Chapter 44: "Swords, Sandals, and Sage Advice"
— Naruto Uzumaki, Professional Beachside Philosopher
You ever try adjusting your chakra weight seals while surrounded by gorgeous girls in swimsuits?
10/10 recommend.
…until someone slaps you with a sandal.
Which Sakura did.
Twice.
But hey, I healed fast and it was so worth it.
We were all at the beach for once. No apocalypse, no training till we pass out, no evil masked dudes plotting the world's end. Just sun, sand, and a suspiciously large number of sparring matches happening in the distance.
I was lying under a massive umbrella, tweaking my seal settings just enough to not die again (Sakura's words, not mine), while occasionally sneaking glances at Hinata, Ino, and Sakura throwing a beach ball around in their swimsuits. I swear I was training my observation skills, not being a perv.
Okay. Half training, half perv.
Sue me.
Anyway, while I was "totally focused on my seal work," something interesting caught my eye.
Saga, that swordsman dude who used to hunt pirates like it was a nine-to-five job, was walking across the beach straight toward Kakashi-sensei. And yeah… he definitely didn't know how to read the mood. I mean, Kakashi was chillin' in a beach chair next to Viola—who, by the way, was wearing sunglasses and had somehow made "reading a book on a towel" look like a royal decree.
Saga didn't even hesitate.
"Could I ask you for guidance, Kakashi?"
Kakashi pushed his sunglasses down just enough to make you feel like he was staring through your soul. Coolest move ever, not gonna lie.
"Before I do give you advice," he said, voice calm and slightly amused, "tell me—what drives you? Where do you want to go?"
Saga didn't flinch. He expected the question. His answer, though? It surprised me.
"I used to want to be the world's strongest swordsman, like Mihawk," he said, looking off at the sea like it held the ghosts of his memories. "It was a promise to my best friend, Zoro. But that was a long time ago."
"I was alone for a long time," Saga continued. "A bounty hunter with no family, no attachments. I chased strength for the sake of it. But now…"
He glanced over at Maya, who was laughing with the girls near the water, splashing Hinata with what looked like a jutsu-infused wave. She really didn't hold back.
"…Now I have something to protect. Someone. Soon, maybe even a family of my own. And this world—this place—it's never safe. Pirates could come back. Power is the only way to make sure she's safe. I can't count on a cursed sword saving me next time."
Kakashi nodded slowly, as if weighing every word. "That's good," he said finally. "I'll help you. But my style focuses on speed and precision, not raw strength like yours."
Saga smiled. "That's fine. I'm good enough to adapt. I'm not looking to replace what I know, just sharpen it."
At that moment, something weird happened to me.
I was just sitting there, supposedly relaxing, but hearing that… it hit something deep.
That guy had changed. A swordsman, a killer, a lone wolf. And now? He wanted to be strong for someone. And it wasn't just him.
Everyone here… me, Sakura, Sasuke, Hinata, even Gai and his exploding muscle routine—we were all chasing power, yeah, but not for the same reason we started.
Not for glory. Not just for ourselves.
But for what we wanted to protect.
Our dreams. Our people. Our precious bonds.
Maybe that's what Jiraiya meant when he told me that real strength comes from having something worth fighting for. It's easy to train when you're alone. But it's harder, and better, when you're fighting with a purpose.
Looking at Saga, I couldn't help but smile.
"Man," I muttered to Kurama, "life really changes people, huh?"
"It should," Kurama rumbled in my head, a rare softness in his voice. "Otherwise you're just a beast that never learns."
And then Ino screamed as Maya accidentally (on purpose) dumped a barrel of saltwater on her.
"Gotta go!" I shouted, jumping to my feet—and immediately forgetting I still had the 30,000-ton seal active.
CRUNCH. Faceplant.
"…Ow."
"Idiot," Sakura sighed from behind me, already pulling out her healing gloves again.
What can I say?
I'm Naruto Uzumaki. I grow stronger, I heal fast, and yeah… I fall flat sometimes.
But I always get back up.
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"You're an idiot."
"Totally reckless."
"Next time, try not dying?"
"But you looked super cool before you crumbled like a ramen cup!"
Those were the kinds of responses I got after my bold attempt to increase my gravity seal weights on the beach. Sakura healed me while sighing like a mother of three hyper kids, Ino teased me with her usual smirk, and Hinata patted my back like I was a wounded puppy that deserved a treat for effort.
Bless her sunshine heart.
But after surviving the verbal assault of the girls (and Sakura's chakra-laced palm), I decided to do something productive: chase curiosity.
Saga's mention of Mihawk kept bugging me. That name wasn't just heavy—it slashed with power. So, I made my way toward Viola, who was lounging like a queen on her towel, sipping juice through a straw with all the elegance of a royal informant.
"Hey, Viola," I asked, plopping down beside her, "what's this Mihawk guy like? Saga says he wanted to surpass him."
Viola raised an eyebrow. "You're already causing trouble again, aren't you?"
"Not this time," I grinned. "I just wanna know if Mihawk's like the final boss of swordsmen or just one of those edgy quiet types who swings big swords and broods under the moon."
She chuckled softly, setting her drink down. "Well… Mihawk is one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. But unlike the others, he has no crew. No ambitions for treasure. Just… the sword."
"Lone wolf?"
"A dragon in a man's body," she corrected. "He carries a giant black sword called Yoru, one of the twelve Supreme Grade blades. It's said he can cleave through massive ships, cut mountains in two, and slice islands like paper."
My eyes began to sparkle. "Hold up. Did you just say cut islands?"
Viola nodded. "With ease."
"Ships?"
"Yes."
"Mountains??"
"Effortlessly."
"…I gotta fight this guy."
Viola blinked. "Excuse me?"
I jumped to my feet, practically vibrating with excitement. "I haven't had a proper fight since coming back from the training trip. All this sparring with my clones and lifting mountains is fine, but I want someone who pushes me. Mihawk sounds like the perfect test! If he's that strong, I'll finally get to cut loose."
Kurama groaned in my head.
"You say that like you don't explode forests when you sneeze in Sage Mode."
"I can hold back!" I muttered.
"That's the problem."
Viola sat back, watching me like I was a particularly unstable firework.
"I'm serious," I said, trying not to grin too wide. "I'll find Mihawk. And when I do—I'll fight him fair and square. Just me, my fists, and maybe a few Rasengans."
"…A few?"
"Okay, many."
"You're a lunatic," Kurama said.
"Yeah, but I'm your lunatic," I shot back with a grin.
Honestly, the thought of facing someone who could cut islands in half with a sword? That just got me fired up. I wasn't a swordsman like Saga or Zoro, but strength recognized strength—and I'd been itching for a real test. Not a villain. Not a monster. Just… a warrior.
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Three days had passed on the island in the kind of breezy, sun-drenched way that made you forget evil swords existed. Naruto had spent most of the time goofing off, sunbathing (while claiming it was "solar-powered chakra charging"), and occasionally training hard enough to nearly kill himself under tonnes of weight. Casual stuff.
The others? Well, they mostly tried to ignore the fact that a maniacal murder sword was camped out on their beach like it paid rent.
The night of the Red Moon—yes, capital letters, because it felt like the sky had switched to dramatic mode—finally rolled around. It was hauntingly beautiful. The kind of scene that would make a poet write a haiku, a painter break out their oils, and Naruto shout, "Cool! That moon looks like it wants to kill someone!"
It did.
And it wasn't the only one.
The Seven Star Sword—a legendary cursed blade soaked in the blood of a few thousand warriors (give or take a hundred)—was practically vibrating with glee. If evil laughter had a sound effect, it was happening now. Out loud. From a sword.
"HAHAHAHA! YES! FINALLY! THE BLOOD MOON RISES! I SHALL ASCEND!"
Which, honestly, was just a little too theatrical for Shikamaru, who was standing nearby looking like a pineapple who'd rather be doing taxes than dealing with another cursed object.
The sword was in his hand, by the way. Covered in cursed runes that glowed red and pulsed like an ominous disco light.
"Troublesome," Shikamaru muttered, because of course he did.
Yet somehow, he was in control. No screaming. No cackling possession scenes. No evil spirit monologues taking over his brain.
Just Shikamaru.
Chill. Calm. Emotionally allergic to drama.
Unfortunately, Tenten—who was many wonderful things but never chill—had a brilliant idea.
"Let it take over," she said, stretching casually like she was about to start a workout and not, you know, challenge a blood-hungry sword demon. "Let it fight me for real."
Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding."
"Nope," she chirped. "You said it's loud, rude, and needs to be taught a lesson. I'm here to do that."
He groaned. "You're going to regret this."
She smirked. "I won't. But it might."
Turning to the sword, Shikamaru gave the kind of bored warning that only a genius with shadow powers could deliver:
"Alright, listen up. I'm letting you borrow the body. Don't think that makes you special. You pull anything stupid, and I'll snap back faster than you can say 'blood ritual.' Got it, genius?"
The sword shrieked like a child on sugar, cursed runes flaring with joy.
And just like that, it took over.
Shikamaru's eyes glowed red. His smirk twisted into something sharp and ancient, and the sword's voice now came out of his mouth—smooth, arrogant, and with the energy of a vampire prince who thought eyeliner was a personality trait.
"AHHH… FINALLY. A BODY WORTHY OF MY GLORY! SHADOWS! POWER! RED MOON! ALL MINE!"
He threw back his head and laughed. Loudly. Dramatically. For too long.
Tenten blinked.
Then she yawned.
The sword—possessing Shikamaru's body—froze mid-laugh. "What… did you just—"
"Sorry, I thought the villain speech came with a snooze button," she said sweetly, cracking her knuckles. "Are we done now?"
If a cursed sword could fume, this one was boiling.
"You will bow before me! You will beg for mercy! You will—"
CLANG.
Tenten cancelled her weight seals—10,000 tonnes—and the sand shook as the pressure vanished. Then her chakra flared up like a golden flame. Her armor shimmered into place, a sleek mix of reinforced fabric and sealwork plating, and in her hands appeared a weapon that looked like someone had crossed a chakra cannon with a sniper rifle and sprinkled it with vengeance.
"I'll give you a five-second head start," she said, aiming casually.
"YOU INSOLENT GIRL!"
She fired.
Boom.
The beach exploded into light and sand as the chakra rifle's shot tore a hole clean through a shadow beast that leapt at her. Tendrils of darkness snapped forward, but she flipped over them, touching down with enough grace to make dancers jealous and enough force to crack the ground.
The possessed Shikamaru lunged, blades of darkness morphing from his arms like scythes.
She ducked. Parried. Shot again. And again.
The sword howled.
"You think you can tame me?! I AM THE CURSE THAT DESTROYS WORLDS!"
Tenten just laughed.
"Nah. I'm just the girl who wins."
And the battle was on.
One woman. One cursed blade. One pineapple-headed vessel.
The others watched from a safe distance.
Naruto sipped his drink. "Five ryo on Tenten."
Ino squinted. "Only five?"
"I'm broke. I blew the rest on beach fireworks."
Sakura facepalmed.
But even she couldn't look away.
Because this wasn't just a duel. It was a brawl of willpower, technique, and one very grumpy sentient murder sword who was about to learn what it meant to challenge a real ninja weapons mistress.