Chapter 34: Sage Arts
Sage arts.
That single shout rippled through the arena like thunder.
The audience erupted into confusion. Dozens of jonin exchanged startled looks, whispering frantically among themselves.
Most had no idea what Sage Arts even ant.
It wasn’t ignorance—it was suppression.
The existence of Senjutsu had long been buried beneath layers of secrecy. To diminish the legacies of the First Hokage and Uchiha Madara, all public records of the Sage Body and natural energy techniques had been quietly erased from Konoha’s archives.
Only three people in the village—the Legendary Sannin—truly understood Sage Techniques. Each of them possessed a unique animal contract tied to one of the three great sanctuaries, and each guarded their secret closely, never revealing it even to the others.
Outside of a handful of upper jonin, most believed that Sage Arts were nothing more than fantasy—half-whispered legends from old scrolls and fictional tales.
So when they saw Kakashi standing at the center of the arena, his body marked by faint crimson veins, the air distorting subtly around him, they did not see divinity—they saw raw, overwhelming power.
A human weapon.
As Kakashi held his stance, his leg extended from the finishing kick, the shattered remains of the viewing platform behind him bore silent witness to his strength.
He was no longer afraid.
No longer uncertain.
Through the heightened clarity of the Perfect Holy Body and the Blut Arterie, Kakashi could see it all—the disbelief, the awe, even the flicker of joy on the face of the Third Hokage.
If the Hokage himself deed this power beneficial to Konoha, then that was enough.
Aizen’s words echoed faintly in his mind. “Focus on the core. Ignore the noise. The world moves by principle, not sentint.”
So Kakashi did not turn to Jiraiya. He raised his head toward the Third Hokage’s seat instead.
The arena trembled faintly with a low hum, a resonant vibration that seed to co from both within and beyond the field.
“Sandai-sama,” he called evenly. “What are your orders?”
The old Hokage’s eyes glead under the brim of his hat. “...Continue the experint.”
“Hokage-sama!” soone shouted from the stands. “That’s Sage Mode!”
Jiraiya’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and panicked.
“Lord Hokage! We should stop this now! Sage Mode shouldn’t exist outside of the sacred lands! This isn’t—”
“Jiraiya.”
The Third Hokage’s tone was firm, his gaze heavy with authority. “We’ll discuss this later. For now… finish the test.”
“...Yes, sir.”
Jiraiya clenched his fists, biting back his frustration.
That faint look of reproach in the old man’s eyes silenced him completely.
As he turned his focus back to Kakashi, he felt an unfamiliar weight press against his chest.
No matter how young the boy looked, no matter how small his fra—once Sage Mode was invoked, everything changed.
Jiraiya’s heart sank.
He should have recognized it earlier—the way Kakashi poured the reagent over himself, the ritualized movent of his hands. That wasn’t a chakra enhancent—it was a preparation for Senjutsu.
But how was that possible?
Sage Mode could only be taught through sacred contracts—the Toads of Mount Myoboku, the Snakes of Ryuchi Cave, the Slugs of the Shikkotsu Forest. Humans alone could not harness natural energy.
And yet, there he stood.
Hatake Kakashi—his body wreathed in lightning, veins glowing red and blue, eyes sharp and unfaltering.
Jiraiya felt a chill crawl down his spine.
In the stands, Orochimaru’s golden eyes narrowed. His tongue slid across his lips unconsciously, a rare glint of obsession in his gaze.
“An artificial Sage Mode…” he murmured, his voice trembling with excitent. “Hatake Kakashi… what a fascinating child.”
His stare was almost predatory, tracing every glowing line of the Blut Arterie, every pulse of energy radiating from the boy’s fra.
As the inheritor of Ryuchi Cave, Orochimaru knew the true nature of Senjutsu. He knew its dangers—the corrosion of the body, the madness of imbalance, the fatal threshold between power and death.
And that was exactly why this scene left him in awe.
What stood before them was not a re imitation—it was a scientific recreation of divinity.
A human-made Sage Mode.
If perfected, it could rival immortality itself.
He turned slightly. “By the way, Tsunade… what do you—”
But his words trailed off.
Tsunade didn’t look shocked.
As the contractor of the Slug Sage of Shikkotsu Forest, she of all people should have reacted. But instead, she simply crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful—almost detached.
Her golden eyes flicked toward Orochimaru, catching the fanatic gleam in his own. Then, as though realizing what he was thinking, she sighed quietly and forced a smile.
She muttered sothing about “cellular resonance” and “dical energy feedback,” masking her true thoughts beneath a wall of jargon.
But Orochimaru knew her too well.
After decades of friendship—and rivalry—he understood exactly what that silence ant.
Tsunade already knew what Hatake Kakashi’s Sage Mode looked like.
“I chose Shimura Danzo, and you chose Aizen Sosuke?” Orochimaru muttered, his tone low and sardonic. “Perhaps it wasn’t really a choice at all. Just… joining research and developnt. That’s normal enough. But that Aizen Sosuke…”
The image of that man’s calm, gentle face flashed through Orochimaru’s mind, and he involuntarily frowned.
He didn’t want to et Aizen.
Didn’t want to see that smile.
The reason was unclear even to himself. Rationally, he knew Aizen was a genius—a visionary who had reshaped the very foundation of ninjutsu. Together with Hatake Kakashi, he had created both the Blut Vene and the Blut Arterie, two inventions that could completely change Konoha’s thods of war.
But that wasn’t the problem.
What unsettled him was the man himself.
There was sothing unnerving about Aizen Sosuke. His presence carried an emptiness that hollowed out everyone around him, a void so calm and vast it made Orochimaru feel smaller than he ever had—even more so than when he once stood before the White Snake Sage in Ryuchi Cave.
He clicked his tongue softly and shook his head, banishing those intrusive thoughts.
His gaze returned to the arena.
Jiraiya stood opposite Kakashi now, no longer joking or speaking casually. His expression had grown solemn. With both hands pressed to his chest, he took a steadying breath and activated his technique.
Dozens of glowing blue veins flared to life, radiating outward from his heart like lightning.
“Blut Vene—full power!”
The light engulfed him in an instant.
Kakashi, on the other hand, regarded the sight with a calm, almost detached gaze. Then, without a word, he vanished.
“Two.”
Jiraiya’s instincts scread. It’s faster than before!
He barely had ti to raise his arms before the strike landed—a kick that hit harder than a thunderclap.
The impact exploded like a cannon blast, shattering the arena beneath them into fragnts. Dust and debris surged upward as Jiraiya’s body slamd deep into the ground, his hands still held defensively in front of him.
Kakashi landed lightly, the faint glow of red and blue veins pulsing across his skin. His small fists clenched, and he muttered in a calm, cold tone:
“Blood Equipnt—Continuous Attack.”
The air cracked.
A barrage of blows rained down, each faster than the last. The sound of impact blurred into a single roar as shockwaves split the earth, sending cracks spiderwebbing all the way to the stands.
Each punch struck with surgical precision, each movent flowing into the next like a perfectly written formula.
Then, silence.
Jiraiya was half-buried in rubble, his arms locked defensively in front of him, breathing heavy but alive. The crowd hadn’t even processed what they’d seen before Kakashi’s shadow vanished again—this ti upward.
He was in the air.
Suspended above the battlefield, stepping on invisible platforms of chakra, the boy looked down coldly at his immobilized opponent. His small hands began to weave through hand seals with flawless precision.
Boar. Ram. Monkey. Boar. Horse. Tiger.
The sequence was burned into every shinobi’s soul.
The veins along his body pulsed brighter, red and blue light converging toward his palm.
“Blood Equipnt Enhancent—Great Fireball Technique.”
The world turned white.
For an instant, everyone thought a second sun had appeared in the sky.
A massive sphere of fire—burning, fluid, alive—descended from above like a judgnt.
Jiraiya couldn’t move. The Blut Vene’s defenses were already strained. Rubble pinned his legs. All he could do was stare at the blazing mass falling toward him, its reflection swallowing his pupils whole.
And then—impact.
There was no explosion. No detonation.
Only a deafening silence as the entire arena simply lted.
The stone floor liquefied, rivers of molten rock spreading outward. The air itself shimred from the heat, waves of fire distorting the faces of every jonin on the platform.
When the blinding light finally faded, two figures remained.
In the center of the crater stood Hatake Kakashi, his Blut Arterie dissolving into faint motes of red and blue light. His breathing was ragged, but his posture remained firm—calm, unshaken.
Across from him, surrounded by fading light, Jiraiya stood upright.
The luminous shell of the Blut Vene dimd and flickered out, revealing his burned and bruised body beneath. His haori was scorched, and faint wisps of smoke rose from his skin.
He exhaled, wincing slightly, then smiled through the pain.
“That’s… incredible,” he muttered.
He looked down at his arms—charred, trembling, but still functional—and chuckled. “If that had been any other jonin… there wouldn’t even be bones left.”
He checked his hair, smoothed his sleeve, then raised a shaky thumb toward Kakashi.
“You’re the most talented kid I’ve ever t at your age,” Jiraiya said with a complicated smile. “The Blut Arterie… really is sothing else.”
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