Chapter 16: Dead Bone Pulse
[Success! Obtained: Single Attribute Enhancement Card (+3)!]
First try, baby! Sometimes the universe decides to throw you a bone—pun absolutely intended.
I stared at the glowing card in my mental inventory, caught between elation and the bitter sting of missed opportunities. On one hand, a guaranteed +3 to physical stats was nothing to sneeze at, especially since I'd beaten the 30% odds on the first attempt. Even if the next attempts flopped harder than a fish on dry land, I'd already broken even.
On the other hand... God, the potential I might have just missed.
See, Kaguya Chiren wasn't just any random meathead with a death wish. He was Kaguya clan, which meant somewhere in that mangled corpse was the genetic lottery ticket known as the Shikotsumyaku—the Dead Bone Pulse. Sure, he'd never awakened it himself, but the bloodline was there, dormant and waiting like a sleeper agent in his DNA.
I'd seen this before with Uchiha corpses. No active Sharingan, but that genetic echo was still there, faint but detectable. Like a really expensive wine that's been watered down but still has that hint of the good stuff.
The Shikotsumyaku, though? That's the Holy Grail of bloodline limits. Even Orochimaru—a guy who literally collects bodies like some people collect stamps—had the hots for that particular genetic gift. And for good reason.
Take Kimimaro, for instance. Kid was basically a walking weapon factory, able to weaponize his own skeleton in ways that would make a Swiss Army knife weep with envy. If he hadn't been dying from bloodline disease, Sasuke would've been playing second fiddle for Orochimaru's affections.
Hell, according to Kabuto, nobody had ever actually beaten Kimimaro in a straight fight. The guy was so terrifyingly competent that even on death's door, riddled with illness and running on pure spite, he nearly killed both Rock Lee and Gaara. Gaara. The kid with a literal demon playing bodyguard.
In short: Shikotsumyaku strong. Shikotsumyaku ruthless. Shikotsumyaku the kind of overpowered bullshit that makes other ninja question their life choices.
But if I couldn't extract it, all that potential was just academic wank material.
Second attempt.
[Failure!]
"Come on, Chiren," I muttered to the corpse, like we were old drinking buddies having a heart-to-heart. "We had our dance, you got a few good hits in, I turned you into abstract art. Surely that counts for something in the cosmic balance of give-and-take?"
I tried to think of common ground we might have shared, some connection that could improve my odds through the power of friendship or whatever. But honestly? We'd been trying to murder each other less than 24 hours ago. Not exactly the foundation for a meaningful relationship.
Ah well. Fortune favors the bold, and all that philosophical garbage.
Deep breath. Last chance.
[Success! Obtained: Kaguya Clan Shikotsumyaku (Medium) {Extremely Rare}!]
I blinked. Then blinked again.
"Wait, what?"
The golden card floating in my mental inventory was absolutely gorgeous—a twisted forest of bone spires rising from pools of crimson, like some fever dream of a gothic cathedral. And the description...
"Medium bloodline? Complete? Not just genetic traces but the actual kekkei genkai?"
This was so far beyond my wildest expectations that I briefly wondered if I was hallucinating from blood loss.
But no, there it was in all its golden glory. One ticket to the bone-wielding big leagues, exactly the kind of power that would make my career as a professional corpse enthusiast infinitely more entertaining.
I'd heard rumors—probably bullshit, but *entertaining* bullshit—that combining Shikotsumyaku with Byakugan could unlock some kind of "Tenseigen" and basically turn you into discount Hamura Otsutsuki. Like how Senju sage body plus Uchiha Sharingan apparently made you into a walking natural disaster.
Kishimoto probably didn't even know about half the implications of his own power system, but that didn't make the theory any less tantalizing.
What I did know for certain was that Shikotsumyaku users had healing factors that bordered on the absurd. The whole bone-extraction process relied on osteoblasts and osteoclasts working overtime, which meant instant regeneration after pulling weapons out of your own skeleton. Basically a more metal version of Wolverine.
And the ultimate technique? "Dance of the Seedling Fern/Sawarabi no Mai" was basically Wood Release's angry, calcium-deficient cousin. Forest of death spikes instead of trees, but equally effective at turning large areas into hostile terrain.
The synergy was almost poetic. A corpse collector wielding the power of bones? It was like the universe had a sense of irony.
I forced myself to calm down and moved on to Kurishimaru Yamato's corpse. No point getting ahead of myself—still had business to conduct.
[Failure!]
[Failure!]
Apparently, my luck had limits. Green corpse, 60% success rate, and I whiffed twice in a row. But honestly? I was floating on cloud nine. Hard to get upset about pocket change when you'd just won the lottery.
[Success! Obtained: Flowing Water Blade Technique!]
"Now we're talking."
A swordsmanship style! Perfect timing, considering my close-combat repertoire currently consisted of "run away" and "throw things." As a Mist ninja specialty, it wasn't the flashiest technique in the world, but it was solid fundamentals. Like learning proper footwork before attempting backflips.
I picked up Kurishimaru's blade—another trophy from my recent adventure—and gave it an experimental swing. The weight felt foreign in my hands, but there was potential there.
Every guy secretly wants to be a swordsman, right? Blame it on too many martial arts novels as a kid, but there's something romantic about the whole "one man, one blade, wandering the world" aesthetic. Even in a ninja world full of people who could breathe fire and manipulate gravity, a good sword never went out of style.
My personal hero had always been Hatake Sakumo—the White Fang himself. Guy was so terrifying with a blade that entire villages would reconsider their life choices just hearing his name.
"Hmm, I wonder where they buried him?" I mused aloud. "Purely academic curiosity, of course."
Grave robbing was morally questionable, sure, but think of it as historical preservation! Can't let those techniques be lost to time, right? Sakumo would understand. Probably. Maybe. Look, I'd send him a nice card.
After burning through my remaining attempts on some mediocre white corpses, midnight finally arrived and my daily quota refreshed.
Time for the main event.
I started with the Flowing Water technique, letting the muscle memory integrate into my brain like someone downloading kung fu from the Matrix. Suddenly, the unfamiliar blade in my hands felt natural, responsive. I drew it with a satisfying *shing* and cut a few practice arcs through the air, silver light trailing behind the steel.
Next came the physical enhancement card. As my stats increased, three points didn't pack quite the same punch as it would have months ago, but it still felt like drinking liquid sunshine. Every muscle fiber sang with newfound strength.
Finally, the crown jewel. The golden card that read "Kaguya Clan Shikotsumyaku (Medium) {Extremely Rare}" practically glowed with potential.
The "Extremely Rare" designation alone suggested odds somewhere in the realm of winning the lottery while being struck by lightning. But hey, I'd always been an optimist.
"Time to become a walking skeleton army," I grinned, and slapped the card against my chest.
The next moment, my world exploded into agony.
"Oh,shit."
I hit the morgue floor like a sack of broken glass, every nerve ending in my body suddenly on fire. Veins bulged across my forehead, arms, and neck like angry snakes trying to escape my skin. My hands clenched so hard I felt bones grinding, and warm blood began seeping through the cracks appearing in my flesh.
This wasn't like Kaguya Chiren's punch—that had been external trauma, clean and simple. This was my body eating itself from the inside out, every cell screaming as my genetic code rewrote itself in real-time.
I thrashed on the cold morgue floor, painting it red with my own blood, consciousness flickering like a dying lightbulb. The last coherent thought I managed before everything went black was:
Maybe I should have read the fine print on that card.
Then darkness took me, though my body kept convulsing long after my mind checked out.
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