. Then, finally:

"So this is the 'Strongest Wind Shadow'?"

He crouched.

"Pathetic."

With zero ceremony, he grabbed the Kazekage's collar, slung the body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and started walking.

Toward Sasori.

Who, up until this point, had been standing very, very still—like prey that just realized the predator wasn't full yet.

His mouth was dry. His legs were debating whether or not to work. His mind?

Spinning.

Okay. Okay, it was supposed to be a distraction. I let them fight. I clean up. That was the plan.

Not "Zeldris kills the Kazekage in two moves and casually jogs over with the corpse like it's a door prize."

Zeldris stopped in front of him and let the body thud into the sand at Sasori's feet. A perfect drop. The kind you only see in mafia movies.

The puppet master blinked.

Yup. Still warm. Still bleeding. Definitely real.

He looked up. Zeldris was smiling faintly.

A business smile.

Like he just finished a delivery and wanted a signature.

"Boss Sasori. The job's done. Time to pay up."

Sasori's face twitched.

"I… I don't have that much on me."

Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me. Please don't—

"I can take you to my hideout. Payment's there."

Zeldris stared for a second too long.

Then nodded once.

"Reasonable. Lead the way."

Sasori exhaled so hard he nearly passed out.

He turned, quickly.

Just get him the money. Just give him what he wants. Do NOT joke. Do NOT talk about puppets. Do NOT ask to touch the glow-fist.

One wrong word and he'd be the next organic crater.

As they walked off across the dunes, silent but for the crunch of footsteps and the occasional dying wheeze from the corpse, something far above stirred.

High in the sky, cloaked in black and red clouds, a woman watched from a throne of floating paper wings.

Konan.

Silent. Still. Eyes wide.

Her paper gently fluttered in the breeze as she stared at the retreating figures.

One alive.

One dead.

And one legendary Kage-shaped stain in the middle of the desert.

Her lips parted.

"…What did I just witness?"

She knew that corpse. Everyone did.

The Third Kazekage. A monster among men. The most feared user of Magnet Release the world had ever known.

Emphasis on 'had.'

And yet… here he was, dead.

Killed by a boy she'd never seen before.

No fanfare. No epic battle.

Two moves.

Done.

Her heartbeat ticked faster.

Who is he?

And where did that power come from?

She didn't move. Didn't speak again.

Just watched.

The paper wings rustled softly behind her, like they were whispering a warning.

And far below, in the sands of the Wind Country, a legend was left behind—crushed, discarded, and already being erased by the desert breeze.

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