The key lay in the fact that Pakura was still a traditional ninja, and they had to obediently perform hand signs. This predictability meant death, unless their power was absolute or they were resourceful.

Although the power levels in Naruto escalated dramatically later on, with monsters who could summon all sorts of techniques just by clapping their hands. At this current point in time, when the Third Great Ninja War had just started, the tone of the fights wasn't so absurd yet.

Even though Pakura's Scorch Release was a bloodline limit, she still had to perform hand signs to summon the special floating fireballs. Afterward, she could control and seek out targets using her mind, which was why she could hold two kunai in both hands during combat.

However, in her current fury, she hadn't conserved her power, and all the fireballs she had summoned earlier were already used up.

Yet, Shin's repeated retreats inevitably made her grow somewhat contemptuous of him. The young ninja's constant evasions had worn on her patience, each backward step fueling her rage. Driven by anger and eager to kill her enemy, she boldly chose not to retreat during this critical gap in her Scorch Release.

She merely moved her hands behind her back, briefly hiding her kunai, thinking this would deceive the young Ame ninja in front of her.

What she didn't know was that Shin had been watching her with 120% focus the entire time. Under such absolute attention and intense observation, how could he possibly miss such a crucial opening?

Not retreating during your ability's cooldown? Amateurs make amateur mistakes. Time to punish her overconfidence.

Shin stomped his foot, the impact sending a small cloud of dust rising as he instantly switched from retreat to a sudden advance. His entire aura underwent a radical transformation in a split second—like a blade being unsheathed.

As Pakura formed her first hand sign behind her back, Shin's sword was already slicing through the air, aimed directly at her face.

Her pupils widened in shock. So fast! When did he—?

She hurriedly abandoned her hand signs, rehooked the kunai with her fingers, gripped it in her hand, raised it, and blocked the lightning-fast strike of Shin's short sword.

She thought this had defused the crisis, but to her surprise, Shin twisted his wrist, adjusting the angle of his blade so that it slid along the edge of her kunai, continuing its path toward her neck.

Pakura quickly raised her other hand just in time, barely managing to deflect his blade at the last second. But it didn't end there. The sword pulled away slightly, only to slash back swiftly once more.

Slash after slash, sparks flew from the repeated clashes. The terrifying suppression left her with no chance to form hand signs. She could only desperately block with her kunai, retreating step by step.

Within six or seven strikes, Pakura's earlier murderous intent was completely gone. Her fury quickly cooled, replaced by astonishment, which eventually turned into shock.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as memories began to surface. This rhythm... it can't be! How could it be similar to his sword technique?

She didn't want to recall it, nor did she want to admit it, but this feeling was far too familiar, impossible to ignore. The textbooks, the warnings, the drills—it was all happening again, right here, right now.

Once, Konoha's White Fang, Hatake Sakumo, had earned his legendary reputation in the Ninja World by battling Suna. The mere mention of his name still caused veterans to grip their weapons tighter, even years later.

One man, one sword—he had killed Suna's top battlefield commander during the Second Great Ninja War, becoming an eternal scar in the hearts of Suna's younger generation.

His sword technique was like being hunted by a predator: pure, suffocating pressure. Each strike flowed into the next like clockwork, leaving no room for recovery, no space for seals.

He excelled in swordsmanship above all else. Though he knew some ninjutsu, his skills in that art paled in comparison. He knew that once he engaged in a ninjutsu duel with his opponents, he would lose his advantage entirely.

The same held true for Shin with his Praying Mantis style. That's why whenever he drew his sword, he never allowed his opponent a single moment to form hand signs or perform ninjutsu.

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The principle was simple, the execution brutal.

Extreme suppression, relentless attacks, and an overwhelming rhythm. In more flattering terms, this sword technique could be praised for its precision, like the meshing of gears.

In the derogatory words of Suna, it could be condemned as savage, like a rabid dog on a rampage. But effectiveness mattered more than elegance.

In the Second Great Ninja War, Suna had tried countless methods, finally concluding: if you encounter the White Fang, you must use ninjutsu early. The lesson was written in blood and carved into stone. Either stop him from getting close or stop him from drawing his sword, because once he does, you'll never get another chance to form even a single hand sign.

This memory, engraved in Suna's ninja school textbooks, was something Pakura could never forget. But she didn't understand: wasn't that man dead? Their village's spies had spent months repeatedly confirming that information.

Besides, this was the Land of Rain, not the Land of Fire.

She couldn't comprehend it. Her confusion only made her defenses sloppier, her movements more desperate. But at this moment, fear and panic had already eroded her heart, leaving her with no confidence to incinerate the enemy before her.

Shin quickly sensed this change. He cautiously pressed his attack with a few more strikes, until he was sure Pakura had completely lost her will to fight. Only then did he toss a paper kunai and swiftly withdrew using the Body Flicker.

In truth, he was almost at his limit. Sweat dripped down his back, and his arms trembled slightly from the strain. A few more seconds and I would have been the one in trouble.

After all, he wasn't Konoha's White Fang, and the swordsmanship he had been given by the system was something he had only practiced for a few days.

Even more importantly, he had never actually seen Sakumo fight—no one in their generation really had. All that remained were legends of a predatory style that struck like lightning and left no survivors to study its forms.

That worked in Shin's favor.

While defeating a low-level jonin from Kusa was manageable, trying to kill an elite from a major village like Pakura was still beyond his reach.

But he had one advantage: the Praying Mantis style he wielded was, in its own way, equally predatory. Each strike flowed into the next with deadly precision, the blade moving with the calculating elegance of an insect that had spent millions of years perfecting the art of the kill.

Pakura would have heard the stories—how the White Fang fought like a wild beast, all raw power and savage. She would expect something unrefined, animalistic. Instead, Shin gave her something that matched the legend's reputation for lethality while being entirely different in execution. The Praying Mantis style carried an elegant, almost hypnotic quality in its movements, yet every strike could still kill as efficiently as any wolf's fangs.

Fortunately, he handled it calmly, maintaining high-level pressure right up until the end.

For those few critical seconds, he had captured not White Fang's actual technique, but rather the essence of what people believed about it—unstoppable, predatory, lethal. His arms might hurt tomorrow, but maintaining that precise pressure had paid off.

He had thoroughly intimidated Pakura. Her stance remained defensive even as he withdrew. By the time he was running out of moves, she had already been so frightened by the shadow in her memory that she had nearly lost her will to fight.

This bluff by Shin had been a success. The sweat on his brow could pass for normal combat exertion rather than the strain of maintaining such an intense technique.

Of course, no one else was aware of these details. The other fighters were too engaged in their own battles to notice the nuances of what had just transpired.

The captain of the Suna squad had almost been scared out of his wits when he saw Shin forcing Pakura to retreat continuously. His own battle with Konan had kept him from seeing the full exchange, but the results were clear enough.

Now, seeing the two separate, with Pakura showing no intention to pursue, the captain was absolutely furious. His face reddened with rage as he dodged another of Konan's paper butterflies.

"Pakura, what are you doing?!" he shouted.

During the battle, the Suna captain hadn't been able to keep an eye on Pakura. Konan's paper butterflies, paper spears, and explosive tags had put him under constant pressure, creating a deadly rain of origami that demanded his full attention. He'd completely missed any peculiarities in Shin's sword technique.

Looking at the results now, he understandably thought Pakura's struggle against a mere Ame ninja boy was due to slacking off. His pride blinded him to the irony—he himself was being suppressed by a young Ame kunoichi.

Shin seized the opportunity and quickly signaled to his teammates. "Konan, take Ajisai, we're pulling out!"

They had already taken down a Suna puppeteer, so there was no need to force a decisive battle here. He was a careful strategist who sought to defeat his opponents using the most reliable methods within his capabilities, never chasing after dramatic showdowns.

Retreat when necessary, regroup with reinforcements, and finish them off next time.

However, before Shin left, Pakura asked with a pale face, "Why are you using that man's sword technique?!"

Shin smiled slightly. "Want to know? When you're alone, take a chance and open that paper shuriken I just threw at you. The answers you seek are inside."

The paper weapon lay in the dirt where he had tossed it, drawing Pakura's gaze.

"Just make sure your teammates don't learn of this, or you might have no way out, tragic hero."

He could already see the suspicion growing in her eyes, the way she kept her distance from her own teammates. This might be easier than expected.

As they made their tactical withdrawal, Konan's paper techniques provided cover. His arms still trembled slightly from the intense swordplay, but it had been worth every aching muscle.

Behind them, he could hear the Suna captain's angry shouts growing fainter, mixed with what sounded like the beginning of an argument. Shin's smile widened just a fraction. Sometimes the deadliest poison wasn't in the blade at all, but in the doubts left behind.

Let them tear themselves apart. Less work for me in the end.