Chapter 11: Thunder at the Border

  The Land of Lightning lived up to its name.

  As Uchiha Ren stood beneath storm-heavy clouds at the Thunder Country border, the air itself seemed to crackle with anticipation. His squad had been stationed at a forward operations camp—one of many strung across the volatile front. They weren’t given grand missions. Not yet. For now, they patrolled.

  Day after day. Week after week.

  The patrols were long, repetitive, and exhausting. But each one hardened him.

  Ren used the quiet between danger to cultivate. When not scouting through forests or combing cliffside paths, he meditated, honing his chakra, understanding his genes.

  He was close—he could feel it.

  Stage 1, the Awakened Stage, had given him refined senses and near-genin peak physicality. But Stage 2… Mortal Genesis. The leap that would make him a true force on the battlefield.

  And then the moment came.

  It was a routine patrol. The forest was quiet—too quiet.

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  That’s when they struck.

  A squad of Thunder shinobi. Chunin-level. Ambush tactics. Coordinated. Deadly.

  Ren’s unit was caught off guard. Two allies fell within the first seconds. Blood sprayed across the leaves. Ren barely deflected a kunai aimed for his heart.

  The enemy moved with ruthless speed, lightning chakra crackling in their fists.

  Time slowed.

  This was no spar. No simulation.

  This was death.

  Something primal stirred in Ren. A roar echoed inside him—not from his throat, but his very genes. The pressure burst forth as chakra surged through every cell.

  Breakthrough.

  His muscles pulsed with new strength. His vision cleared. His speed surged.

  Stage 2: Mortal Genesis Stage—achieved in the crucible of battle.

  Ren’s counterattack was swift and precise. He slipped between strikes, his Sharingan reading movements with newfound clarity. One enemy fell to a crushing blow. Another to a kunai through the throat. The third tried to flee—Ren’s fire-style jutsu ended him mid-step.

  When it was over, he stood amidst blood and ash. Three Thunder corpses at his feet. Two of his squadmates dead, one wounded but alive.

  He carried the survivor back to camp himself.

  The medics swarmed them. The commander debriefed him personally.

  “You held your ground against three chunin,” the officer muttered, eyeing Ren with new respect. “We’ll remember that.”

  But Ren didn’t care about the praise.

  That night, as he sat beneath the stormy sky, watching lightning dance in the distance, he didn’t think of victory.

  He thought of how close death had come.

  He thought of Mikoto.

  And he thought of the Gate—still silent, still unmoving.

  But for now, he had taken a step forward.

  And on the battlefield… that was enough.