The sudden attack left Kushina completely disoriented. Having spent most of her life in the safety of Konoha and with little battlefield experience, she was momentarily frozen in confusion.
But Orochimaru was no ordinary ninja.
His vigilance and ability to detect danger were second nature, honed to a razor's edge.
The moment the silver needle launched, Orochimaru reacted instantly. With a quick motion, he grabbed Kushina's arm and pulled her behind him, shielding her. At the same time, his other hand rose, chakra surging through him.
Buzz!
The air around him seemed to hum as a massive magnetic force erupted.
Whoosh!
The silver needle's trajectory shifted dramatically under the pull of the magnetic force, veering away from its target. But the needle wasn't just a projectile—it was attached to a long silver thread. Controlled by the attacker, the needle quickly retracted and returned to its wielder.
Snap!
The needle landed back in the hand of a masked ninja who emerged from the woods. Behind him, six other figures followed, each unique in height, build, and choice of weapon.
The one thing they all shared, however, was the unmistakable symbol on their forehead protectors—the mark of Kirigakure.
"What a sharp reaction. Dodging my attack so effortlessly?" The masked ninja spoke in a mocking tone, his voice tinged with both amusement and ridicule.
This ninja had spiky blond hair, a Kirigakure ANBU mask covering his face, and bandages wrapped loosely around his neck. His slender frame and posture oozed arrogance. Though his words carried a hint of admiration, the condescension in his tone was impossible to miss.
Their confidence wasn't unfounded.
They were the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist, Kirigakure's elite. Together, their strength was enough to rival even a Kage.
Orochimaru's eyes narrowed as he recognized them. He remembered seeing some of these swordsmen before, near his southeastern laboratory. At the time, he hadn't pursued them since they hadn't interfered with his plans. Now, fate had brought them together again.
But something felt off.
Orochimaru's thoughts flickered to the future he had glimpsed. In it, Might Duy had opened the Eight Gates and killed some of these very swordsmen. Yet here they stood, alive and well.
Interesting…
Before Orochimaru could say more, Kushina, trembling with anger and fear, reached for a kunai. But a moment later, she froze in frustration, she didn't even have basic ninja gear with her.
"The Seven Ninja Swordsmen of Kirigakure, huh?" Orochimaru's lips curled into a cold smile.
"Yes," he thought, "they'll make excellent material for my collection."
The Seven Ninja Swordsmen were legends in their own right, each wielding a unique and deadly blade:
The Blastsword: Shibuki wielded by Jinpachi Munashi.
The Longsword: Nuibari handled by Kushimaru Kuriarare.
The Bluntsword: Kabutowari held by Jinin Akebino.
The Thunder Swords: Kiba mastered by Raiga Kurosuki.
The Great Blade: Samehada carried by Fuguki Suikazan
The Executioner's Blade: Kubikiribōchō belonging to Jūzō Biwa.
The Twinsword: Hiramekarei.
These seven were among Kirigakure's finest.
Orochimaru's mind raced with possibilities. Once defeated, he could claim their bodies and bind them into his Edo Tensei army. They would become valuable tools in his grand plans.
Despite his calculating thoughts, Orochimaru instinctively extended his arm to shield Kushina further. While her tailed beast powers were formidable, she lacked the tools or experience to defend herself right now. If she lost control of the Nine-Tails, it would cause more harm than good.
The simple, protective gesture took Kushina by surprise. Orochimaru wasn't the type to express care or affection. He didn't offer comforting words or shower his partners with gifts. Yet this one instinctive act stirred something within her.
It was unexpected, but it made her feel… safe.
Jūzō, standing at the forefront of the group, raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So you know who we are?" He smirked. "I guess that makes us pretty famous, huh? Perfect. My blade's gotten a bit dull lately—it's time to sharpen it with your blood."
Kushina clenched her fists, fear creeping into her voice. "Lord Orochimaru, what do we do? I… I can't—"
Orochimaru's response was calm and laced with confidence. "Don't worry. As long as I'm here, no one will hurt you."
Kushina blinked. A strange sense of security washed over her.
Before she could process the feeling, Jūzō's mocking laughter echoed through the forest.
"Another arrogant fool. Does he really think he can take on the seven of us?"
"Is he serious?" another swordsman sneered.
"Wait," Jūzō interrupted, his tone cautious. "Did that woman just call him… Orochimaru?"
The air grew tense.
"Orochimaru? As in Orochimaru of the Sannin?" one of the swordsmen asked, tightening his grip on his weapon.
Their demeanor shifted. A flicker of doubt crossed their faces, quickly replaced by savage grins. If it really was Orochimaru, then defeating him would be a badge of honor.
"Well," said Jinpachi, the wielder of the Blastsword, "there's only one way to find out!"
Without hesitation, he charged at Orochimaru, swinging his blade with deadly intent.
Explosions from the sword could pulverize even the sturdiest defenses. Jinpachi was confident that one swing would be enough to end this fight.
Yet Orochimaru didn't flinch.
He stood calmly, hands moving in practiced seals, exuding an eerie sense of control. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement as Jinpachi leaped into the air, blade raised high.
"Even if you are Orochimaru, you'll die by my hand!" Jinpachi roared.
The sword descended, and just as the explosive edge was about to make contact,
Orochimaru raised his right hand, his voice low and composed.
"One."
***
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