c139: Immortal Mode
After receiving the appointment letter, Orochimaru summoned the jōnin leadership on the front lines to announce Konoha's appointment of Uchiha Gen as deputy commander.
Some jōnin expressed silent doubts. After all, raw strength was different from the ability to command troops or handle logistics. But no one dared voice opposition. To speak out meant not only offending a superior, but directly challenging the Hokage's decree. At best, one's career would be ruined; at worst, an "accident" on the battlefield could claim them.
So, despite personal misgivings, every jōnin nodded, their words dripping with approval.
From that moment, Uchiha Gen officially became the number two figure on the front line. His tent was expanded, second only in size to Orochimaru's command tent, and even guarded by two chūnin.
At the same time, Kirigakure reinforcements arrived. Surprisingly, instead of pressing their advantage, they suspended their offensive. Konoha, likewise, refrained from exploiting this pause.
The reason was simple: New Year's Day was approaching.
For Konoha's shinobi, January 1, 1952, was the most important holiday of the year.
Large-scale war would leave no room for celebration, but in the midst of a small-scale conflict, it was different. With thousands of shinobi deployed, morale mattered as much as rations. Soldiers knew that back in the village, their families celebrated; to deny them even one day of respite risked resentment and instability. So both sides tacitly agreed to a one-day ceasefire.
On New Year's morning, Konoha's logistics corps prepared three rich meals. Shinobi wandered the camp, chatting in groups, fishing in icy streams, or sparring in mock competitions. Despite the snow and biting cold, the mood was lighter than it had been in months.
But not all lowered their guard. Shinobi ethics demanded suspicion; cordons were maintained, shifts rotated. After all, in war, the mission came first companions were expendable.
It was this cold truth that had destroyed Konoha's White Fang, Hatake Sakumo. He once abandoned a mission to save his comrades. Those comrades later cursed him, insisting the mission outweighed their lives. Dishonored, Sakumo chose death. A brutal reminder: before the generation of Naruto, missions were sacred, even above bonds.
…
That noon, Uchiha Gen set up a private tent at the mountainside's lee. A low table was prepared with a copper hotpot, dipping sauces, sake, chopsticks, and an assortment of meats: poultry shipped from the village and fresh game hunted nearby.
Once ready, he sent word for Orochimaru-sensei.
Drinking alcohol and dining lavishly during war technically violated regulations, but Orochimaru never cared for such rules. Soon, master and disciple sat together, boiling meat, sipping sake, admiring the snowy scenery.
"Teacher Orochimaru," Gen began as he lifted steaming meat into his dipping plate, "with Kirigakure's reinforcements here, how will we fight next?"
The broth was spicy and rich; the warmth spread through his body in the winter chill.
"To cope with constant changes," Orochimaru said, his golden eyes narrowing, "they will likely turn to a war of attrition. After the humiliation we dealt them, they'll grind us down with sheer numbers."
Gen nodded, then glanced strangely at the platter. "…Teacher, you've nearly eaten all the snake meat?"
Orochimaru's pale lips curled faintly. "Snake meat tastes especially… pleasing when prepared like this."
Gen raised a brow. "Isn't that taboo in Ryūchi Cave?"
Orochimaru chuckled darkly. "The three holy sites Ryūchi Cave, Mount Myōboku, and Shikkotsu Forest are ancient. Independent from, yet entwined with, the shinobi world. Snakes there devour humans as readily as we eat them. The White Snake Sage cares little for such trivialities."
Gen was silent. As expected of my teacher… logic twisted into philosophy.
"By the way, Orochimaru-sensei," he pressed, "do you know of Sage Mode?"
Golden eyes flicked toward him. "…Where did you hear that?"
"In the Uchiha clan's records. It's said the First Hokage, Senju Hashirama, used Sage Mode when fighting Uchiha Madara. His power was… overwhelming."
Orochimaru's expression shifted faintly. "The White Snake Sage told me… Sage Mode multiplies combat strength several times, even dozens. The scale depends on one's chakra reserves and their mastery of senjutsu. The stronger your chakra pool, the more natural energy you can absorb. And the higher your proficiency, the more effectively you wield it."
Gen absorbed his words. So chakra determines the ceiling, skill determines efficiency. If mastery is high enough, one portion of senjutsu chakra could output 120% of normal chakra's power…
"The key," Orochimaru continued, sipping sake, his pale face tinted red, "is balance. Sage chakra is formed by mixing natural energy with your own chakra. One-third is the ideal ratio. Too much or too little and natural energy consumes you. Your body petrifies, or you are torn apart."
His tone grew colder. "In Ryūchi Cave, countless aspirants have perished, turned to stone, then eaten by the White Snake Sage's servants. The success rate is… abysmally low."
"Do you still want to try?"
Gen's eyes burned with conviction. "Of course. Risk and reward walk hand in hand."
He thought of the Eternal Mangekyō. How many Uchiha souls had been sacrificed for its evolution? Until he reached that level, he needed other ways to increase his strength. Sage Mode was the most stable, scalable path. Unlike ocular powers, it did not become obsolete.
And unlike others, he could already sense faint traces of natural energy. His soul, sharpened across two lifetimes, gave him perception few could match. Controlling it might be difficult, but not impossible.
With my control, chakra flows like breathing. Natural energy is harder but not beyond me. One day, when my soul grows strong enough, I'll look at Sage Chakra and say: "Is this all? This is nothing special."
But for now, he knew patience was key. First, I must learn an existing Sage Mode. Then, someday, forge one uniquely my own.
Orochimaru smiled faintly. "Very well. Let's visit Ryūchi Cave together. We'll see what fate has in store."
The snow fell heavier outside, blanketing the battlefield. Master and disciple drank in silence, eyes reflecting ambition far greater than their steaming hotpot.
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