Using a tree branch, Enso earnestly practised the foundational movements of the "Origin Blades Style." The elegance of the technique required both finesse and power, but his efforts were quickly thwarted. The moment he swung twice, the tree branch exploded in his grip—unable to withstand the force behind his strikes.
Even when Enso switched to the two stolen ANBU swords he'd kept hidden, the results were no different. The steel blades, designed for elite assassins, snapped like brittle twigs against the overwhelming power of his physical strength. With each failure, frustration built in his chest like a storm cloud. The body he had trained and honed to perfection had now become too strong for normal weapons to keep up with.
Defeated, Enso decided to fall back on a more advanced option—his medical technique, Chakra Scalpel. He condensed his chakra into a precise blade form, shaping it as an extension of his own will. It was an exhausting technique, not because it required enormous bursts of chakra, but because of the discipline needed to maintain its integrity.
Imitating Licht's creation magic, Enso attempted to shape his jutsu into more than just a tool—he wanted a weapon that mirrored the Origin Blades Style in form and spirit. Licht's magic shaped raw mana into shimmering ethereal blades, a technique he favoured before he acquired the Demon-Dweller and Demon-Destroyer swords.
Mana and chakra—both were forms of energy. The parallels between them fascinated Enso. He believed if Licht could do it with mana, he should be able to replicate the feat with chakra. After all, Enso once derived a Chakra Reinforcement technique from Licht's Reinforcement Magic a day before the Nine Tails Incident.
The blade made out of chakra was incredibly light—almost weightless, like holding a thought rather than a weapon. But Enso would have to make do with it for now. It lacked the satisfying heft and tangible resistance of real steel, yet it danced through the air with deadly grace. Still, the strain was real. Shaping chakra into a blade and maintaining its form demanded intense focus and a steady flow of energy. Every second it remained stable, chipped away at his reserves.
By the time his training session ended, Enso was drenched in sweat, his body trembling from fatigue. He'd burned through nearly his entire chakra pool, leaving him with less than five percent of his total reserves.
It wasn't the maintenance of the Chakra Scalpel that consumed his energy—it was his unrelenting desire to replicate Licht's attack techniques: "Origin Flash" and its advanced version, "Origin Flash: Rampage." These techniques sat at the pinnacle of B-Rank difficulty and, when executed properly, unleashed damage output on par with A-Rank techniques.
In this world, A-Rank techniques were rare and devastating. Their presence alone could determine the outcome of a battle. The real reason that 'Origin Flash' can reach an A-Rank damage output is due to the condensation of Chakra or Mana into a thick straight line. Otherwise, it would at most match a normal B-Rank in damage output.
Licht, under raw combat ability, could rival someone like Minato—without the Nine-Tails chakra. Minato might hold the edge in pure technique, with his Flying Thunder God and Rasengan, but Licht's magic swords and fluid combat flow narrowed the gap to almost nothing.
Enso thought back to what separated combat prowess from pure technique. People often confused the two—believing that a person with the strongest jutsu automatically held the upper hand. But fighting wasn't just about tools; it was about rhythm, timing, and intuition. If technique alone won battles, then black belts wouldn't lose to lower belts in real-world tournaments. Jon Jones wouldn't have been regarded as one of the greatest MMA fighters for so many years, despite lacking a perfect technique in his arsenal compared to most of his opponents.
'Origin Flash' is inferior to Chidori, but in battle, the suitability matters more than ranking. There is no need to use a butcher knife to kill a chicken when you can slash its throat with a small carving knife and achieve the same result. Once combining 'Origin Flash' with 'Origin Blade Style' and 'Void Step', Enso's strength would skyrocket, and all he needs is refinement through real combat.
Despite managing to replicate Licht's techniques, the aftermath was brutal. Chakra depletion left Enso reeling, limbs heavy and vision dim. His Chakra Scalpel was far more potent than many standard Shinobi techniques—surpassing even Danzo's and Asuma's chakra-enhanced weapons. When unleashed, Enso's blade could cut through solid stone, vibrate at a frequency that rivalled the Chidori in raw penetration. In its base form, it could match Chidori's lethality.
However, the Chakra consumption was extreme; Enso could only sustain the full potential of his Severing Blade, a more deadly version of Chakra Scalpel, for about twenty minutes before reaching full depletion. After all, it is a peak A-Rank technique that is only one step away from S-Rank due to a lack of nature transformation.
This wasn't sustainable. Not for prolonged missions, and certainly not for war. He needed a weapon—a real one—that could withstand his strength and allow him to wield the Origin Blades Style without relying entirely on chakra. Something durable. Balanced. Sharp enough to pierce, and sturdy enough to deflect.
Birds chirped in the distance, but the silence between each note felt heavier today. It was the silence of growth. For a moment, the fatigue vanished. In his mind, he saw it—two blades humming in sync, his body moving without resistance, the Origin Blades cutting arcs through enemies like brush swept by wind.
His Training left its mark on the ground. Deep slash lines, some more than a foot deep, crisscrossed the clearing like scars of a beast's rage. Enso, feeling a tinge of guilt for damaging the training ground, grabbed a fallen tree and stripped its bark to carve a makeshift shovel. With the little strength he had left, he began to fill in the gashes, covering them with packed earth and leaves. Sweat mixed with dirt on his brow. His breath came in short, rough bursts.
'Obito, you should wash your neck clean and wait for me to claim it. I'll soak the ground with your blood as tribute to my mother.' Enso thought to himself silently as he filled the pit on the ground.
It took him all day.
The sun is about to set, bleeding orange and red across the horizon as Enso works tirelessly to erase the evidence of his training. Without any knowledge of Earth Release Ninjutsu, the task became slow and tiring. His limbs trembled from overuse, sweat clinging to his brow like condensation on glass, and every motion felt like dragging his weight through mud.
His shadow clone, fulfilling its mundane duty at the Academy, disappeared quietly into the bathroom as soon as the day ended and released itself in a puff of smoke. The sudden flood of memories only worsens Enso's mental exhaustion.
By the time he stumbled through the door for dinner, his chakra was still dangerously low, far slower to recover than he'd anticipated. His body felt like dead weight—skin heavy, bones brittle. Sitting at the Uzumaki household's dinner table, Enso stared blankly at his rice bowl, barely lifting his chopsticks.
Kushina noticed it first. Her motherly instincts flared the second she saw his sunken posture and the void in his normally sharp eyes. She didn't say anything right away—just gave Minato a brief glance. Minato, already chewing on a piece of grilled fish, paused mid-bite and turned to look at Enso more carefully.
The atmosphere grew heavier with each passing minute. Their daily conversations, which normally bounced from teasing jokes to shared insights about training or Academy life, fell into an awkward silence.
"You've overtrained," Minato said calmly, breaking the quiet like a blade slicing through cloth. "You should get some rest."
"Seriously," Kushina chimed in, concern etched into her voice. "You're pushing yourself way too hard. One more day like this and you'll collapse. And don't even think about training after dinner, got it?"
They smiled, but the warmth behind it was laced with worry. Enso tried to force a chuckle but only managed a half-hearted smile and a nod.
After dinner, he excused himself quietly. His steps down the dimly-lit street felt heavier than they should. The lamps along the path glowed faintly, their halos of light barely keeping the dark at bay. His home was quiet when he entered—no clatter, no laughter. Just the faint creak of the floorboards under his feet.
Sleep eluded him.
Lying on his futon, Enso stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. The familiar shadows cast by the moon outside seemed tranquil, but he felt restless instead of finding peace in their rhythm.
His muscles screamed in protest, but his spirit was louder. He extended his index and middle fingers to imitate a blade, exhaling slowly as he began to move. No chakra. No energy flow. Just the raw form of his technique. The Origin Blades Style demanded nothing less than complete focus—precision, discipline, and fluidity.
Each movement was deliberate, yet flowed into the next like water over stone. His fingers cut through the still air, mimicking the arcs of swords he'd long memorised. Every pivot of his hips, each shift in balance, reflected muscle memory honed through endless repetition. Though there were no weapons in his hands, he could feel the phantom weight of them, the imagined pull of steel carving through resistance.
He twisted, stepped, and turned in silence. In his mind, he could see Licht—regal, poised, terrifyingly efficient—his every movement a masterclass of swordsmanship.
Minutes passed, then an hour. The world outside remained asleep, but inside this small room, a silent storm of blades danced in the shadows—ghostly, unseen, and sharpened by the will of a boy who refused to rest.
Enso slipped deeper into a trance, his thoughts fading into the quiet rhythm of movement. His body began to flow on its own, guided not by conscious effort but by instinct—the kind honed through countless hours of repetition.
Unknowingly, his movements began to mirror Licht—the swordsman etched into his memory with striking clarity. The elegance, the razor-sharp precision, the unwavering balance—Enso's form began to echo those same traits.
His fingers sliced through the air in perfect arcs, tracing invisible lines of battle. In that moment, Enso wasn't just practicing—he was channeling the essence of the Origin Blades Style, breathing life into every motion without thought or hesitation.
Enso sat down on his bed after completing all the sword movements and variations from Licht's memory.
The Origin Blade Style demanded a weapon that could endure power and precision. His physical strength shattered branches like brittle bones and snapped even ANBU-forged steel like cheap toys. But if he refrained from using Origin Slash, if he relied solely on the pure swordplay—the foundation of the technique—he could preserve the weapon.
Enso's thoughts whirled.
Finally, sleep claimed him. He was far too exhausted from today's training and side task.
The next day dawned with the usual calm of Konoha mornings. Birds chirped in the distance, and soft light filtered through the paper screens of his room. Enso awoke to aching limbs and stiff joints. He rubbed his eyes, then instinctively stretched—arms, pulling wide, joints popping slightly.
He didn't feel refreshed. If anything, it was as though the weight from the day before had grown heavier overnight.
But he had made a choice.
After a light breakfast, he formed a seal with both hands. "Kage Bunshin no Jutsu."
With a puff of smoke, a perfect shadow clone of himself appeared—clean, well-groomed, expression neutral and composed.
"School duty," Enso said simply.
The clone nodded. "Got it."
Just like that, the clone adjusted its collar and headed off toward the Academy. Meanwhile, the real Enso sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, letting his chakra begin its slow recovery.
He had reached a new threshold. The Origin Blades Style wasn't just some flashy dual-wield technique. It was practical, seamless, brutally efficient. A style stripped of flashiness, built only for battle. But techniques are dead, and humans are alive. Enso would take time engraving those foundations into his muscle memories, while sculpting out the flaws he may find once his technique has improved.
Now, all he needed… was a weapon that could match his physical strength.