Chapter 196: Ch-196 Like a Demigod.
From high above the village, Inoiki closed his eyes and extended his observation haki. A wave of focused awareness spread out in all directions, and within seconds, his senses locked onto a hidden cluster of chakra signatures nestled in the nearby mountains.
A faint, cold wind brushed past him as he turned in midair, floating silently toward the source.
"If my guess is right," he thought, narrowing his eyes, "then these chakra signatures belong to the so-called bandits who’ve been terrorizing this village—the Kusagakure ninja hiding behind the mask of outlaws."
His gaze darkened. "It’s time they learn what it means to prey on the weak."
–––
Inside one of the larger wooden lodges tucked away in the rugged slope of the mountains, five men were seated around a low table, casually speaking over a bottle of cheap liquor. The fire crackled in a nearby brazier, casting flickering shadows on the walls. They were completely unaware that death was now flying silently toward them through the sky.
One of the men, lanky and grumbling, leaned forward and said, "Captain, this village’s value is almost dried up. There’s barely anything left to plunder anymore."
The man referred to as captain—stocky, sharp-eyed, and scar-faced—glared at him and snapped, "Control that loose tongue of yours. You run your mouth like that again, and next time, it might be your last."
The younger ninja flinched. "S-sorry, boss."
"Good," the captain said with a grunt. "Remember, while we pose as bandits, you call me ’boss.’ That big mouth of yours already ruined our cover in two other villages. It’s a miracle we haven’t been directly confronted."
Another ninja, older and quieter, added, "Still, the kid’s not wrong. We’ve squeezed this place nearly dry. Can’t get blood from a stone."
"I’ve already informed the Kusakage," the captain replied. "Orders are clear. Strip the village clean. Leave nothing behind—not food, not supplies, not even livestock. After this month’s raid, we’re done here."
A timid, more soft-spoken ninja sitting at the corner hesitated before asking, "Boss... if we take everything, won’t the villagers starve? I mean... won’t they die?"
Another scoffed, his tone laced with contempt. "Tch. Don’t act like a bleeding-heart woman. They’re not part of our village. If they die, they die. Not our problem."
But before the argument could spiral further, a cold, disembodied voice echoed from above them:
"So, you Kusagakure ninjas... really treat human life like blades of grass?"
All five froze. A cold chill spread through the room—not just from the unexpected intrusion, but from something far more primal. Dread.
With each syllable the voice spoke, a loud crack echoed through the lodge as one section of the roof was violently torn open. Wooden beams splintered and daylight flooded in as if the sky itself had decided to invade.
The temperature plummeted. A gust of cold wind swept through the now-gaping hole in the roof.
They looked up.
Hovering just above the shattered rafters was a young man seated on a gleaming throne made entirely of ice—majestic, unyielding, and floating effortlessly in the air. His golden hair glowed faintly in the sunlight, and his eyes—piercing, unblinking, the color of the clearest sky—looked down at them like a storm incarnate.
He did not speak again.
He did not need to.
The aura he radiated—the sheer pressure of his presence—was enough to confirm what their minds had already concluded in panic.
Yamanaka Inoiki.
The silent reaper of Konoha.
No further introduction was necessary. The invisible force that held him aloft, the impossible throne of ice—all unmistakable.
For the first time in their lives, the self-proclaimed bandits felt truly powerless.
They were no longer the predators.
They were prey.
––––
The captain and his subordinates stood frozen, their minds echoing a single, collective thought:
"But... wasn’t this man killed nearly a month ago?"
Everything they had heard—rumors, whispers from the underworld, enemy intel—had confirmed his death. And yet, here he was, alive, floating like a demigod upon an icy throne, staring at them with eyes colder than frost.
The captain, swallowing hard, dropped to one knee and bowed deeply. "W-we greet Lord Inoiki," he stammered, his voice trembling.
His subordinates followed immediately, bowing so low their foreheads touched the wooden floor. None dared raise their heads. They were from a minor village, born into a nation always overshadowed by the great shinobi powers. Against someone like Inoiki, they were nothing—gnats before a storm.
Hovering above them, Inoiki didn’t even bother to disguise his contempt. His expression was calm but disdainful, his voice emotionless as ice.
"I don’t like speaking to filthy people like you."
His tone was not raised, but it cut through the air like a blade.
"Honestly," he continued, "I should kill you all where you kneel. But the truth is... you’re not the root of this evil. You’re only tools—enablers—not the hand that controls it. And I’m not some self-righteous hero who goes around punishing insects."
The five men held their breath, unsure whether their lives were about to end.
Inoiki’s eyes narrowed. "Leave this village alone. This village gave me shelter when I was half-dead. They fed me, tended to my wounds, and asked for nothing in return. For that, they have earned my protection."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"Go and tell your Kusakage this—if any harm befalls this village from Kusagakure... I will not hesitate. I will personally annihilate every single upper-echelon ninja of your village. There will be no negotiations. No mercy. Just blood."
Even without unleashing a sliver of killing intent, the sheer weight of Inoiki’s words pressed down on them like a crushing mountain. The captain trembled, his face slick with sweat. He could barely find the strength to speak.
"Y-yes," he stuttered. "I will... I will convey your message to Kusakage-sama without fail."
Inoiki gave a cold hum of acknowledgment.
But then his expression sharpened, and the air in the room turned deathly still.
"Still... just because you weren’t the masterminds doesn’t mean you walk away unscathed. You were the ones who tormented these innocent villagers. And that... cannot go unpunished."
Before they could react, a surge of invisible force exploded around them.
Their eyes widened in horror as their left arms—from fingertips to shoulders—suddenly twisted unnaturally, bones cracking under impossible pressure. Then, in perfect synchronicity, their left arms tore from their bodies, the flesh severed cleanly and painlessly—but the pain came an instant later, crashing into them like a tidal wave.
They screamed.
But even as the arms hit the floor, flames burst from the severed limbs, engulfing them in white fire that turned them to ash in seconds—psychokinetic fire summoned purely by Inoiki’s will.
They collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony, clutching their shoulders, now oozing blood.
Inoiki didn’t look back.
His ice throne rose again, lifting him slowly toward the heavens. With a final glance at the burning stumps and a cold indifference that would haunt them forever, he turned his back on them and flew toward the horizon.
Toward home.
–––
High in the sky, the wind rushing past him, Inoiki remained silent.
His heart throbbed.
"I don’t know how my family has been coping... All this time, they must’ve believed I was dead."
Images of his mother’s face, her gentle voice, her warmth—flashed in his mind. His Ino. His father Inoichi.
"They must have been devastated. Especially mother... I hope she’s holding on."
His eyes turned eastward, toward the Land of Fire, toward Konoha.
He clenched his fist, his pace quickening as chakra surged through his body.
"I’m coming home."
And with a burst of speed, the ice throne blurred into the sky, trailing a thin line of frost through the clouds as Inoiki raced toward the Hidden Leaf Village.
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