Chapter 48

Land of Rivers

Ryoma, Jonin of Sunagakure

The army on march was a dull roar of sound. Boots on the ground, armor plates bouncing, spear shafts used as walking sticks, the flapping of banners in thin wind- it was a parade of constant anti-rhythmic music. A few of the soldiers ahead sang marching tunes, a few soldiers complained under their breath, the samurai discussed matters of swordplay and politics, and the ninja sat astride a gigantic wooden spider and rode silently behind.

"...That's Field Commander Sho." Tsubame muttered quietly beside him. Ryoma focused his attention in the direction she looked, and sure enough the form of the field commander was there, hopping across the treetops and making his way rapidly over to them.

"...So it is." He muttered quietly back. He turned his head slightly, back to address the lower-ranked ninja sitting behind him. "Look alive kids, there might be trouble."

Mao and Benki immediately straightened up, eyes scanning around as they did. "What's going on?" Mao asked quickly, hand going to the hilt of her long black sword.

"Field Commander is hopping this way." Ryoma explained quickly, scanning the horizon. Seeing nothing, he let the wooden panels slide away from his eyes and expose his goggles to the world again.

…He wasn't sure, but he thought he could make out the faint gleam of thin smoke rising in the distance. Pale, translucent, only barely detectable at such a distance.

His wooden blinders snapped into place over his goggles again.

The Great Bolter slowed its pace and turned as it walked, bringing the attention of the samurai and client in the direction it faced. They turned in time to see Sho blur into a kneel before Takeda.

"Ninja- what is it?" Takeda asked with a sharp wave of his hand from atop his horse.

"There is a battle occurring in the valley ahead- the fortress is being besieged." Sho answered quickly and precisely. An immediate outrage and metaphorical ruffling of feathers came to the samurai. Ryoma's eyes narrowed behind his encased mask.

If it's a massed battle, then the logical choice would be…

"A battle!?" The blond-haired samurai exclaimed. "Between who? What were their banners?!"

"A field of flowers was flown by the defenders, and a solid shrine was flown by the attackers." Sho explained quickly, nodding his head. "What would you like we ninja to do, Lord Takeda?"

"A field and a shrine- our retainers fight amongst themselves?" Takeda asked with a mild, baffled tone. He shook his head, his horse rearing back briefly with a prodding of its side. "No matter! The Takeda defend their underlings! Ninja- move to defend those who fly the flower-field banner of the Chikae!"

Sho nodded, immediately jumping over their heads and in his direction. They watched him fly for a moment, eyes narrowing.

Ryoma was already standing up by the time Sho landed, a heavy pair of thunks heralding his arrival. "Field Commander Sho." Ryoma nodded. "Your orders?"

"Jonin Ryoma, you are most-suited to this situation." Sho inclined his head slightly, the demon-mask staring into his blank visor. "Move forwards at top speed and deploy the Kyojutsu. I will take over your position here."

Ryoma saluted. "Understood, Field Commander."

If it was a massed combat situation, then it was the exact type of situation that the Mk2 was suited for, regardless of how he might feel about that. He turned, angled himself towards where the field commander had approached them from, and crouched.

The body flicker was a basic technique. All it involved was energizing the body with chakra to make one's movements faster. The problem was that, of course, a ninja's reaction speeds were not actually sufficient to keep up with the massively enhanced speed provided by a body flicker. For most ninja, this was about as fast as they ever needed to go. Ryoma, on the other hand, had the benefits of his puppetarmor, which could further bolster his physical performance.

Ryoma held his hands in the 'tiger' seal, channeled chakra appropriately, and jumped off the Great Bolter.

It took about half a second for his perception to keep up with his position. The wind screaming past his body and a sea of green foliage stretching far below him- He was several dozen feet in the air, feet rapidly approaching a broad expanse of branches, and the team now far behind him.

Feet out, he angled for some kind of solid surface-

A thin branch briefly, for a fraction of a second, provided the grounding he needed to puppeteer himself again. In defiance of his own weight and momentum, he crouched upon this thin branch as if it was solid ground and kicked off again.

Soaring, weight-defying leaps brought him away from the winding road and directly over the hills that obscured his view of the valleys ahead. The greatly-enhanced physicality of the puppetarmor he wore allowed him to clear nearly sixty feet in each massive bound off branches entirely too thin to normally support such movement.

He didn't need to do this, he could've just run there normally, but he was supposed to be acting as flashy as possible on this mission. That included performing physically impossible leaps as a casual activity.

It was a bit rough on the legs though, normally the landing bleeds off a bit of momentum, but right now he was just forcing an immediate change in direction. It made him faster but also made his guts bounce unpleasantly.

A final leap brought him over the ridgeline, hanging in the air just long enough for him to observe the situation between descending bounds. Sure enough, there was smoke on the horizon, and fires that flickered cleanly between ranks of a raging battle. Another hill fortress, this one built directly on a cliff overlooking the valley-bisecting river, was surrounded by a series of walls with a number of village houses constructed along the slope.

And around this hill fort was a vast expanse of burning farmland and clashing spears. Clean rectangles of soldiers long broken down into inconsistent, blurry lines trying to press into and up the rings of walls that surrounded the hill fort. They had already pushed past the outermost wall, and the frontline currently stretched between first and second gates leading up.

Lines of horsemen stayed near the back, supervising and occasionally one of them rode forwards to smash into a particular enemy or flank. These were the best-armored that Ryoma could see, and proudly displayed their banners on poles mounted on their backs.

He couldn't quite see the little symbols from this far out- but 'defend the fort' was a pretty simple instruction to follow.

He jumped again, making a series of handseals. Dust gathered around him, ripped up from the ground as he whipped through the air and forming into a copy of his shape.

Four motes expended, forty motes remaining.

He cut his hand and exchanged a handclap with his clone-ryoma, his Cloma. Just enough blood for it to summon him if it needed to.

With that same bloody hand, Ryoma angled himself towards the ground.

He sank past foliage, tearing leaves and snapping branches in his descent. Each impact smashing against his armor like a sword swing, and being just as ineffective.

His feet smashed against the ground, and the new grounding let him wrest control of his own movement from reality. He skid smoothly forwards, slowing at a regular pace and coming to a stable stop just long enough for him to slam his still-bloody hand into the ground.

"Summoning Technique : Great Dragoon!"

The birds let out panicked caws and fled from the trees as a massive plume of smoke burst to life on the south-eastern mountain of the Chikae Valley.

A hatch opened beneath a long white coat, a ninja slipped through, and it slammed shut immediately after. A great wheel began to spin, making clicks as various locks settled into place, and building up a vibrant green glow as it stopped moving.

Great Dragoon online. Forty eight motes in reserve. Objective, the defense of Chikae Valley.

Ponderously, the Great Dragoon took a massive, stomping step. The immense springs within its legs groaned ominously as it walked, then began to growl as the walk turned into a bouncy run.

Boom, boom, boom, boom.

Cloma landed on the Great Dragoon's shoulder, clinging on with a hand resting against the side of its head, chakra strings extended out to various joints.

Inside the cockpit, Ryoma took note of the Hexagram Sensory Array.

There were too many signatures to count them all- hundreds at least. The lights turned into wide blurred, spotty arcs within his three-kilometer range.

He was going to have to rely mostly on puppet-eyes, for this one.

A trio of signatures approached him by the south-west flank. Cloma's gaze turned towards the direction.

The rest of team Sho caught up to the bouncing stride of the Great Dragoon, jumping forwards and latching onto its immense shoulders.

"Jonin Ryoma!" Nagare called out over the growl of massive springs being forced to work. "Mission update?!"

NovelPhoenix's site is where the author publishes this story; this copy was taken without permission and should be read there for support.

"The VIP has commanded us to defend the Chikae Fortress. Sho has relieved me in defense of the VIP." Cloma explained over the growl of springs, inclining his head. "Please make space for the Great Dragoon to work, and prioritize the capture and evacuation of key enemy commanders. It is not a very discriminate weapon."

"Will you need any field support?" Sugimoto asked loudly, brown hair whipping around his head and face as the Great Dragoon clumsily roared forwards.

"If I launch a red flare, then I will need support." Cloma explained quickly. He had no expectations of needing such, but it was good to have a plan for it just in case. They smashed through the final treeline at that moment.

A five meter giant emerged from the woods on the flank of the attacking army, a mere few hundred feet away.

The Great Dragoon grinned in a toothy manner.

Almost immediately a pair of horsemen broke off and began to ride hard in his direction. "Occupy the samurai." Cloma ordered with a gesture towards the pair. Team Sho flickered off the shoulders of the Great Dragoon a moment later, pulling ahead to clash against the problematic attackers.

The Great Dragoon angled its run to move more directly towards the attacking army.

Boom, boom, boom, boom.

The horsemen were forced to delay and defend themselves, as a high-pressure jet of water exploded out of the ground and swiped up between their horses. A geyser rapidly adjusting its angle from nearly horizontal to nearly vertical in an instant, like the sword-swing of some invisible storm god.

Jonin Nagare's work, by the looks of it. Nice and flashy, and would leave an impressive groove in the earth afterwards.

Soldiers were already starting to turn to face the Great Dragoon as it approached, and arrows began to rain across its front. A few stuck fast, a few shattered, and most simply grazed off the immense frame of the massive puppet's armor.

Attacks of that level might be able to wear down a great beast over time, but they did nothing to slow the Great Dragoon.

The Great Dragoon raised its hands, palms up, stomping towards the lines of spearmen turning to brace against its charge.

Six motes were expended. Forty-two motes remained. The Shiki on the palms came to life. A pair of C-rank 'Great Breakthrough' ninjutsu roared out of the massive puppet's hands.

The lines of spearmen dissolved as waves of magical wind swept over them. Strong enough to rip houses from their foundations and fling livestock for a hundred feet. Men were tossed back, smashing and rolling across other men, spears snapped, bones broke, and waves of earth were torn up as new choking dust clouds.

Men were turned into living heaps, pressed up against the walls of the fortress they were trying to take.

He briefly focused on the ongoing battle between the Samurai and Team Sho. He was briefly nonplussed to see horses making massive leaps while the blades of their riders flashed, and waves of chakra tore through the landscape. The waves were pretty small from all the way over here, but he imagined them being significantly more impressive in close range.

Sugimoto's white coat made it easy to track him, limbs shrouded in long blue razorblades like a mantis made of aggressive water. His limbs shattered into sprays of water every time they clashed with one of the blades of the samurai, but reformed the moment after.

They had things handled, by the looks of it.

Another pair of horsemen broke off from their main group, and began to move towards the fighting. The Great Dragoon's jaw clicked open, revealing a block of wood with a Shiki writ upon it.

"AIR BULLETS." The Great Dragoon intoned, letting a six-shot salvo explode from its maw. The bolts of compressed wind screamed through the air, crashing into the general vicinity of the approaching samurai and sending up waves of dust. He wasn't sure if he actually hit anything at that range, but the brief delay would be enough.

Six motes expended. Thirty six motes remaining. He didn't want to expend any of his projectiles here- those were harder to restock on an extended mission than simply refilling the chakra.

He was about to hit the ranks of toppled men.

Inside the cockpit of the Great Dragoon, Ryoma frowned. "Sorry guys, I'll light a few candles for you." He muttered quietly to himself. It wasn't exactly fair for the common spearman to have to run into him, after all.

The Dragoon's jaw clicked closed. Its toothy grin stretched across its face with imagined menace.

And it smashed into the heaps of toppled men with a loud, messy crunch. The dragoon impacted the fortress wall, momentarily slowed, and then smashed through thin wooden fortification and gravel filling with a fifteen-thousand pound charge.

A tremendous boom and rumble followed, as the Great Dragoon pulled itself up from the ruins of the wall. Gore dripped off its frame as it rose.

A hurled spear smashed into the wood of the shoulder next to Cloma's feet. Cloma reached out to grab it, spun it around, and flung the spear back down. A subtle chakra string connecting to the weapon ensured accuracy and power as it flew.

A poor spearman was nailed to the ground, spear smashing through his armored torso and well into the earth beneath his feet. He was dead in an instant.

"MONSTER!" A man roared, stepping over the heads of his comrades and making a superhuman leap towards the massive puppet, sword shining with bright chakra. "DEMON-FELLING MOON!"

The mask on the Great Dragoon's thigh slid open. The scatterpack inside activated with a twitch of Ryoma's fingers.

An explosion of shrapnel caught the leaping samurai in the air. Spearmen nearby screamed with pain as fragments of steel punched through their armor and riddled them with killing shards. A swift abort of his attack into a wide parry allowed him to land, armor riddled with shards of metal.

A wooden hand raised.

"GREAT BREAKTHROUGH." The massive puppet boomed. Three motes expended, thirty three motes remaining.

The samurai was caught in a wave of wind, along with his comrades, and the structures near him. A heap of injured men and dust were swept away with a wave of powerful winds, rolling across the battlefield, smashing into ranks of other spearmen, and piling up in mounds sixty or more feet distant.

More spears were tossed at Cloma, who caught them midair with his strings and promptly returned them to their owners. Men were skewered to the ground and against the walls.

The Great Dragoon stomped forwards, an unfortunately toppled man was crushed into red paste beneath its tread. The shiki-block in its hands flipped around, revealing a new symbol. It raised its hand, angling the new shiki towards the largest pile of men.

"WIND CUTTER."

A wave of invisible wind tore through the intervening space, and then crashed into a mound of still-living men. Three motes expended, thirty motes remaining.

The mound of wriggling men was parted as the blade of wind passed through them, a long groove left in the earth of its passing and tearing through flesh and armor. Waves of gore were torn out of their sides and scattered in great cones behind them. Messy waves of red mixed with the rising dust, and dozens of screams were cut out just as new screams rose to replace them.

The Great Dragoon was suited for this kind of work, ultimately.

It left the ruins of the wall, stomping around the exterior and moving towards the next rank of spearmen. Ryoma made sure to kill the men that were already doomed to slow and painful deaths as the Wood Dragoon stomped along. Missing limbs, split torsos- all of which were crushed under tread or with spears flung by chakra-strings.

Better to finish them quickly than let them suffer, at least.

Another wave of arrows riddled the Great Dragoon, just as ineffectually as before.

Horrified shouts rose up from distant captains. "Retreat-! Retreat! Pull back to the lord samurai!"

"What's taking them so long?!"

"Have they abandoned us?!"

"A demon- a demon!"

The Great Dragoon raised its hands again. The shiki-block flipped around to reveal the first symbol again.

"GREAT BREAKTHROUGH."

Another wave of wind washed ranks of men into heaps and piles, sweeping them from the battlefield and stacking them into convenient piles.

"WIND CUTTER."

And the unseen blades of the giant turned the piles of men into waves of red mince.

Twelve motes expended. Eighteen motes remaining. Already running far lower than what was comfortable.

The limited battlefield endurance of the Great Dragoon was still an issue he had yet to fully solve. Barely in the battle for a minute and it was already almost out of energy for chakra-based attacks.

He'd stick to more efficient attacks from here on out.

The Great Dragoon's jaw clicked open. Spearmen broke ranks and fled in haphazard, scattered manners away from the immense puppet.

"AIR BULLETS."

Men screamed. Earth tore. Structures toppled.

And the Great Dragoon's toothy smile remained stretched across its face.