Chapter 65: Graduation Ceremony

Sasuke and Momo each opened their wooden boxes.

Perhaps by some strange coincidence or silent agreement, Momo was the first to lift the lid of hers.

Her weapon—if it could still be called a weapon—resembled a long whip forged from countless interlocking blades. As she lifted it, ripples of chakra surged through it, and the whip straightened into a gleaming, serrated blade.

"Depending on the amount of ripple energy infused," explained the old swordsmith, "it can shift between a whip and a serrated sword. The maximum attack range is ten meters. And when you're not in combat—"

He gestured for Momo to tap the blade against the ground.

With a metallic rustle, the segments folded neatly into each other, compressing down into something that resembled a walking cane. Sleek. Subtle. Easy to carry and perfect for defense or concealment.

Cane, whip, blade.

Three weapons in one.

Compared to Momo's dynamic weapon, Sasuke's was far simpler. His was a straight-edged katana—elegant and clean—except for one peculiarity: it had no blade.

"Go on," the swordsmith nodded. "Use your ripple."

Sasuke focused his chakra into the hilt.

A thin silver line shimmered where the edge should have been. Dao Ye, the swordsmith, casually tossed an iron ingot toward him. Sasuke swung.

The glowing line cut through the ingot with ease. The bisected halves clanged on the floor, their surfaces smooth as silk.

Dao Ye, now in his sixties, watched the two young ninja with quiet pride. He turned to Logan with a grin.

Logan had told him about their pasts—Momo's murdered mother, the horrors Sasuke endured.

For Momo, he forged a weapon using remnants of the Thunder Blade Fang. Its lightning-enhanced composition boosted her speed and affinity for lightning-based jutsu. It was flexible, versatile, and dangerous—just like the life Momo had to survive.

Sasuke's sword, on the other hand, was different.

Logan had already avenged Momo. But Sasuke's hatred ran deeper—etched into his soul by the destruction of his entire clan.

Dao Ye crafted a bladeless sword to symbolize restraint. A weapon that required choice. He hoped that when the time came, Sasuke would think before he swung—that the decision to kill would never be made by the blade, but by the man wielding it.

No matter how swift the strike, there should always be time for regret.

Sasuke and Momo, wrapped up in the excitement of their new weapons, didn't catch the deeper meaning behind Dao Ye's design. But Logan did.

"Thank you," Logan said sincerely.

Dao Ye waved a hand dismissively. "I'm just a blacksmith. My job is to forge weapons that suit their wielders. Besides—"

He ruffled both Momo's and Sasuke's hair.

"They're good kids."

After bidding farewell to Dao Ye, the group of five continued their journey to Kirigakure. The snow thinned, the wind calmed, and the roads gradually widened. It was peaceful—too peaceful.

By the third afternoon, the distant silhouette of Kirigakure appeared on the horizon. Caravans and travelers bustled about the outskirts.

"Huh? Isn't Kirigakure supposed to be really closed off?" Sasuke asked, confused.

Logan had been wondering the same.

The village was far livelier than he had expected.

There were tourists laughing, vendors hawking souvenirs, and children darting between stalls. But when Logan looked more closely, he noticed the subtle divide.

The cheerful tourists and chatty vendors didn't belong here.

Their skin was sun-kissed, their eyes alive.

The locals, however, were pale and withdrawn—skin bleached by constant fog, their eyes hollow and watchful. They barely interacted with the guests and mostly ran small inns or drinking establishments. And behind their quiet stares...

Was hatred.

Logan spotted it more than once—the flicker of contempt hiding behind indifference.

"Logan-nii, something's off about these people," Momo whispered.

He nodded.

The village was loud on the surface, but under the noise was a disturbing quiet—an unnatural tension that set his instincts on edge.

Just then, a boy—maybe six years old—noticed their group. His eyes lit up as he ran over.

"Big brother, wanna buy an intel book? It's the most detailed in the village! Buy one and get free candy!"

Logan looked around. Other kids were selling similar pamphlets on nearby streets.

"Sure," he said, taking one.

The boy handed over a small booklet and five cheap candies, smiling brightly as he distributed one to each person.

Logan opened the book. Inside were profiles of nearly fifty boys and girls, complete with ninjutsu specialties, elemental affinities, and combat stats. Each student was ranked from D to S, and the final pages had action photos from previous battles.

Logan raised an eyebrow and handed the boy another bill.

"Tell me what this is really about."

The boy grinned, patting his chest. "You want me to steal something? Spy on someone? I'll do it—just say the word."

Logan tapped the booklet.

"This. What is this?"

"Ohhh!" The boy chuckled. "You're here for the graduation ceremony!"

Graduation?

What kind of school event attracted foreign tourists, required intel pamphlets, and had this much money flowing?

The boy explained eagerly: "Every year, the village holds graduation matches. Students fight one-on-one—and only one is allowed to survive from each match."

He paused, then added, "It used to just be locals watching, but now it's huge. Tourists place bets, inns fill up, vendors come in... It's become an industry."

He waved the pamphlet in Logan's face. "This is how you win big!"

Logan and the others fell silent.

This was the infamous "Village of the Bloody Mist."

Kirigakure.

Children—barely twelve or thirteen—forced to kill their classmates for a diploma.

At least Danzo's methods at Root were done in secrecy.

Here, the bloodshed was a festival.

A performance.

The villagers profited off the slaughter of their children. They lived in a cycle of numbness and cruelty—desensitized and devoured by hatred.

Konan stood still, her expression tight.

She had known Kirigakure had fallen far under Obito's control, but she hadn't realized just how far.

To her, the village was just a place that occasionally funneled money into the Akatsuki accounts. She could accept killing for peace on the battlefield.

But this?

This was different.

Even the candy in her mouth now tasted faintly of blood.

Snap—

A hand touched her shoulder.

Konan spun around and glared at Logan.

He smiled without looking at her. "If you're upset, cry into your pillow later. Right now, we need to move. This village needs to wake up."

She followed his gaze down the street.

A tall, beautiful woman with long auburn hair stood waiting, arms crossed and lips curled into a smile.

Terumi Mei.

She lifted a hand lazily and waved, mouthing:

"Long time no see."

Logan stepped forward.

Three steps away.

Terumi Mei closed the gap with one stride, tilted her head up, and stared into his eyes.

"What's your first line going to be?" she asked, eyes glinting with mischief.

Logan clenched his fist.

"When do we start?"

She rolled her eyes and turned.

"Follow me."

Øóffer going on for diamond tier

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