Naruto: The Last Harbinger of Storm

Naruto: The Last Harbinger of Storm

Chapter 61: Where is the world heading?

Author's Note:

Welcome, everyone! This chapter is a bit of a build-up, as we're officially entering the next arc from here on out. Exciting times are ahead, and I can't wait to dive into this new phase with all of you.

Please comment and share your thoughts—I'd love to hear what you think! 😊

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Join ThirdFireTriden on Pa(tre)(on) the link is in description or type my name in google search with pat (tre) on remove the space and bracket!

NTLHOS: Chapter 62: The Great Escape is out!

NTLHOS: Chapter 63: The Bound Path And World Around IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 64- The Silence Of Wind Or Is It Life? IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 65: Realisation And Transformation IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 66: The Game Is ONN IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 67: A Storm Is Always Remains A Storm. IS OUT !

NTLHOS: Chapter 68: New threads of Influence is out!

NTLHOS: Chapter 69: Strategy- The Great Heist IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 70: Wrath of Darkness IS OUT!!!!!

NTLHOS: Chapter 71: "Echoes of Thunder IS OUT!!!!!!

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"The strongest storms make the deepest roots."

— Richard Paul Evans

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Happy Reading:

Last time on NTLHOS:

Sukino's voice broke the silence, cold and sharp. "We assumed Kushina or Naruto breached the mansion vault. But what about the Namikaze accounts at the bank? Surely he couldn't have accessed those as well."

Hiruzen's gaze darkened, his eyes glinting with a rare fury as the realization set in. Their control over Naruto had been an illusion, and now they were facing the backlash of a storm they themselves had unleashed.

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Now:

The streets of Konoha were alive with a current that was almost palpable, a strange and volatile energy that seemed to infuse the very stones underfoot. It was a mix of relief and something deeper, an undercurrent of tension that everyone seemed to feel but no one spoke of openly. The academy students, who only days before had been weighed down by the relentless grind of their accelerated curriculum, now moved through the village with an air of quiet triumph. This year, the usual order had been disrupted. Where peace-time policies dictated that graduation was a rite reserved for those aged fifteen or older, the upheaval of recent months had turned that on its head. Nothing this year had followed the script.

The great barrier that once cloaked Konoha like an invisible armor was gone, leaving the village exposed in a way it hadn't been sine its foundation. In the wake of this vulnerability, clans such as the Hatake, Kurama, and Akimichi, along with few of minor clans, had quietly removed themselves from the ranks of the main shinobi forces and joined with the Uchiha police. The Uchiha, long known for guarding their dominion over the police force with ferocious tenacity, had now thrown open their gates—a gesture that, on the surface, seemed magnanimous. But those with an eye for the subtleties of power saw the cunning woven into the gesture, a move both strategic and far-reaching. 

This decision had not come easily. The high council meeting where it had been sealed was a battlefield of veiled threats and subtle barbs, each clan head a player in the silent war of words. The Uchiha, traditionally isolated in their role as Konoha's enforcers, had extended a hand to those who were once kept at arm's length. The elders, ever the watchful sentinels of the old ways, were none too pleased. They understood well enough that the Uchiha's sudden embrace of others was not a sign of generosity but of a collapsing strategy of isolation, one the council had long wielded to keep the clan on a tight leash.

For the first time in Konoha's storied history, the police force was no longer the sole province of the Uchiha. The elders pushed for the inclusion of the Hyugas and other clan, arguing the merits of the Byakugan for policing duties. But Mikoto Uchiha had responded with calm, steely words, insisting that the role was open to all, regardless of clan or origin. Her words, though seemingly innocuous, held an edge. For as the first recruits began to file in, it became clear that the Uchiha's acceptance came with invisible boundaries. Clans outside the previous Uzumaki alliance found their applicants quietly turned away, denied with polite excuses or after a testing round. If some could pass through their brutal training they were relegated to menial tasks, positions with no path to promotion, leaving them with little choice but to leave of their own accord.

Inside the village, those who understood the game watched with sharpened eyes. The police force, once a single thread in the web of Konoha's power, was now a tangled knot of alliances and loyalties. Even Konohamaru, young as he was, sensed the shift in the air. The village was changing, and those attuned to its rhythms could feel it, a slow but unstoppable tide sweeping through the streets and alleyways. It was as if the very nature of Konoha was being reshaped, each decision pulling at the delicate fabric of its past.

In Konoha, politics was more than strategy—it was blood and bone, woven into the very heart of its existence. The Uchiha had extended a hand, yes, but it was a hand wrapped in thorns. The elders, who had long thrived on isolating the Uchiha, now found themselves watching as the clan began to rebuild bridges—not to a single clan but to the entire village. And in that quiet, calculated move, the Uchiha had taken their first steps toward a future where they would no longer be relegated to the shadows.

For the academy students, the undercurrents of change were far from clear. They'd been put through a brutal three-month boot camp, an unyielding preparation for their looming graduation exams. Konohamaru could still feel it in his bones—the lingering ache in his muscles, the calluses roughened across his palms from endless hours of taijutsu drills and relentless kunai practice. Yet, it was nothing compared to the inferno that their "Monster Sensei" had once put them through.

As they walked through the academy's shadowed corridors, the atmosphere was charged with a peculiar silence, one born out of discipline, laced with whispers that flitted like ghosts. It had been three long months since the news of Monster-sensei's banishment had rippled through the village, reaching even the youngest ears. With it came stories of his mother, the infamous Red-Hot Habanero, the revered Fourth Hokage, and the ghost of a village that had once stood as Konoha's ally—a village called Uzushiogakure, now lost to the sands of time. Konohamaru could still recall Iruka-sensei's face when they'd asked about it, the way his answers had been clipped and carefully neutral, as if every word held a hidden edge.

The Fire Daimyo's decree had left a shadow that seemed to stretch over everything, even the memory of Naruto-sensei. Among the shinobi ranks, especially those who had fought beside him, there were muttered words of sympathy, hints of righteous anger. Konohamaru had overheard enough to understand that not everyone viewed the Daimyo's judgment as infallible. Naruto-sensei had been one of the best. To some, his so-called "defection" was seen as the act of a man forced into a corner, the consequence of challenging the wrong powers. But there were others, too—voices that claimed he'd been plotting his exit all along, like his mother before him, a storm waiting to break loose.

Yet no one dared say these things openly. It was as if the village itself had taken a collective breath and held it, waiting to see which way the winds would blow. Konohamaru's own feelings were a tangled mess. He'd admired Naruto-sensei, respected him even. Beneath the terror and the relentless drive, Naruto had a way of pulling out something from each of them, something they hadn't known they possessed. His methods had been brutal, but Konohamaru knew that he and his classmates were stronger for it.

Their recent exams had proven as much. They'd been pitted against the older students, and to everyone's surprise, the rigor of their training had paid off. Even the weakest among them had shown surprising strength. It was as if the "Monster Sensei's" ghost lingered, woven into the fabric of their discipline and the steel of their resolve. In the early days, when he reigned over them with terror, the instructors had tried to instill fear by playing recordings of his voice, seals that carried his commands. Konohamaru remembered how Hinata, of all people, had been the one to discover the seals after a year and a half of their use, tucked away in the corners of the classroom, ready to roar to life.

But by then, something had shifted. Every student in that class had learned the value of discipline and hard work, the drive to surpass their own limits. And the instructors, recognizing that spark, had started to push them harder, taking them through advanced drills usually reserved for older students. Word had spread that Naruto-sensei would check on their progress from time to time, quietly, like a monster under the bed. Konohamaru had seen him order the instructors, urging them to keep up the pressure. After all, who among them would deny the requests of the second most powerful man in the village?

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Konohamaru's memories flitted back to a day, not too long ago, when he'd seen Naruto stride through the academy. The building itself had seemed to straighten, as if standing at attention. Teachers who would ordinarily bark orders fell silent in his presence, casting quick, respectful nods in his direction. It had reminded Konohamaru of the rare times he'd seen his grandfather himself visit—except that with Naruto, there was a different edge to the respect, a taut line of tension threaded with fear.

Konohamaru couldn't help but smirk as he thought back to his old spying escapades. The times had changed, and he found it ironic. Back then, teachers had the nerve to yell at Naruto-sensei—until, of course, he'd decided he'd had enough and retaliated. Konohamaru remembered that day vividly. It had been Danzo Shimura, his grandfather's friend, who had stepped in and quelled the room with a single look. Danzo had a way of doing that, commanding silence with a mere presence that hinted at unspoken threats.

But years later, Konohamaru had seen Naruto-sensei return to the academy, visiting the principal. They were close, the visit seemed almost informal, a conversation between old friends. Yet, the atmosphere was anything but casual. Naruto-sensei was no longer the academy instructor everyone had felt free to boss around. Now, as he strode through the halls, the shinobi and civilians alike gave him a wide berth, nodding respectfully, even fearfully. Typically, appointments with the principal were booked weeks in advance, but when Naruto arrived, whoever was inside was promptly asked to step out, and the "monster" walked right in without a second thought.

The whole academy would fall into a frenzy. Konohamaru had seen it—teachers straightening their uniforms, walking with stiff backs, teachers rearranging their desks with unnatural speed, as though they could somehow avoid his gaze by looking perfect. It reminded him of the rare times his grandfather, the Hokage, had come for inspections, but even then, the tension had never been this palpable. His grandfather could be intimidating when he chose to be, but Naruto's presence was something else altogether, a living storm barely held in check. Only Danzo had elicited this kind of reaction, but it was unlikely because Danzo never used doors; he simply appeared and disappeared, as if he were made of shadows.

That day he had climbed a tree outside the academy, planning to pull a prank on the principal, when he saw Naruto-sensei arrive. The sight had frozen him in place. He remained crouched on a branch, barely breathing, watching as Naruto entered the building. He couldn't hear anything, likely due to a privacy seal, but he could see the principal laughing, shoulders relaxed—a sight that baffled him. Naruto's back was turned, but even then, Konohamaru could feel that familiar pressure, that aura that seemed to fill the space around him.

Then, as if on cue, a handful of instructors were summoned—Iruka-sensei among them, they were all instructors assigned to his year. Konohamaru could see the nerves, the way they handed over folders with slightly trembling hands, nodding frantically as Naruto pointed out specific details. Just before leaving, Naruto turned, his gaze flicking to the tree where Konohamaru was hiding. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Konohamaru's heart nearly stopped. It was the same look Naruto had given him in class, a look that seemed to strip him bare, to see everything. Then, in the blink of an eye, Naruto vanished, leaving behind an unsettling stillness. The very next day, their training had intensified tenfold.

Now, as he stood on the cusp of graduation, Konohamaru reflected on those memories, aware of the impact they had left on him and his classmates. The academy was different now—Naruto's departure had seen to that—but the lessons he'd taught lingered like ghosts in the hallways. Every student from his class knew how to walk up trees and walk across water, skills usually reserved for those already well into their shinobi careers. They'd been drilled in three distinct taijutsu styles, and each had been made to choose a weapon they could wield with at least some proficiency. Even the more delicate arts hadn't been neglected; Sakura, once easily overlooked in physical training, could now cast genjutsu strong enough to fool most of her peers, and Konohamaru himself had learned to dispel it. The clan kids and above average students, of course, were ahead of the curve. They knew their elemental affinities, had completed their first level of elemental training, and could wield at least two C-rank jutsu.

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As the new graduates made their way to the academy for their team assignments, Kakashi Hatake stood alone before the memorial monument, the worn pages of *Icha Icha Paradise* loosely held in his hand, yet his gaze was far from the book. His single visible eye was fixed on the names carved into the stone, ghosts of his past that he could never quite leave behind. He'd been here countless times before, standing in this very spot, whispering unspoken apologies to friends who had long since passed. Today, though, his heart felt heavier, burdened by the weight of another name not yet etched into stone but equally distant—Naruto Uzumaki, or should he say Namikaze Naruto.

Kakashi's mind replayed the whirlwind of events that had led to this point. When Naruto's lineage had been revealed, it was as if the village itself had taken a collective breath, as though bracing for an inevitable storm. Kakashi had been sent away on a mission almost immediately after the announcement, a mission of such high importance that he couldn't refuse. By the time he returned, Naruto had already departed for the capital. He remembered the sinking feeling in his gut as he'd heard the news. He'd barely had time to process it before he was summoned to join the Hokage's guard detail. The rest, as they said, was history.

He had been there, a silent observer as events unfolded in the Fire Court, the elders and the Daimyo pulling strings, baiting Naruto into a reaction. Kakashi had watched, a silent shadow, as Naruto was exiled, caught in a game of politics and power. He had thought, foolishly perhaps, that once it was all over, Naruto would return to the village. He'd imagined they would speak afterward, that he'd find Naruto sitting by the ramen stand or training in one of the secluded forests around Konoha. He never expected Naruto to go rogue. Not in a hundred years.

And yet, here he was, wrestling with a truth he hadn't anticipated. Naruto hadn't just left; he'd severed all ties, burnt every bridge, and taken a path from which there was no easy return. Kakashi felt as though he'd lost yet another connection, another tie to the world that had shaped him. He wanted to scream, to curse at the heavens for his rotten fate, for the way it seemed to take everyone he cared about, everyone even loosely connected to him, and rip them away. He wondered, had it all been inevitable? Was he simply cursed to watch the people he cared for disappear one by one?

In his search for guidance, Kakashi had gone to Lord Jiraiya. He needed answers, a direction, something to quell the storm inside him. Jiraiya's response had been steady, grounded in a loyalty to the village that mirrored Kakashi's own. He had reaffirmed Kakashi's duty—above all else, his loyalty was to the village. It was a truth Kakashi had always known, a creed he had lived by. Yet, as much as those words had brought him back to center, they didn't ease the ache in his chest.

He let out a sigh, eyes drifting back to the memorial. Another ghost to haunt him, he thought bitterly. Another friend gone, but this time by choice. As if on cue, the breeze picked up, rustling the leaves around him and carrying with it the faint echo of laughter—a phantom sound, yet so familiar it was as if Naruto were standing beside him again, grinning in that way only he could. Kakashi clenched his jaw, willing the memory to fade.

He pushed the thoughts aside; he had a task ahead of him now. Today, he would test the newest crop of Genin, and, for the first time, he couldn't avoid it. He'd evaded the duty for years, making excuses, putting candidates through his infamous bell test only to send them back to the academy. But Naruto, he remembered, would have passed if only Kakashi had given him the chance to share the food—a small act of teamwork that would have revealed Naruto's readiness. That thought hung over him like a shadow, a reminder of all the ways he had failed.

But this time, there was no way out. His new team was already chosen: his sensei's masterpiece—Konohamaru, the vessel of the Nine-Tails and grandson of the Third Hokage; Sasuke Uchiha, the secondary heir of the Uchiha clan, younger brother to Itachi and son to Lady Mikoto—caught somewhere between the village's interests and his own clan's loyalties due to this diabolical relation; and finally, Sakura Haruno, daughter of a council member who represented the merchant guild. Each of them brought their own complexities, their own potential for greatness, or ruin.

Kakashi looked at the monument one last time, as if the names carved there could offer him some wisdom, some insight into the days ahead. He wondered if any of them would understand what was being asked of him. But maybe, just maybe, he thought, they could find in each other what he had lost so many times—a reason to fight, a bond that could withstand even the harshest of trials.

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In the quiet heart of Konoha, where time seemed to stand still, two aged women sat facing each other across a small round table. The bamboo chairs creaked as they shifted, each movement slow and deliberate, as though the air itself was heavy with unspoken words. Between them sat an ornate tea kettle, the delicate scent of lavender rising from its spout, curling through the air. The two women sipped their tea, their silence a familiar companion, yet charged with a tension that belied the peaceful setting.

One of the women, her hair a silver crown, raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk playing on her lips. Her eyes, however, were keen and lively, betraying a youth that defied her years. "How is it, Suki," she began, "that when I am only a year older, I have a full head of white hair, while you sit there with only a few tufts of gray? Tell me," she leaned in conspiratorially, "is it true what they say? Do you dabble in dark sorcery these days?"

Suki, the other woman, chuckled, a low, throaty sound that seemed to reverberate in the silence around them. "You're the only one left who would dare to call me that—Suki," she replied. "Old teammates, it seems, are permitted such liberties." Her tone was light, but her eyes held a glint of something harder, something edged.

The other woman laughed, a short, sharp sound. "I suppose I should address you properly. What do they call you now, hmm? Mad Nara, isn't it? Or have you taken to calling yourself something grander?"

"Mad Nara?" Suki replied with a snort. "No, no. They call me the Black Rose these days. A tribute to my beauty, I'd like to think, rather than whatever delusions you're harboring."

The woman across from her laughed again, this time with a hint of genuine amusement. "In my prime, I was the most beautiful woman in the elemental nations, and you know it. You can't deny it. I've chosen to age gracefully, unlike you, clinging to your vanity as if it could hold back the years."

Suki's lips twisted into a wry smile. "And that's the Kriya Yamanaka I remember. Vain and petty, just as she's always been."

The playful edge in their conversation faded, and Kriya's face hardened, the lines around her eyes deepening. "We don't have time for small talk anymore, Suki," she said, her voice low, laced with a biting sharpness. "Let me be blunt. Why have you come here?"

Suki leaned back, a shadow of amusement flickering across her face. "Bluntness never suited you, Kriya. You're a politician through and through when you want to be. But very well, since we're shedding pretenses, I'll get to the point." She set her teacup down, meeting Kriya's gaze with a steadiness that hinted at the weight of her words. "I've come to propose a truce."

Kriya's eyebrow arched, skepticism clouding her expression. "A truce?" she repeated, almost as if testing the word. "Why now, Suki? Why come to me with this when we both know the lines were drawn years ago?"

Suki exhaled, a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of decades. "We've squabbled for years, Kriya, but never at the expense of the village. The barrier has fallen, Uzumaki has defected, and Konoha is not as weak as people may assume. But I don't need to tell you how dangerous these times are." She paused. "The issue here is the fractures within the village that run deep. The factions we once ignored in our squabbles are now questioning the very foundation of Konoha itself. You know as well as I do that this isn't something we can afford to let fester. Not anymore. So, let's put aside our differences and reunite the village before it crumbles around us."

For a moment, Kriya simply stared at her, the silence stretching thin, taut as a wire about to snap. Her face was a mask, unreadable, but her eyes held a glimmer of something—anger, perhaps, or pain, buried beneath the years. "Do you remember when Sensei died?" she said at last, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I was foolish then, blind to the lines being drawn beneath my very feet. I believed in the Senju's ideals, in the Will of Fire." She spat the words, a bitter taste on her tongue. "But Hiruzen's Will of Fire? It's nothing more than a convenient cloak, a hypocrisy draped over his own interests."

She leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "Where was this concern for the village when you forced Torifu to relinquish his lordship to his son? You thought the little Ino-Shika-Cho trio formation copied from our own formation would make his son willing to bow to your will. And then there was Kagami. You stole his children's birthright, handed it to another, made his daughter little more than a trophy to be claimed." She shook her head, the memories flooding back, each one a knife's edge against her heart. "You took my title and gave it to my brother, who was my regent while I was off fighting in wars, and when I returned, you'd cemented his oldest son in place as if it had always been so. I couldn't even challenge him without dragging the Daimyo into our affairs. You took advantage of my love for my family, and now you stand here, asking for my help?"

Suki's face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes, a brief crack in her armor. "And what would you have done, Kriya?" she asked, her voice softer now. "Would you have let the village rot, splinter into pieces while you clung to your old grudges?"

Kriya laughed, a hollow, brittle sound that seemed to echo through the empty air. "I've long since given up on revenge, Suki. What's done is done. Torifu's son has proven himself loyal to the family, and Kagami's daughter has reclaimed what was stolen from her. The injustices of the past have been righted to an extent, but that doesn't mean I owe you anything." She set her cup down, the porcelain clinking softly against the table as she rose to her feet. "You made your bed, Suki. Now lay in it."

Kriya turned to leave, but Suki's voice stopped her. "So you'll let the village fall, then?"

Kriya paused, her back still to Suki. For a moment, the weight of her answer hung in the air like a sword, poised to drop. Then, without turning, she replied, her voice steady and unyielding, "The village is not Hiruzen." And with that, she stepped away, her form melting into the shadows, as if she had become one with the forest itself.

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In the desolate heart of the Land of Canyons, where the land itself seemed to bear witness to the clash of monsters, a battered and bloodied Naruto Uzumaki stood before the masked man. His chakra reserves were nearly depleted, his body a canvas of bruises and burns. The earth around him bore the scars of their battle—deep craters and splintered rocks, a testament to the destructive power of Storm Release. Yet, despite everything he had thrown at his opponent, the masked man remained unscathed, as if he had anticipated Naruto's every move.

The man wore an eerie, spiral-patterned mask that obscured his face, with two holes from which malevolent Sharingan eyes glinted, piercing through both flesh and spirit. Every attack Naruto launched, the man would simply phase through it, slipping into an intangible state that rendered Naruto's techniques useless. And when he wasn't using that, he commanded the legendary Mokuton—the Wood Release—with a mastery that surpassed even Captain Bear. The gnarled roots and towering wooden structures he conjured seemed to have a life of their own, binding Naruto, sapping his strength, resisting even his most powerful attacks.

Naruto's mind raced, desperation mingling with a smoldering rage. This was the man responsible for releasing the Nine-Tails, the one who had taken his parents from him—he had said as much. Every ounce of hatred Naruto had buried deep inside roared to the surface, fueling his attacks, but it was all for naught. The man was untouchable, and Naruto's strength was waning. His legs buckled, forced down by the wooden tendrils that twisted around him, draining what little chakra he had left. His vision blurred as dark spots began to dance at the edges of his sight.

The masked man floated toward him, his arm outstretched, ready to pull Naruto into a separate dimension, to end this once and for all. But before he could reach his prey, a sudden movement shattered the stillness—a wooden staff, swift as an arrow, hurtled towards him. The man dematerialized, his body slipping into intangibility, yet the staff connected with an illusion, streaking his chest and sending him staggering backward as he rematerialized. A flash of shock passed through his eyes as he struggled to understand how he had been hit while in his intangible form.

A figure stepped forward, emerging from nowhere with the same otherworldly presence Naruto had felt only once before, at the Fire Daimyo's castle. The old man stood tall, his back straight despite the weight of years, a black cloak draped over his shoulders and a wild mane of white hair cascading down to his back. His long, unkempt beard framed a face that seemed etched from stone. He looked down at Naruto with an expression that was hard to read—was it pity, or something else? His presence alone seemed to push back the weight of the canyon's darkness.

The masked man, regaining his footing, sneered. "Who are you to interfere?" His voice, once filled with smug certainty, now held an edge of irritation, perhaps even fear.

The old man's gaze was unwavering. "You are not even a faint shadow of the man you claim to be."

The insult struck a nerve. The masked man's hands clenched, preparing for another assault, but before he could act, a shadow detached itself from a nearby tree—a black, humanoid creature, emerging as if from the bark itself.

"I haven't seen you in a long, long time," the creature said, its voice slithering through the air, chilling in its familiarity.

The old man turned his gaze toward the creature, unconcerned, as if its appearance was little more than a mild annoyance. "So you're still lurking in the shadows, Black Zetsu," he said, his tone dismissive. "Still clinging to life like a leech."

The masked man's eye flickered with confusion. "Who is this, Zetsu?" he demanded, the confidence draining from his voice.

Zetsu, now fully formed, seemed almost amused. "Someone far beyond your understanding. Not someone you can hope to defeat—not now, at least. It's wiser for us to retreat."

But the masked man, driven by a mixture of pride and fury, took a step forward, only to stagger as pain lanced through his chest. The spot where the staff had struck him throbbed, an electric agony pulsing through his body, driving him to his knees.

"Why now?" he spat, glaring up at the old man. "Why interfere? You left this world ages ago. Why save him? Do you still have some sentimental attachment to the Uzumakis? Or have the powers that be finally decided to act directly in the material world?"

The old man regarded him with an inscrutable look, his gaze calm and unyielding. "You wouldn't understand, lowlife." With that, he turned his back on the masked man, as if dismissing him entirely. In a single, smooth motion, he lifted Naruto, slinging the boy's limp body over his shoulder like a doll, and began walking away, his footsteps steady and unhurried, unconcerned with the enemies he left behind.

The masked man, struggling to his feet, watched them go, his fists clenched in impotent rage. "Who is he?" he demanded, his voice barely a whisper, laced with a fear he could not suppress.

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Stay tuned for the next chapter of NTLHOS.

Join ThirdFireTriden on Pa(tre)(on) the link is in description or type my name in google search with pat (tre) on remove the space and bracket!

NTLHOS: Chapter 62: The Great Escape is out!

NTLHOS: Chapter 63: The Bound Path And World Around IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 64- The Silence Of Wind Or Is It Life? IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 65: Realisation And Transformation IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 66: The Game Is ONN IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 67: A Storm Is Always Remains A Storm. IS OUT !

NTLHOS: Chapter 68: New threads of Influence is out!

NTLHOS: Chapter 69: Strategy- The Great Heist IS OUT!

NTLHOS: Chapter 70: Wrath of Darkness IS OUT!!!!!

NTLHOS: Chapter 71: "Echoes of Thunder IS OUT!!!!!!

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