Land of Fire. The Valley of the Fallen God.
While the great nations stirred because of his reappearance, Yui Xuanyue—who still underestimated his own shadow over history—had already arrived at the place where his bones once lay.
Time had reshaped the land, but with a few questions and some confirmation, the old battlefield was easier to find than he had expected.
"The Valley of the Fallen God… Heh, Konoha truly loves turning their victories into legend," Xuanyue murmured with dry amusement, his gaze sweeping over the ancient scar in the earth.
A fitting name, perhaps. The valley where a god had fallen. Yet if the so-called "god" had fallen, what did that say of the man who had slain him—Senju Hashirama?
It was no different from the Valley of the End. Ostensibly, it was built to commemorate Hashirama's duel with Uchiha Madara. In truth, it was yet another monument to Hashirama's supremacy. Otherwise, why would Konoha squander such effort on colossal statues of both men?
Standing here, Xuanyue could only laugh. Perhaps the Hokage simply enjoyed carving stone.
The flatlands where he and Hashirama had clashed had long since been gouged into this valley. And just as at the Valley of the End, twin statues now loomed over the gorge. One, of course, was Hashirama. The other—
Xuanyue flickered upward in a blur of motion and landed atop it, staring into a stone face carved in his likeness.
"Well, at least they got the features right."
Unlike the iconic stance of Hashirama and Madara, standing in mutual defiance, here the two giants were immortalized mid-clash—Hashirama pressing forward, Xuanyue locked in stubborn resistance.
For a moment, he chuckled at the irony. Then the laughter faded into calm acceptance. The truth was what it was. He had lost. And he was not so petty as to take offense at cold stone.
"Ninjas are not samurai," he whispered to the other statue across the valley. "Victory in one moment doesn't decide everything, Hashirama. Your vision was never wide enough."
He remembered their brief meeting after his summoning, remembered the man's weariness, the weight in his eyes. For all his strength, Hashirama had burned out too quickly. His miraculous body and boundless vitality had fascinated scientists for decades, yet within a handful of years after their duel, he had been laid to rest.
Xuanyue didn't know why—but he knew this much: life only mattered when one's eyes were open.
Unlike Hashirama, he had no intention of vanishing meekly into death. For him, every stolen breath of fresh air was a victory.
He spread his hands, staring at the cracks marring his reanimated flesh, and let the mountain wind whip his black cloak into the air. Beneath that ragged shroud, the fractures of Edo Tensei split across his face, but his gaze only grew firmer.
The first step of his gamble was complete—he had returned to the world, severed the bindings of Edo Tensei, slipped the hunters on his trail.
Now came the true challenge. Resurrection.
For centuries, shinobi had devised miracles that even the Ōtsutsuki acknowledged. But the boundary between life and death remained unconquered.
Edo Tensei was no true revival, only the borrowing of the dead. Suna's elder Chiyo had devised a forbidden art—Self-Sacrificial Rebirth—, but it demanded her own life, and could save only one, and only one freshly departed.
There was only one jutsu that truly defied death without limit: the Outer Path's Samsara of Heavenly Life.
Xuanyue's lips twisted faintly. If only he held the Rinnegan, he could resurrect his body as Uchiha Madara once had. But the Rinnegan rested with Nagato. Storming the Akatsuki with his current power would be suicide.
Reason prevailed. That path was closed. He would walk his own.
He closed his eyes and pressed his hands together, standing atop his likeness. Then, chakra spread through the valley like a silent tide.
One minute. Two. Five.
His eyes snapped open. "Found it."
With a sharp whoosh, Xuanyue blurred from the statue's head to the earth below, then vanished again, reappearing several hundred meters away.
He pressed his palms to the soil. "Reveal."
Chakra surged downward, spilling into the ground as writhing black sigils spread like living ink. Far below, the soil flickered—then gave way.
A sealed body, wrapped in dense layers of runes, rose from the depths, drawn upward like prey in a net.
The Breath of Eternal Sleep.
Xuanyue's insurance—the art he had crafted when defeat had become inevitable. A forbidden technique of the Yui clan, it bound a body in stasis, preserving the final spark of life even at the cost of the caster's own. Hidden, untouched, awaiting the day it might rise again.
Once, it had been meant only for his clan's elders, so their graves would never be desecrated by grave robbers hunting for kekkei genkai. Now, it was the vessel of his second chance.
Xuanyue's eyes narrowed, watching the body surface.
He had never thought he would need it so soon. But in that moment of desperation, it had been the only choice. The best choice.
And now… it was time to collect on that gamble.
(To be continued)