Shanks wasn't about to give Number 3 a chance to recover.
As the wounded operative collapsed, Shanks moved in a blur—leaping parallel to the falling body, landing on his right side mid-air. In a fluid motion, he drove Gryphon straight into Number 3's chest, piercing his heart.
The Special Jōnin's body went still.
Shanks landed softly on the forest floor, withdrawing his blade in one clean motion.
But at that very instant, two shadows closed in from both sides.
The remaining masked Root operatives, who had scattered moments earlier to avoid his sword energy, now emerged from the chaos, flanking him with blades drawn. Their timing was perfect—while Shanks was grounded, distracted, and exposed.
For them, this was the moment to strike. The perfect window to kill.
They didn't spare a glance at their fallen comrade.
Root operatives were trained differently. Loyalty meant nothing. Bonds meant nothing. What mattered was the mission—and right now, their mission was to eliminate Uzumaki Shanks.
And they were going to try.
But Shanks had seen it coming.
His Observation Haki was active the entire time, tracking their movements long before they struck. Their ambush was no surprise—it was expected.
The moment they lunged, blades aimed to skewer him from both sides, Shanks vanished—using his movement technique to blur out of existence.
The two Root operatives' swords sliced through empty air—and clashed with each other in a sharp, metallic clang.
Both froze, momentarily stunned by his sudden disappearance.
In that heartbeat of hesitation, Shanks reappeared—to the left of one of the masked ninjas—and drove Gryphon deep into his side.
The blade slid through the flak jacket with ease, the force behind it merciless and clean.
The masked ninja stabbed through the left lung gasped sharply—and blood poured from his mouth. His body trembled, but he didn't fall. Instead, with a final surge of will, he gripped Gryphon, still buried deep in his chest, locking the blade in place.
Shanks's eyes narrowed.
At that exact moment, the second operative lunged in again, sword slicing through the air with lethal intent. With Shanks's blade restrained, it was the perfect chance to strike.
The wounded ninja didn't care that he was seconds from death—he was helping his partner kill their target. Holding the sword in his chest wasn't just desperation. It was strategy.
Shanks registered it all instantly. His mind stayed sharp, even in the heat of it.
"That kind of resolve… no hesitation, no fear. Either they're part of an elite ANBU corps—"
His eyes flicked briefly to the dying man, whose grip remained locked even as blood pooled beneath him.
"—or they're Root."
And if they were Root... then he knew exactly what kind of operatives he was dealing with.
No concern for survival. No loyalty to comrades. Just cold, calculated execution.
It wasn't as if the masked ninja had locked Shanks' sword in place with some unmovable force. On the contrary, Shanks could have easily wrenched it free with his physical strength alone. The grip that held it wasn't invincible. However, he understood the cost of such an action. Even if it took only a heartbeat—a mere fraction of a second—to reclaim his weapon, that momentary delay would be enough. In that tiny window of hesitation, the enemy's blade would already be closing in, aiming straight for his body with lethal precision.
But Shanks was not the kind of man to be caught off guard or left without a counter.
In a flash, he coated his leg with Armament Haki and launched a powerful kick toward the incoming blade. The masked ninjas had no idea what was coming. His legs, concealed beneath full-length pants and shoes, showed no outward sign of transformation. But beneath the fabric, his limb had turned jet black, hardened with Haki.
The Root ninja who had launched the attack felt a pang of frustration ripple through him. The opportunity to kill Shanks in a single, clean strike was slipping away. Still, he didn't waver. Even if he couldn't land a fatal blow immediately, he remained confident. That sword, sharp and relentless, reinforced with his own chakra-infused strength, would surely sever Shanks' leg. It was only a matter of impact.
At last, Shanks' reinforced leg collided with the blade of the masked Root ninja. But the scene the attacker had envisioned—Shanks' leg being cleaved off and sent flying—never came to pass. Instead, reality struck with the sharpness of irony. The moment the blade met Shanks' Haki-hardened leg, it was as if it had slammed into solid iron. A burst of sparks flashed on impact, and the harsh metallic screech echoed through the forest.
The clash lasted less than a second.
The force behind Shanks' kick was immense—far greater than the masked ninja had anticipated. His grip on the sword faltered instantly, and the weapon was torn from his hands. It spun through the air like a silver arc before embedding itself deep into a distant tree with a violent thunk.
Without giving his opponent a moment to recover, Shanks stepped forward and wrenched his own blade free from the ninja's chest with tremendous force. The masked Root ninja, already struggling from the fatal blow, could do nothing to resist. His body crumpled to the ground as the weight of the wound overtook him. The blade had pierced straight through his lung, and the cost of that damage was immediate and final—he died without a sound.
Still, in a way, the ninja had done his duty.
Shanks then turned his attention to the remaining masked ninja. Before the Root operative could even process what had just occurred—before he could react to the complete unravelling of his plan—Shanks vanished from his position.
In the blink of an eye, he reappeared directly in front of the stunned ninja.
The man looked down in disbelief. Shanks' sword was already embedded deep in his chest, the blade having pierced clean through his sternum and into his heart. There was no time to scream, no chance to resist.
Shanks calmly withdrew the blade and turned his gaze toward another masked ninja—the one who had collapsed earlier, unconscious from the earlier confrontation. Without hesitation, Shanks approached the fallen figure, appearing beside him in an instant.
Before killing the unconscious body, Shanks removed the ninja's mask and pried open his mouth. His eyes narrowed as he examined the inside. There it was—the unmistakable curse mark of the Root Organization, etched into the tongue like a brand of ownership.
His expression turned cold.
"So... Konoha," Shanks muttered, voice heavy with controlled fury. "You exploited our alliance, only to stab us in the back. This betrayal won't be forgotten."
His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened.
"I swear—this account will be settled. I'll make sure of it."
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