System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 350: Chapter 349: The Arrogance of Salvation

Konoha - Hokage Tower - The Office

The words hanged in the air, heavy and jagged, slicing through the fragile warmth of the office like a poisoned blade.

He’s just a corpse being puppeteered by the eyes of a god.

For several agonizing seconds, the room was entirely devoid of sound, save for the rhythmic, indifferent ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. The revelation was so profoundly grotesque, so completely divorced from the natural laws of life and death that governed the shinobi world, that it forced the listener’s mind to momentarily stall in self-defense.

Rather than succumb to the paralyzing weight of the grief threatening to crush his chest, Jiraiya’s posture hardened. The crushing sorrow that had momentarily bowed his broad shoulders transmuted instantly into a cold, defensive fury. He narrowed his thick white brows, his dark eyes sharpening into dangerous slits as he fixed the man in the crimson coat with a stare of absolute, freezing intensity.

”What exactly do you mean by that, Alaric?” Jiraiya demanded, his voice dropping into a gravelly, uncompromising register that belonged to the veteran commander of the Second Great Ninja War. The tension in the room spiked, thick and combustible.

Alaric did not flinch. He remained slouched comfortably against the plush cushions of the sofa, entirely unbothered by the suffocating killing intent radiating from the Toad Sage. He took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the rich smoke curl over his lips before a sharp, knowing smirk broke across his features.

”I mean exactly what I said,” Alaric replied smoothly, brushing an invisible speck of ash from his dark trousers. ”And honestly, Jiraiya... you shouldn’t bother hiding Nagato’s little secret from your Hokage anymore. The board is already set.”

Jiraiya’s eyes widened to an impossible degree, the sheer, staggering shock shattering his aggressive facade.

His breath hitched audibly in his throat. While Tsunade was fully aware of the three orphans he had taken under his wing during the chaotic, rain-soaked aftermath of their battle with Hanzo the Salamander, she only knew the broad, sanitized strokes of that history. No one in Konoha... not his teammates, not the Sandaime Hokage, not even the most deeply entrenched spies of the ANBU... knew about the quiet, red-haired boy who possessed the mythic, god-like eyes of the Sage of Six Paths. The Rinnegan was a secret Jiraiya had sworn to take to his grave to protect his student from the predatory greed of the hidden villages.

And yet, this blonde foreigner, a man who had seamlessly woven himself into the fabric of Konoha only a few years ago, was dropping the name with casual, terrifying accuracy.

”How... how could you possibly know about him?” Jiraiya breathed, the foundations of his sprawling intelligence network feeling suddenly, violently inadequate.

”I told you, I know a lot of things,” Alaric countered effortlessly, waving his cigar to dismiss the astonishment. ”Since this directly relates to the overarching threat of the Akatsuki, and you have personally confirmed seeing Yahiko walking around with the Rinnegan, the math is brutally simple. Yahiko is dead. The boy you trained perished years ago.”

Tsunade set her coffee mug down with a sharp clatter, her amber eyes darting between the two men, completely lost in the esoteric history being unearthed in her office.

”All I’m saying is,” the anomaly continued, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees, ”is that Nagato is utilizing the Rinnegan’s unique, spatial-spiritual abilities to share his original vision and chakra across six deceased vessels. He implants black, chakra-receiving rods into the flesh of corpses and puppeteers them from the shadows. They are a hive mind of devastation collectively known as the Six Paths of Pain. And Yahiko’s body happens to be the Deva Path... his favored puppet.”

Aside from Alaric, the room plunged into a state of profound, absolute bewilderment. Tsunade’s brow furrowed so deeply it threatened to leave permanent lines, her brilliant medical mind struggling to comprehend the biological and spiritual impossibility of a single man remotely piloting six corpses with god-like efficiency. Jiraiya looked equally lost, his mind recoiling from the horrific desecration of the bright, hopeful boy who had once sworn to protect his friends.

Seeing the sheer, unadulterated confusion painting their legendary faces, Alaric let out a heavy sigh and shook his head dismissively.

”Don’t hurt yourselves trying to dissect the mechanics,” Alaric advised, leaning back and crossing his legs. ”You’ll only get infinitely more confused the moment you try to understand the deeper, overarching abilities of the Rinnegan. It’s an ocular jutsu that literally governs the concepts of life, death, gravity, and souls.”

He offered a lazy, definitive wave of his hand. ”So, let’s keep it simple. Leave Pein to me. When the time comes, I’ll just deal with the guy myself and dismantle the puppet strings.”

”No.”

The word cracked like a whip.

Jiraiya stood up from his armchair, his massive frame radiating an unyielding, stubborn resolve. He shook his head violently, his jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line.

”I will do it,” Jiraiya declared, his voice trembling with a mixture of righteous anger and profound, paternal grief. ”Nagato is my student. I taught him how to survive, and I taught him how to use his ninjutsu to protect his friends. If he has twisted those teachings into this... this abomination... then I have questions for him that only he can answer.”

Alaric stared at the Toad Sage, his blue eyes narrowing slightly behind a veil of grey smoke. He outright disagreed, and he wasn’t about to coddle the man’s suicidal sentimentality.

”That is a remarkably foolish idea, Jiraiya,” Alaric stated, his tone dropping the casual pretense to expose the cold, unforgiving edge beneath. ”Nagato wouldn’t even need to use half of his absolute power to kill you. You wouldn’t be walking into an interrogation; you would be walking into your own highly publicized execution.”

Jiraiya grew visibly pressed by the blunt, dismissive assessment. The insult to his capabilities as a legendary Sannin burned, but it was the dismissal of his duty that truly enraged him. He took a heavy step forward, his hands balling into massive, white-knuckled fists at his sides.

”He is my student, Alaric!” Jiraiya roared, the sheer volume of his voice rattling the glass of the arched windows. ”Whether you like it or not, whether it defies your calculated odds or not, it is my absolute job as his master to confront him! To look him in the eye and bring him back to the right path!”

Alaric didn’t flinch at the outburst. Instead, a sharp, deeply sarcastic smirk touched the corner of his lips. He let out a dark, mocking chuckle that sent a shiver down Tsunade’s spine.

”I am so incredibly tired of this specific, self-destructive attitude,” Alaric replied, his voice dripping with condescension. ”This arrogant delusion of bringing someone ’back to the light’ without possessing the actual, overwhelming strength required to enforce it.”

Tsunade looked between them, her jaw tight. She desperately wanted both of them to shut up, to cease this volatile clashing of egos and grief so she could process the apocalyptic threat looming over her village. But she knew better than to physically intervene when two titans were locking horns. She could only pick up her coffee mug, taking a slow, tense sip as she listened to the verbal butchery unfold.

”Let me paint a very clear picture for you, Spymaster,” Alaric continued, standing up smoothly from the sofa to meet Jiraiya eye-to-eye. He didn’t raise his voice, but his words hit with the devastating force of a sledgehammer.

”You couldn’t even bring Orochimaru back,” Alaric pointed out, ruthlessly excavating the deepest, most agonizing failure of Jiraiya’s life. ”For decades, you chased a snake who was standing right in front of you, a peer on your own level, and you failed completely. You let him slip through your fingers to terrorize the world.”

Jiraiya flinched as if physically struck, his dark eyes widening in raw, visceral pain.

”So tell me,” Alaric pressed, taking a slow, predatory step forward. ”Why exactly should you entertain the delusion of facing Nagato? He is leagues... absolute oceans... stronger than someone like Orochimaru. Forget facing him, Jiraiya. It is a useless, romanticized endeavor that ends with your corpse feeding the rain.”

Alaric paused, allowing the brutal truth to settle into the marrow of the Sannin’s bones, before offering a cold, pragmatic alternative.

”If Naruto manages to master Sage Mode, and merges it with the colossal reserves of the Nine-Tails, he can potentially beat Nagato. It would be a struggle, but he has the raw potential,” Alaric analyzed, his gaze unyielding. ”You, on the other hand? You have been attempting to balance natural energy for decades, yet you still rely on Shima and Fukasaku to maintain an imperfect, toad-like transformation. You have never been able to truly master Sage Mode, Jiraiya. And because of that... you never will beat him.”

Jiraiya narrowed his eyes, the insult tearing through his legendary pride. He knew Alaric was unimaginably strong... he had seen the aftermath of the Uchiha compound, and have heard of his feats, especially from Hiruzen when Alaric subdued Orochimaru like nothing... but he couldn’t quite understand why he was feeling so profoundly, personally offended. The anomaly wasn’t just dissecting his power; he was dissecting his worth as a protector.

He couldn’t shake the burning frustration coiling in his chest. He needed an outlet. He needed to prove that his resolve wasn’t just empty air.

Jiraiya glared at Alaric, his posture settling into the immaculate, grounded stance of a master martial artist.

”If it’s entirely okay with you,” Jiraiya said, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet whisper that carried no trace of his usual perversion or humor, ”would you be agreeable to a spar?”

Alaric raised a single, platinum-blonde brow, genuinely surprised by the direct challenge, while Tsunade slammed her coffee mug down onto the table with a sharp, resounding crash. She had reached her absolute limit.

”Jiraiya!” Tsunade reprimanded fiercely, her amber eyes blazing with the unforgiving wrath of the Godaime Hokage. She stood up, slamming her hands flat against her desk. ”We are standing on the very precipice of a continental war! We have a rogue nation actively mobilizing forces, and an organization of S-rank monsters hunting our Jinchuriki! This is absolutely not the time to initiate a ’spar’ just to relieve your own bruised frustration!”

Alaric, however, merely smiled. It was a wide, charismatic, and utterly dangerous grin.

He waved a hand, directly disagreeing with the Hokage’s pragmatic assessment.

”Actually, Tsunade, I completely disagree,” Alaric countered smoothly, stepping around the coffee table. ”I think it is the absolute best time to relieve some frustration before the real blood starts flowing. And more importantly...”

He turned his electric-blue eyes back to Jiraiya, the gaze carrying the silent promise of overwhelming violence.

”...It’s a remarkably good way for Jiraiya-san to personally experience what a fight in a completely different league actually looks like. It might save his life in the long run.”

Jiraiya didn’t rise to the bait, but he nodded his head firmly, accepting the terms of the engagement. He turned around without another word, his white mane swishing as he walked purposefully toward the heavy oak doors of the office.

He paused with his hand on the brass handle, casting a dark look over his shoulder.

”Training Ground 5,” Jiraiya instructed, his voice echoing in the tense silence of the room. ”I’ll be waiting.”

The heavy doors clicked shut behind him, leaving Alaric to finish his cigar under the furious, exhausted glare of the Fifth Hokage.

.

Consider buying me a coffee!

patreon.com/kulark𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

I’m uploading dozens of Chapters ahead there!