Born To Rise In Konoha Chapter 80

The last thing Baji-hu saw was the enemy lunging at Saitama—and then detonating in a suicide blast.

"Dead?" Baji-hu muttered uneasily. Saitama had shielded the group with his own body.

Crack!

From the center of the crater, the scorched earth broke open. A hand clawed its way out from a hole beneath the debris.

"Huh?" Baji-hu crawled over and peered in. He wasn’t even worried that the enemy might still be alive—it was just instinct to look.

Clang!

Across the battlefield, despite his disheveled state, Lord Xiahu of the Early Spring clan held the advantage in his duel with the samurai Shimada. Though Xiahu had sustained several cuts, Shimada’s injuries were far more critical—his abdon torn open and leaking blood.

"Hah... hah..." Shimada panted, his eyes narrowing as he realized Saitama and the enemy ninja had perished together. His own retainer samurai lay slaughtered, fallen to Xiahu’s n.

"You always seem to have the heavens’ favor, General," Shimada spat bitterly. "But this ti, victory won’t go to you."

"You need not worry about that," Xiahu replied coldly.

"Saitama!" soone suddenly cried out—it was one of the stewards traveling with them.

A gasp followed as a mud-covered hand erged. Saitama pulled himself from the hole, panting heavily.

"Still alive..." he muttered, collapsing onto his back. His body was covered in burns, lacerations, and abrasions. It was a miracle he survived at all.

At the mont of the explosion, with no way to evade, Saitama had activated Lightning Release: Chakra Mode—forcing what remained of his chakra into full-body armor. This ti, the armor had partially materialized into a semi-physical state, resembling a glowing carapace of lightning.

That was the only reason he wasn’t vaporized.

Even so, the Lightning Armor shattered under the blast, and the explosion still pierced through. At the last second, Saitama had used an Earth Release jutsu to create a pit beneath his feet and dove in, shielding himself from the worst of the blast.

"Saitama, you’re alive!" Baji-hu ran over to help.

"Don’t touch . I just need a mont to lie here."

His voice remained strong, and Baji-hu wisely refrained from helping him up.

Xiahu smirked from the other side. "Looks like the ninja you hired didn’t die after all."

"Hmph," Shimada grunted, still crouched in a defensive stance, though barely able to hold his sword.

After a few minutes of rest, Saitama pushed himself up. Though his appearance was ragged—his uniform scorched, and his skin scraped—most of the injuries were superficial. His chakra had already replenished to above the danger threshold.

"Blegh." He spat out a mouthful of dirt and blood and slowly rose to his feet. His clothes hung in tatters, and he didn’t hesitate to rip away the worst of the shreds. A few of the tears reopened wounds, making him grimace.

The fighting was over. Shimada’s retinue had been decimated. Of the dozen samurai he brought, only a few remained—and they’d already dropped their weapons and raised white cloths in surrender. Two of Xiahu’s n had also fallen, but their courage had turned the tide.

Shimada now knelt before Xiahu—not in surrender, but because his body could no longer stand. Blood pooled beneath him from the deep abdominal wound.

"Saitama," Xiahu called over, acknowledging him with a nod.

Saitama straightened up weakly, nodding back. Soone had retrieved his sword—it now hung at his waist again.

"Finish it," Shimada rasped, blood dripping from his chin. "Kill , General."

Xiahu hesitated. The sword in his hand trembled.

"I don’t need your pity," Shimada barked. "End it! I chose this path. If I must lose, I’ll lose as a warrior!"

Shhhk!

The blade swung down. Shimada’s head hit the ground. Xiahu’s eyes closed tightly, his hand no longer trembling.

"It’s over," Saitama muttered, trying to ease the heavy atmosphere. "Battle’s done."

"Clear the field. Bury the dead," Xiahu ordered, looking at his remaining subordinates. None of their familiar comrades had survived.

"Yes, General," the remaining warriors responded in unison, their expressions solemn.

While the battlefield was being cleaned, Saitama scrounged through a discarded pack for replacent clothes. Despite the injuries, he wasn’t shy about modesty—he wasn’t about to parade around half-naked.

"Keep alert. There could still be stragglers," he warned. He had little interest in Xiahu’s political battles. His focus remained solely on completing the mission.

---

Later that night...

The convoy moved on, leaving behind the blood-soaked ridge. May those who died find peace in the next life.

"Thank you, Saitama," Xiahu said from atop the carriage, glancing at the shinobi beside him. They sat shoulder to shoulder at the reins. "You dealt with that ninja."

"Just doing my job," Saitama said simply, cross-legged with arms folded.

Xiahu didn’t press the matter, though the cart was now moving faster. Shimada’s attack had shaken him. He realized the situation in the capital may already be spiraling beyond his control.

They traveled until nightfall, when the convoy stopped to rest and set up camp.

"Sure you won’t try so?" Xiahu asked, holding out a slab of roasted at.

"I’ll stick to ration packs," Saitama replied. He didn’t eat luxuriously during missions. That was his rule.

Xiahu sighed after a bite. "Who knows what we’ll find in the capital..."

Saitama remained quiet, but he was finally curious. The power struggles among daimyo and ministers were a common the in historical dramas, but now he was living one.

"A minister in the capital holds a grudge against ," Xiahu said gravely. "This ambush was his doing."

"The daimyo won’t intervene?"

"No. For political reasons, he’s staying neutral. This has beco a battle between , the military commander, and that minister—who controls the civil faction. If they want to continue their tyranny, they’ll have to go through ."

He said no more.

"I’m going on a walk," Saitama announced, standing up.

Though he still bore injuries, his chakra reserves had mostly recovered, and the damage no longer slowed him down.

They had stopped on a flat stretch of land. To the east, a sparse forest shimred under pale moonlight. Though not along the road, it was within walking distance.

Saitama wandered under the trees, lost in thought. Despite the glow of the moon, his mood was dark.

After a circuit of the periter, he returned silently to the camp and took up a guard position. He didn’t say anything—but he also didn’t fall asleep.

Around the campfires, Xiahu and the others remained awake, murmuring quietly. They knew they were nearing a storm.

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