"Hmph! Just our luck to run into Kakashi and brats like that… Still, no need to worry."
Zabuza's eyes narrowed slightly. As a battle-hardened jonin, he wasn't frightened by the damage Hinata's team had dealt. Instead, he calmly analyzed the situation. "Sure, they got lucky and beat me. But from what I saw, their fighting style and execution scream rookie. I don't know how they've managed to pull off high-level elemental techniques, but it's clear—they're not used to them yet."
He glanced back at the burn on his waist, speaking not out of bravado, but fact. Hinata's group had somehow accessed advanced chakra nature transformation—something normally restricted to jonin level—but their use of it was still rough.
Take Hinata's Orochi Pheasant for example—something was clearly off.
Originally, Orochi Pheasant was meant to be used at close range, the flames concentrated into a high-pressure stream like a flamethrower. But the burn on Zabuza's back, though large—roughly the size of a straw hat—was shallow. It didn't go beyond surface tissue.
Meaning: Hinata hadn't yet mastered how to focus the flame's intensity. Right now, she could only channel it through her whole palm. So even if the flame's heat and output were high, the spread made it less lethal.
The original user of the technique, a descendant of the Kusanagi clan, could channel it through just two fingers—index and middle. In this jutsu, the fewer fingers used, the more focused and deadly the attack became.
"If that white-eyed girl ever learns to use just two—no, even three—fingers for that weird Fire Style jutsu, she could probably burn a hole right through my body."
His tone confirmed the harsh truth, and a flash of fury lit up in his eyes. "It's been years since anyone managed to scar me like this. This debt won't be forgotten."
"Then, Zabuza-san, please rest well. Once you're healed, we'll fight again together."
The beautiful boy called Haku gave a gentle smile and carefully draped a thin towel over Zabuza's wound. He had been the one to pull Zabuza out after his defeat.
"Hmph! With your Ice Release, those brats are yours next time."
With that, Zabuza closed his eyes to rest. Such was the life of a shinobi.
Even with serious injuries, even while brushing death, the killing never truly stops.
---
(There's no clarification when it happened)
[Fox Tales: Side Story]
Fox's Tale: Special Episode – The Reverse-Blade Swordsman
---
The seaside scenery of the Land of Waves wasn't bad at all—if you could ignore the pale, gaunt villagers with their lifeless eyes. With the sea mist drifting gently over the ocean, the place had a definite artistic charm.
"Yeah~ that's the pose. Hold the sword close to your chest, eyes distant but melancholic. Don't look at me, look at the sea. Perfect~"
Camera in hand, Hinata stood at the shore, professionally directing the photoshoot for Sasarin's photobook.
Unlike his usual refined Kyoto noble look as Lin, Sasarin now had a more mature, weathered face and wore not an ornate kimono, but a clean yet worn ronin outfit.
"Oi, is this really okay?"
Standing atop the water, Sasuke frowned as he posed under Hinata's orders—eyes cast toward the horizon, hand resting on his katana. With his current outfit and demeanor, he gave off the air of a true wandering swordsman.
"What do you mean?"
Clicking away, Hinata seemed entirely satisfied. In the narrative of Fox's Tale, she didn't want Sasarin to be a helpless scholar-type like Xu Xian. Sasarin had to become something stronger—someone forged by a mysterious past. And this photo set was meant to portray that very past life.
"I did some digging after what happened with the dobe last time. Most people wouldn't say anything, but after getting an old drunk talking, I learned something. Naruto's connected to the Nine-Tails—the one that attacked Konoha eleven years ago. You already knew, right?"
Setting down his katana, Sasuke closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly. It was his signature pose when getting serious, and Hinata took the opportunity to snap a close-up. The brooding prince look was always a crowd favorite.
[HEY! YOU TWO!!]
A rough shout cut through the sea breeze. A towering figure appeared at the edge of the beach—filthy, wearing a frayed kimono and carrying a katana at his hip. His face was greasy and unwashed, and every step in his clacking geta sandals kicked up some foul, unidentifiable debris.
Behind him, several similarly dressed thugs emerged. Clearly wandering ronin affiliated with Gato's gang. Fresh off a drunken feast, they'd spotted two clean outsiders and decided to cause trouble.
"What's with the sudden curiosity? I thought you hated that idiot."
Hinata casually tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and continued directing. "Alright, now shoot the combat segment. This is Fox's Tale: Special Episode – The Reverse-Blade Swordsman!"
[This is OUR turf! Who the hell are you two, and what're you doing here?!]
The murky coastline churned with wind and waves. On the filthy beach, two opposing groups faced off. The first, loud and many; the second—just one person.
[…]
The young swordsman drew his blade silently, stepping off the water and onto land. The thugs responded in kind, readying their weapons. Hinata moved to the side, capturing both sides in her lens.
[What, you want to fight, punk?! Cut him down! The girl's ours to enjoy after!]
The leader lunged, furious at being ignored. But the young swordsman easily dodged and struck the man's neck with the back of his blade, knocking him out cold.
The rest charged in a drunken rage, weapons flashing—but Sasarin moved like a gull dancing through ocean waves, sidestepping every blow and felling each attacker with blunt strikes alone.
---
When the last thug dropped, the young swordsman stood tall—his blade untouched by blood.
[You… only used the back of your blade… Who the hell are you?]
The leader groaned from the sand, stunned by what he'd seen.
The swordsman gave no reply. He simply flicked his blade clean, the sharp whistle of wind confirming it was deadly enough to kill—but he hadn't used it for that.
[I'm just… a traveler.]
He sheathed his katana with quiet finality.
This was the swordsman known across the land as Sasarin.
A ronin by code, a wanderer by choice, Sasarin wielded a deadly blade but never took lives. Not even against the filthiest of thieves or dishonorable warriors.
His blade had never tasted blood.
And yet, he was not without scars. A strange one marred his left cheek—two intersecting sword slashes forming a cross.
Despite his unmatched skill, Sasarin never served a lord. He roamed the world freely, chasing something unseen.
People didn't know his name. But they remembered the scarred swordsman who called himself nothing more than a traveler.
The world was in chaos. Daimyōs fought ceaselessly, warlords and bandits roamed unchecked. In the wake of battle, famine, and plague, ordinary people died in droves. Towns fell into despair.
And in such death-ridden, grief-soaked lands… something else was born.
Beings who fed on human flesh, souls, and sorrow. Creatures born of malice and accumulated hate. Even humans could be twisted into them.
They were called—youkai.
With war and monsters devouring them alike, the common folk sank into hopelessness. Not hope for tomorrow, but numb acceptance of death.
Into such a town stepped the scarred swordsman.
Its people were gaunt, lifeless. The shops were barren, the owners slumped in despair. Dirty vagrants lay scattered in the streets.
This wasn't a place for humans anymore.
The young swordsman paused, a flicker of anger creasing his brow. Then he walked on—quietly leaving behind yet another town already long dead.
Yes, what he sought was not fame, not power, nor fortune.
All he ever wished for was something small.
Something simple.
May this world return to hope.
Yet for one person alone, such a wish seemed impossible.
The true root of the world's calamities wasn't just the warring of daimyōs, nor the ravages of famine and plague, nor even the onslaught of demons and bandits. No—it was the culmination and source of all those disasters.
It was despair.
And it was despair that the young swordsman sought to defeat.
Despair born from all humanity—and all youkai.
It was a burden so great it could crush anyone who dared shoulder it.
But if no one ever bore it, it would never be lifted.
With the cross-shaped scar on his cheek, the young swordsman walked in silence. For a long, long time, he carried that burden alone.
Until finally, someone—or something—acknowledged his resolve.
A sudden burst of flame descended from the sky and landed before the young swordsman. Standing within it was a woman cloaked entirely in orange fire. Her vibrant jūnihitoe shimmered like the flames she wore, though her face remained hidden. In stark contrast, her long hair and eyes were pure, icy white.
They were not the eyes of a human.
They were the eyes of a god—or a demon.
[Young swordsman, you have walked a long road.]
Her voice crackled like firewood, yet her words were perfectly clear. [In recognition of your resolve and perseverance, I shall grant you a wish. Ask for anything—even half of this world—and it shall be yours.]
This godlike figure offered the kind of power most could only dream of. An end to wandering, a rise from obscurity to dominion. It was a temptation no one could easily resist.
Yet the swordsman did not hesitate.
[I wish… for this world to regain hope and peace.]
That answer startled even the god-demon, her cold eyes blinking in brief surprise.
[Your choice is unexpected, young swordsman. Yet… I shall tell you how it may be achieved.]
[There exists in this world a jewel, born of human and youkai despair. It is called the Shikon Jewel—the Four Souls of Despair. It is the origin of all anguish, all corruption.]
[Destroy it, and the despair blanketing this world will vanish. Hope will bloom again. But be warned—this is nearly impossible. The trials ahead will be beyond anything your sword alone can overcome.]
As she spoke, a small flame burst from her palm and drifted toward the swordsman's blade, merging with it. Her voice rose:
[So I give your blade a blessing—and a curse.]
[Blessing: It will slay youkai with ease. Each demon it kills will strengthen it. If it slays 9,999 youkai, it will gain the power to shatter the Shikon Jewel and rid this world of despair.]
[Curse: Each human it kills will weaken it. For every one slain, a youkai must be killed to restore the power lost.]
[Fail to reach 9,999? The Shikon Jewel will devour the blade—and its wielder.]
[Its name is—Sakabatō. The Reverse Blade.]
The swordsman said nothing, but his silence revealed his resolve. He sheathed his newly named sword—and resumed his journey.
This was the beginning of his path.
The journey to destroy the Shikon Jewel.
---
Author Notes.
(PS2: See? I told you Fox's Tale is the best, right?)
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( Now that's a hundred, man it took me what seven days? To translate and post this FanFic despite that it has so few reads and collection. Can anyone tell me why, Should I slow down or do one of those sheduled posts?)
(Any ways thanks for reading, tell me if you liked it, it means a lot.)