System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 351: Chapter 350: The Six Shadows of Despair

Konoha - Training Ground 5

Training Ground 5 was a sprawling, untamed expanse of ancient woodland situated miles away from the bustling heart of Konohagakure, deliberately isolated to ensure that the catastrophic collateral damage of high-level shinobi combat would remain safely hidden from civilian eyes. The trees here were titanic, their gnarled roots weaving through earth that had been repeatedly scorched, cratered, and flooded by generations of Leaf ninja pushing their limits.

Today, however, the training ground felt less like a practice field and more like a colosseum anticipating an execution.

The canopy casted long, dappled shadows over a wide clearing, and the perimeter of the battlefield was lined with an audience that represented the absolute pinnacle of Konoha’s military might.

Tsunade Senju stood with her arms tightly crossed, her amber eyes narrowed in serious contemplation, flanked by her apprentice Sakura Haruno, who was nervously watching. Not far from them, Kakashi Hatake leaned against a massive tree trunk, his visible eye devoid of its usual lazy droop, while Sasuke Uchiha stood rigidly beside him, his Sharingan already spinning a slow, crimson warning. Naruto Uzumaki vibrated with barely contained excitement as he prepared to cheer for his godfather.

The rumors of a clash between the legendary Toad Sage and the anomalous blonde Jonin had spread like wildfire through the village’s upper echelons. Consequently, Might Guy and Asuma Sarutobi stood among the trees with their respective squads, the entirety of Rookie Nine watching with bated breath as Shikamaru Nara sighed, calculating the terrifying variables about to be unleashed. Dozens of ANBU operatives, their porcelain masks betraying no emotion, were perched seamlessly in the high branches, specifically instructed by both the current and former Hokage to observe and report on the physics-defying limits of Alaric Jonathan Kenway.

Yet, despite the formidable crowd, no one possessed the sensory acuity to detect the three absolute ghosts perfectly concealed in the densest foliage a half-mile away.

Minato Namikaze, Kushina Uzumaki, and Itachi Uchiha knelt silently on a thick branch, their chakra signatures entirely erased from the world. Minato’s cerulean eyes were sharp, evaluating the clearing with a tactical hunger, while Itachi’s gaze remained a fathomless abyss, analyzing the man who had casually rewritten his reality only days prior. Naruto, acutely aware of his parents’ hidden presence thanks to Alaric’s prior warning, did an admirable job of never once glancing in their direction, guarding the secret with surprising discipline.

In the center of the clearing, Jiraiya stood like a mountain of stone.

The Sannin was completely devoid of his usual, happy-go-lucky perversion. His broad shoulders were tense, his jaw locked in a grim, unforgiving line as he stared straight ahead. The sheer, suffocating gravity of his seriousness washed over the spectators, sending a collective chill down the spines of the younger generation. This was not the jovial author of inappropriate novels; this was the veteran commander who had survived the slaughter of the Second Great Ninja War.

He had been waiting for exactly one hour.

Finally, the rustle of leaves signaled an arrival.

Alaric strolled into the clearing at a leisurely, unhurried pace, puffing rhythmically on a premium cigar. He wore his standard-issue olive-green Jonin vest zipped neatly over his dark blue shirt, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets. He looked less like a combatant arriving for a legendary duel and more like a man out for a mild afternoon stroll.

”Sorry for the delay,” Alaric announced, his voice carrying easily over the hushed crowd as he offered a lazy, unapologetic smirk. ”I got caught up making sure my morning tea was brewed to the exact proper temperature.”

Jiraiya did not laugh. He didn’t even blink. He merely shifted his weight, his chakra coiling tightly within his pathways.

Stepping between the two titans to act as the official proctor, Hiruzen Sarutobi wore his traditional combat robes, his expression an intricate tapestry of stern authority and quiet amusement.

”I see you finally decided to join us, Alaric,” Hiruzen noted dryly, planting his staff into the earth.

Seeing the absolute, unyielding intensity radiating from his opponent, Alaric chuckled softly, tapping the ash from his cigar. ”Since you look like you’re actually ready to kill me, Jiraiya, I’ll make you a deal. I will limit my physical output and jutsu scale to roughly match what I estimate the leader of the Akatsuki, Pein, is capable of.”

Alaric paused, a brief, theatrical look of contemplation crossing his features. ’Though to be fair, I only ever saw him fight through a screen in an anime, not in raw, tactile combat. I might accidentally overdo the output... but whatever. It doesn’t really matter.’

He looked back at the Toad Sage. ”Hopefully, I get the calibration right. Treat me like I am the god of Amegakure.”

The boldness of the statement rippled through the audience like a physical shockwave. Gasps erupted from everyone, and even seasoned Jonin like Asuma raised their eyebrows in sheer disbelief. To actively limit oneself against a Sannin was not just arrogant; it bordered on suicidal madness.

Hiruzen, however, couldn’t suppress a low, rumbling chuckle. He intimately knew that Alaric’s strength was an ocean without a floor, but the sheer, brazen audacity of the Kenway’s declaration remained delightfully overbearing.

”Very well,” Hiruzen called out, his voice echoing with absolute command, bringing the clearing to a dead silence. ”I shall act as the judge for this bout. There will be only one victor, and I strictly enforce that there shall be no killing blows landed. This is a spar.”

Alaric grinned around his cigar, his blue eyes flashing with a predatory thrill. ”Oh, don’t worry about me, old man. But tell Jiraiya to fight like he absolutely intends to murder me. Because if he doesn’t treat me like Pein, he’s going to learn nothing, and he’s going to get hurt.”

Jiraiya’s only response was a low, guttural grunt, his thick white brows furrowing deeper as he settled into a flawless, grounded Taijutsu stance.

Hiruzen nodded his head, stepping backward to clear the center of the ring. He leaped gracefully through the air, landing lightly on a sturdy branch just a few feet away from where Tsunade stood observing.

The Sandaime raised his hand high, the tension in the clearing winding tighter than a bowstring.

”...Hajime!”

Hiruzen’s hand dropped.

For three agonizing, breathless seconds, neither man moved. The suspense was a physical weight, pressing down on the lungs of the spectators. A single, dry leaf detached from the canopy high above, drifting slowly, silently toward the earth.

The exact microsecond the leaf brushed the soil, the world exploded.

Jiraiya vanished from his static position as he became a blur of white hair and raw kinetic force. Despite his massive frame and advancing age, the Sannin moved with terrifying, explosive speed, closing the thirty-meter gap in a fraction of a heartbeat. He launched a devastating, chakra-enhanced straight right punch aimed squarely at the center of Alaric’s chest, a blow capable of shattering a boulder into dust.

Alaric didn’t dodge. He simply tilted his torso a millimeter to the left, allowing the massive fist to graze the fabric of his Jonin vest, while his own hand moved in a lazy, sweeping arc. He caught Jiraiya’s wrist with an open palm, expertly hijacking the Sannin’s forward momentum, and smoothly redirected the kinetic force downward into the earth.

The ground cratered beneath Jiraiya’s boots, but the Toad Sage flowed with the redirection instantly. He pivoted on his heel, transforming his downward momentum into a vicious, sweeping leg kick designed to snap Alaric’s knee.

Alaric hopped lightly over the sweeping leg, his expression utterly relaxed.

The Taijutsu exchange that followed was a masterclass in violent geometry. Jiraiya fought like a roaring avalanche, his strikes were heavy, relentless, and brutally efficient, incorporating rapid elbow strikes, heavy knee drives, and wide, sweeping hooks. He pressed the offensive with a suffocating tempo, trying to overwhelm the blonde anomaly through sheer, physical attrition.

But Alaric fought as if he were dancing to a rhythm only he could hear.

His footwork was immaculate, shifting his weight with microscopic precision to slip past lethal blows without wasting a single drop of energy. He parried a crushing hook with the back of his hand, seamlessly flowed under a spinning backfist, and casually leaned backward to let a rapid-fire sequence of jabs slice through empty air. He wasn’t just defending; he was mocking the effort, guiding Jiraiya’s strikes away with an insulting, effortless grace.

In the audience, Sasuke’s Sharingan spun furiously, his optic nerves burning as he desperately tried to trace Alaric’s footwork. His brilliant mind struggled to comprehend how a man of Alaric’s towering size could pivot and redirect kinetic energy with absolute zero wasted momentum.

Hidden high in the distant canopy, Minato leaned forward, his cerulean eyes gleaming with professional awe. ’Now that I see it from another point of view, his kinetic vision is flawless,’ Minato thought, watching Alaric casually deflect a palm strike that would have crushed a normal man’s ribs. ’He is reading Jiraiya-sensei’s muscle twitches before the strikes are even fully launched.’

Realizing that conventional, close-quarters combat was entirely futile, Jiraiya violently broke the engagement. He threw a heavy, distracting feint and leaped twenty meters backward, his hands blurring through a rapid sequence of seals.

”Ninja Art: Needle Jizo!”

Jiraiya’s spiky white mane suddenly elongated, erupting outward and hardening into a dense, spherical armor of razor-sharp spikes. But he didn’t use it defensively. He snapped his head forward, weaponizing the jutsu as thick, metallic strands of hair whipped across the clearing like lethal tentacles, seeking to impale Alaric from multiple angles.

Alaric didn’t reach for a kunai. He merely took the cigar from his mouth and extended his free hand.

He didn’t even weave a seal. He simply coated his palm in a hyper-compressed, vibrating layer of wind chakra and casually swatted the incoming hair tentacles aside, the invisible blades slicing cleanly through the hardened spikes as if they were brittle twigs, showering the clearing in severed white strands.

”Come on, Jiraiya,” Alaric teased, his voice carrying effortlessly. ”Pein wouldn’t be threatened by a bad haircut.”

Jiraiya gritted his teeth, landing heavily on the scarred earth. His hands slapped the ground.

”Earth Release: Swamp of the Underworld!”

The solid, packed dirt beneath Alaric’s boots instantaneously liquefied, transforming into a vast, bubbling pit of bottomless, viscous mud designed to swallow targets whole and drown them in the earth.

The Genin in the audience gasped as Alaric began to sink, but the panic was incredibly short-lived.

Alaric simply applied the foundational principles of water-walking. He pulsed a steady, perfectly measured layer of chakra to the soles of his boots, instantly matching the erratic density of the swamp. He didn’t sink; he stood perfectly still atop the churning mud, completely unfazed, smoking his cigar like a man waiting for a bus.

Jiraiya didn’t pause to marvel at the control. He pointed his index and middle fingers directly at the hovering anomaly, compressing highly pressurized water chakra into his fingertips.

”Water Release: Water Pistol!”

A high-velocity, armor-piercing bullet of water shrieked across the clearing, aiming squarely for Alaric’s forehead. Alaric merely tilted his head an inch to the right. The water bullet grazed his cheek, embedding itself deeply into the trunk of a massive oak tree behind him with a sharp, concussive crack.

Before the water bullet had even landed, Jiraiya’s chest expanded unnaturally. He drew in a massive breath, his chakra molding into searing heat.

”Fire Release: Flame Bullet!”

A localized inferno erupted from the Sannin’s mouth, a roaring, superheated wave of fire that instantly evaporated the moisture in the air and threatened to incinerate everything in its path. The sheer heat forced Sakura and Tsunade to raise their arms, shielding their faces from the sudden, blistering updraft.

Alaric finally took his hands out of his pockets.

He didn’t dodge, nor did he erect a physical wall of earth or wood. Instead, he raised his left hand, his palm facing the incoming tidal wave of fire, and stepped directly into the inferno.

”Preta Path Mimicry,” Alaric announced calmly, his voice slicing through the roar of the flames.

The moment the fire made contact with his outstretched hand, it didn’t burn him. It didn’t even singe his uniform. To the absolute shock of every spectator present, the massive wave of fire seemed to violently collapse inward, funneling directly into Alaric’s palm before winking out of existence entirely, as if it had been swallowed by a black hole.

Silence reigned in the clearing as the last embers died out.

”What... what just happened?” Naruto yelled, his blue eyes wide as he gripped the wooden railing of his viewing platform. ”Did he just eat the fire!?”

Shikamaru Nara narrowed his eyes, his brilliant mind racing at terrifying speeds. ’He absorbed a B-rank, highly compressed elemental jutsu with his bare hand? No... he didn’t absorb it. That’s impossible without specific kekkei genkai.’ Shikamaru squinted, analyzing the lingering chakra residue. ’He projected his own chakra outward, hijacked the frequency of Lord Jiraiya’s jutsu, and violently dismantled its structure before it could combust against his skin. He made it look like absorption to teach a lesson.’

”As Shikamaru is likely figuring out right now,” Alaric called out, confirming the genius’s silent deduction with a smirk. ”The leader of the Akatsuki commands six distinct bodies. One of them, the Preta Path, possesses the absolute, undeniable ability to nullify and absorb any chakra-based ninjutsu thrown at it. Fire, water, Rasengans... if it’s made of chakra, it’s useless. I just manually controlled and killed your flame using my own reserves to mimic the effect, Jiraiya.”

Alaric lowered his hand, his blue eyes locking onto the Sannin. ”If you try to nuke Pein from a distance, he will simply eat your jutsu and laugh at you.”

Jiraiya breathed heavily, his mind processing the horrifying tactical implications. A path that rendered all long-range Ninjutsu obsolete. He realized instantly that his standard, highly versatile arsenal was completely insufficient. He needed raw, overwhelming, natural force. He needed senjutsu.

Jiraiya bit his thumb, smearing a line of blood across his forearm before slamming his palm into the earth.

”Summoning Jutsu!”

A colossal cloud of white smoke erupted in the clearing, the displacement of air so violent it nearly knocked the Genin off their feet. When the smoke cleared, the towering, majestic form of Gamabunta loomed over the battlefield. The massive toad boss clamped a giant pipe between his teeth, his hand resting on the hilt of a colossal tantō, casting a massive shadow over Alaric.

”You called, Jiraiya?” Gamabunta rumbled, his voice shaking the earth.

”I need time, Bunta!” Jiraiya shouted, standing atop the toad’s massive head. He brought his hands together, his face tightening in absolute concentration. ”I need to gather natural energy!”

Gamabunta’s large eyes shifted downward, locking onto the blonde man standing in the mud. The toad boss felt the lack of fear radiating from the tiny human, recognizing a genuine threat.

”Oil!” Jiraiya commanded, slamming his hands together.

Gamabunta obliged instantly, his massive cheeks expanding before he spat a veritable tidal wave of highly flammable, viscous toad oil directly at Alaric. Simultaneously, Jiraiya leaned forward, unleashing a massive volley of flame.

”Fire Release: Toad Oil Flame Bullet!”

The combination was apocalyptic. The oil ignited, transforming into a literal tsunami of unquenchable fire that consumed the entire center of the training ground, turning the forest floor into a sea of glass and ash. The heat was so intense it began to singe the leaves of the canopy a hundred feet above.

”Sensei!” Naruto screamed in panic, leaning over the edge.

Tsunade didn’t flinch. She watched the inferno, her amber eyes narrowed, knowing full well that an attack of that magnitude was merely an inconvenience to the man inside it.

From the heart of the roaring firestorm, a single, lazy hand seal was formed.

”Water Release: Great Waterfall Technique.”

It wasn’t a stream of water; it was a localized ocean dropping from the sky. A massive, crushing deluge of hyper-pressurized water erupted from the epicenter of the flames, violently extinguishing the oil-fed inferno in a fraction of a second. The resulting explosion of steam blanketed the clearing in a thick, blinding white fog.

When the steam cleared, Alaric stood perfectly untouched, the swamp beneath him washed clean by his own jutsu.

But Jiraiya had achieved his goal.

The Sannin stood atop Gamabunta’s head, his physical form radically altered. Warts dotted his significantly widened nose, his eyes had shifted into the slitted, horizontal pupils of a toad, and perched securely on his left and right shoulders were the ancient toad sages, Shima and Fukasaku.

Imperfect Sage Mode.

The ambient air around Jiraiya grew terrifyingly heavy, saturated with the raw, chaotic power of nature energy. The sheer pressure of his aura forced the surrounding trees to bow backward, their leaves rustling violently in the localized gale of his power.

”Now,” Jiraiya declared, his voice layered with the croaking resonance of the sages. ”You will see the true power of Mount Myōboku.”

Alaric looked up at the transformed Sannin, his smirk widening into a grin of genuine, thrilled anticipation. He tossed his cigar aside, exhaling a final plume of smoke.

”Excellent,” Alaric applauded slowly. ”You’ve brought out the big guns. But since I promised to show you the true despair of facing Pein... I suppose it’s time I introduced you to his gimmick.”

Alaric brought his hands together in a sharp, resounding clap. ’Wood Release: Wood Clone Jutsu.’

The ground beside Alaric rippled. Six perfect, flawless duplicates of Alaric grew out of the earth, their wooden forms rapidly shifting into flesh and bone until they were indistinguishable from the original. They wore the same olive-green flak jackets, possessed the same towering builds, and radiated the same oppressive calm.

”A simple cloning jutsu won’t stop Senjutsu, boy!” Fukasaku croaked from Jiraiya’s shoulder, his small eyes narrowing.

”Normally, no,” Alaric agreed cheerfully. ”But these aren’t normal clones.”

Alaric stepped back, raising his hand. He didn’t weave a seal, but his golden chakra flared brilliantly. He slapped his palm against the back of the nearest clone, then moved rapidly, imprinting the same invisible mark on all six duplicates in less than a second.

”Ashura’s Crest.”

The transformation was instantaneous and terrifying.

The six Wood Clones gasped in unison, their heads snapping back as the dense, vitality-enhancing fuinjutsu flooded their artificial pathways. Their physical parameters... strength, speed, durability, and chakra regeneration... skyrocketed to levels that vastly eclipsed even the most elite ANBU captains. Their auras spiked violently, harmonizing into a singular, oppressive frequency.

”Meet the Six Paths,” Alaric announced, crossing his arms and stepping completely out of the combat zone, leaning casually against a surviving tree trunk. ”They share a unified field of vision. They coordinate flawlessly. And right now... they possess enough physical stats to rip a mountain apart with their bare hands. Survive them, Jiraiya.”

Jiraiya didn’t hesitate. He launched himself from Gamabunta’s head, his Sage-enhanced speed turning him into a literal blur. He closed the distance instantly, executing a devastating, open-palm thrust aimed directly at the chest of the nearest clone.

”Frog Kata!”

Jiraiya’s physical hand missed the clone by several inches, but the invisible, weaponized aura of nature energy extending from his strike slammed into the clone’s chest with the force of a battering ram. It was a technique designed to bypass physical defense entirely, striking with unpredictable, invisible range.

The clone was knocked backward, skidding violently through the mud.

But it didn’t shatter. It didn’t burst into wood splinters.

The clone dug its boots into the earth, stabilizing itself instantly, the Ashura’s Crest glowing faintly beneath its shirt as it passively regenerated the internal damage caused by the nature energy in a fraction of a second.

”What!?” Jiraiya gasped, his toad-like eyes widening. A Wood Clone shouldn’t possess the structural integrity to tank a Sage-enhanced strike.

He had no time to ponder.

The remaining five clones descended upon him like a pack of coordinated wolves. They didn’t fight like independent individuals; they fought as a single, hive-minded organism.

Clone One engaged Jiraiya in brutal, high-speed Taijutsu, matching the Sannin’s Sage-enhanced strength blow for blow, parrying heavy strikes with reinforced forearms. As Jiraiya pivoted to deliver a sweeping kick, Clone Two was already there, dropping low to sweep Jiraiya’s supporting leg.

Jiraiya leaped into the air to evade, bringing his hands together to mold an Ultra-Big Ball Rasengan, fully intending to crush the clones from above.

”Sage Art: Goemon!” Jiraiya roared, deciding to end it instantly.

Working in perfect synchronization, Shima unleashed a massive torrent of highly flammable oil, Fukasaku exhaled a fierce, accelerating gale of wind, and Jiraiya spat a stream of superheated fire. The combination created an inescapable, three-thousand-degree inferno that washed over the entire clearing, threatening to melt the very bedrock.

”Nullify,” Clone Three commanded smoothly, stepping in front of the others.

The clone didn’t use a water jutsu. It raised both hands, projecting a massive, localized field of hyper-compressed, vibrating chakra that forcibly disrupted the elemental frequencies of the incoming attack. The majestic inferno of Goemon collided with the field, sputtering, fracturing, and ultimately dying out into harmless, boiling steam, perfectly mimicking the absolute negation of the Preta Path.

”He stopped Goemon!?” Shima shrieked, her tiny eyes bulging in horror. ”Jiraiya-boy, fall back!”

Jiraiya landed heavily, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The sheer coordination was suffocating. Every time he launched an offensive, a clone was perfectly positioned to counter it. Every time he defended, another clone struck from a blind spot he couldn’t protect.

Clone Four and Five blurred into motion, launching a synchronized, relentless barrage of A-rank elemental jutsu. Massive wind blades and roaring water dragons forced Jiraiya to burn precious Senjutsu chakra just to erect Earth-Style Walls to survive, while Clone Six maintained a terrifying, oppressive pressure with continuous, heavy-handed Taijutsu strikes that battered against the Sannin’s guard.

High in the distant canopy, Itachi Uchiha watched the display with absolute, chilling focus. ’They share vision flawlessly. If one sees it, they all see it. They cover every conceivable angle of attack, and their physical durability is monstrous. To fight six coordinated, high-level opponents simultaneously requires separating them... but the moment you try, they collapse inward to protect the isolated unit.’

Itachi realized with a cold certainty that facing the true Pein would require a tactical genius capable of dissecting the hive mind mid-combat.

Down in the clearing, Jiraiya was bleeding. His breath was ragged, his Sage Mode struggling to maintain parity against the relentless, perfectly coordinated assault of the six enhanced clones.

”Ma! Pa!” Jiraiya yelled, leaping backward to create distance, barely dodging a sweeping wind blade from Clone Two. ”Prepare the chant!”

”Right!” Fukasaku and Shima croaked in unison, their throats expanding as they prepared the Demonic Illusion: Toad Confrontation Chant, an auditory genjutsu powerful enough to paralyze even the strongest minds.

But the clones didn’t give them the time to harmonize.

Recognizing the shift in chakra molding, all six clones surged forward simultaneously. They abandoned their elemental attacks, converging on the Sannin with blinding, coordinated speed.

Clone One and Two dropped low, tackling Jiraiya’s legs and pinning him to the earth with crushing, enhanced strength. Clone Three and Four slammed into his arms, locking his wrists against the mud with unbreakable grips, while Clone Five and Six stood over him, their fists raised and glowing with lethal, compressed chakra, aiming directly for the toads on his shoulders.

Jiraiya roared, struggling violently against the pins, his Sage chakra flaring wildly, but the sheer, combined physical weight of the Ashura-enhanced clones was an immovable mountain. He was entirely, helplessly immobilized.

The clearing descended into a heavy, horrified silence as the six clones held the legendary Sannin pinned to the mud, their glowing fists hovering mere inches from delivering a finishing blow.

From the edge of the battlefield, leaning casually against a tree, Alaric uncrossed his arms.

”And that,” Alaric announced, his voice carrying clearly over the panting breaths of the fallen Sannin, ”is the absolute, suffocating despair of fighting the Six Paths of Pain. You don’t fight a man, Jiraiya. You fight a perfectly synchronized system designed to exploit every single blind spot you possess.”

He snapped his fingers.

The six clones instantly dissolved, breaking down into harmless wooden logs that clattered softly onto the muddy earth.

Jiraiya lay on his back in the ruined clearing, staring up at the canopy, his chest heaving as the adrenaline slowly drained from his exhausted system. His Sage Mode faded, the toads on his shoulders panting heavily from the exertion. He had been utterly dismantled, not by Alaric’s true power, but by six simple clones simulating a fraction of an enemy’s gimmick.

The audience remained perfectly still, the sheer magnitude of the power gap leaving them completely, undeniably stunned.

Alaric walked slowly toward the center of the clearing, stopping beside the defeated Sannin. He looked down at Jiraiya, offering a small, respectful smile.

”You fought well, Jiraiya,” Alaric said gently, extending a hand to help the older man up. ”But remember the lesson. When someone faces the true leader of the Akatsuki... they should not rely on your standard playbook. Otherwise, death.”

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