The Amamiya banners fluttered in the cold wind as Raizen's convoy crossed the borders of their clan's territory. The wheels of the supply carts creaked over dirt and stone, the rhythmic sound almost enough to lull him to sleep—if not for the gnawing unease in the back of his skull.
Sitting cross-legged atop the lead wagon, Raizen kept his eyes closed, pretending to rest. In truth, he was sensing. That feeling again—sharp, invisible, hateful.
Someone was watching him.
He'd felt it before. The first time was years ago, back when he was just a clueless kid sparring with Hashirama and Madara. The latest was moments before leaving the compound. That same cold trace of malice brushing against his chakra.
"Who the hell keeps glaring at me from the shadows?" he muttered under his breath, a scowl twisting his face.
It wasn't from any clansman—he knew their chakra signatures too well. No, this was something older, patient, and disturbingly curious.
Since mastering Sage Mode, his sensitivity to the flow of nature had sharpened to frightening levels. Even the faintest killing intent glowed like fire in a dark room.
And this one had been glowing for years.
"Still... there's another problem." His voice dropped. "The old patriarch's death never added up."
That memory crept back—the night they found Amamiya Gen's body in the grasslands. Everyone had believed it was the Kaguya clan's doing. Raizen had believed it too, until the evidence started scratching at his brain.
The wounds weren't fatal. Not for someone like Gen. He'd been only a few hundred meters from the main camp—close enough to call for help. Yet he hadn't. No chakra flare, no distress signal. Just... silence.
That meant one thing: someone had finished the job and dumped the body there.
And whoever did it wasn't Kaguya.
Raizen clenched his fists. There are always people who want to harm me. The thought slithered through his mind like a whisper he didn't want to admit was true.
But he didn't have the time or patience to chase ghosts. Not with a war breathing down his neck. The best he could do now was stay alive long enough for the truth to crawl out of the dark on its own.
The convoy rolled onward through the night. Slow—too slow, thanks to the supplies. By the time the moon reached its peak, they were only halfway to the front.
Raizen tilted his head back, staring at the pale light above. "Kaguya clan's probably heard by now. Good. Let them sweat."
A bitter laugh slipped out. Funny, that name. Kaguya. There was another one, up there on the moon—a goddess who'd one day descend to Earth just to slaughter humanity for fun. Her sons had started the whole cursed cycle of chakra and war.
And then there was him.
"Black Zetsu," Raizen whispered, his tone darkening. "Mama's little shadow."
If the timeline held, that parasitic freak was already crawling through this era, twisting history one corpse at a time. Maybe even right now. Maybe him.
It would explain the unseen eyes, the constant sense of manipulation.
"If you're really watching me, Zetsu... then you're making a mistake." Raizen's grin was humorless. "I bite back."
He straightened, exhaling a breath of frost into the night. Fine. Let's use the battlefield to flush you out.
Meanwhile, far across the plains—
Inside the smoky command tent of the Kaguya clan, the current field commander, Kaguya Heihachi, slammed a crumpled letter onto his desk.
"So the Amamiya dogs dare to send troops against us?" he barked, voice trembling with fury.
The letter hit the dirt, and a subordinate knelt to retrieve it. His brow furrowed as he read the contents aloud.
"The Amamiya clan... has officially joined the Daitō and Hanabira fronts. Their army is en route."
The room erupted in outrage.
"When did we become the ones being invaded?" one of the Kaguya shouted. "We used to crush clans like them before breakfast!"
A younger soldier slammed his fist to his chest. "Commander Heihachi, let me take a detachment and erase them!"
"Erase them?" Heihachi snorted, his tone bitter. "With what troops, exactly?"
Silence.
Their proud clan—once the terror of the Warring States—was now a battered remnant. Civil war had gutted them. Their former patriarch was dead, and half of their elite had followed him into the grave.
Their last campaign at Wind Canyon had been a disaster; thousands dead, the survivors broken.
Now the Amamiya clan—those nobodies without a bloodline—were marching on them.
Heihachi crushed the letter in his hand until it tore. "If they want a fight... we'll give them one. But the blood that spills next will stain the entire plain."
Outside, the cold wind howled like laughter.