Chapter 12
The Land of Rivers was quieter than he expected.
Ghost had passed through scorched plains, slow green valleys, and then across rust-colored hills that buzzed with flies and silence. The roads were cracked but not broken, and the old shinobi trade routes that once ran strong had long since faded into superstition.
He traveled on foot, wrapped in neutral clothes and a wide hood, unremarkable to the eye. The Zero Tails pulsed faintly inside him—sealed, tamed, and bristling with the taste of cursed energy.
His training had deepened. Stockpile was now more than just storage—it was synergy. He could store cursed energy, chakra, and even traces of ambient life force. He'd discovered that rotating his usage between all three during battle gave him a terrifying rhythm of burst, vanish, and finish.
He trained constantly. His strength and speed—already formidable—had climbed to unnatural levels. With Incursio equipped and Stockpile fueled, he had become a ghost wrapped in steel and malice.
It began with whispers.
A former Mist elite jōnin gone rogue. A man with a bloodline that let him liquefy and reform his body. Wanted for treason, assassination, and experimentation. Rumors placed him near the northern cliffs of the Land of Rivers.
Ghost followed the rumors.
He hunted him across old outposts and carved mountain paths, leaving no trace but whispers. Finally, after two weeks of pursuit, Ghost found him.
The rogue ninja stood by a dead streambed. Broad-shouldered, pale-eyed, arms marked with clan ink. A Hōzuki.
"Didn't think they'd send someone like you," the man said with a slow smile. "You're smaller than I imagined."
Ghost didn't reply.
Incursio activated—no light, no flash. Its stealth adaptation fused with Zetsu.
He disappeared.
Then struck.
The spear emerged from nothing.
Black flash.
The cursed energy detonated in perfect synchrony. Space trembled around the impact, and the Hōzuki's body bisected cleanly, the unnatural energy of cursed force interfering with the liquid composition of the bloodline technique.
He didn't reform.
Instead, the two halves twitched—fighting to liquefy—before falling still, like water frozen in glass.
Weird energy interaction, Ghost thought distantly. It wasn't just the Ratio—it was the cursed energy that corrupted the cellular transformation.
But Reigan didn't go down without a fight.
Before the final blow, Ghost had clashed with the rogue multiple times.
Water clones exploded into geysers. Hidden mist swallowed their battlefield until Ghost fought with nothing but instinct and cursed energy flares. Reigan was fast, his Hydrification giving him both armor and escape, but Ghost had learned to feel movement by pressure alone. The Zero Tails enhanced his sensory range, and his time wielding Incursio taught him how to turn stillness into ambush.
Twice, Ghost had been hit—ribs cracked, jaw bleeding—but each strike refined his movements further. He struck back with spears, invisible kicks, shadow feints. Finally, one opening, one pulse of synergy, and the black flash ended it.
Dark Wisdom activated.
> [Dark Wisdom – Trait Absorption Initiated]
Target: Reigan Hōzuki – Mist Clan Rogue
Gained: Hydrification Technique (Hōzuki Clan) – C-Rank Bloodline Ability
The scroll sealed what was left.
> [Achievement Unlocked: Bloodline Reaper – Slay a Bloodline Elite and Steal Their Trait]
[Achievement Rank: Legendary]
[Reward: 1x Legendary Roll]
He waited until the area was clear. Then opened the roll.
> [Legendary Roll – Initiated]
Spinning...
Result: [Phenomenal Evil (Modified) – Passive Ability | Tier: Legendary]
> Description: For every kill, the user absorbs a trace amount of the energy the entity possessed in life. This includes chakra, cursed energy, spiritual force, or other metaphysical reserves. Accumulated power enhances the user's energy output, control, and damage potential.
> Note: This ability refines and amplifies energy output, control, and damage capability without expanding raw energy reserves.
He sat in silence as the ability settled in. The concept was simple—predatory, even.
With every kill, he'd sharpen. Not grow in bulk or bloat his reserves—but refine. Cut deeper. Hit harder. Fight longer.
"It's like polishing a blade with blood," he muttered.
It scared him how fitting it felt.
But there was no turning back.
He stood.
His body hummed with the slightest edge of new power. The fight had pushed him. The reward had shaped him.
He sealed his gear, stored the scroll, and vanished back into the wild.
The bounty could wait.