Spring had come to the Land of Fire. The air was warmer, the trees were alive again, and even the dirt smelled less like blood. It should've been a peaceful season. Instead, the council hall of the Konoha Alliance was filled with silence thick enough to choke on.
Around the long table sat the patriarchs of the allied clans—faces grim, tempers simmering.
"The Hyūga clan's arrogance knows no bounds!" one of them roared, slamming his palm on the table. "They've marched thirty thousand troops to Qishui Gorge—our border, our artery! And they dare to fortify it right under our noses?"
The room rumbled with anger.
Qishui Gorge—strategic choke point between the northern and central territories. Whoever held it could strike the Konoha Alliance at will, or retreat south unscathed. The Hyūga weren't just posturing anymore; they were staking a claim for war.
Raizen sat at the head of the table, eyes closed, listening. When he finally opened them, that cold gleam of killing intent flickered inside. Every clan head felt it. The kind of pressure that said—this is no longer politics.
"The Hyūga think we'll back down?" Raizen's voice was quiet, almost too calm.
Aburame Shō adjusted his glasses. "They've crossed the line, Raizen-sama. The Hyūga want war. Then they'll get one."
Inuzuka's patriarch snorted, his ninken growling beside him. "Let's tear down their perfect little eyes and show them how 'inferior' clans fight!"
The fury in the room built like a storm. Raizen raised his hand, silencing them.
"The Hyūga Alliance stares at us like worms looking up at hawks," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Fine. If they want to test their wings, I'll clip them myself. From this day—prepare for war."
The hall erupted in unified voices.
"It should be so!"
"They'll pay for their arrogance!"
Raizen let them shout for a moment before cutting through again.
"In that case, my Amamiya Clan will contribute three thousand shinobi, one hundred thousand forged tools, and three hundred thousand koku of grain and rations."
The room went dead still.
Even the air seemed to pause.
Three thousand shinobi—that was nearly eighty percent of the Amamiya's entire force. One hundred thousand weapons was enough to arm a small nation, and three hundred thousand koku of food could feed forty thousand soldiers for almost a year.
No one spoke for a full ten seconds.
Raizen smiled faintly, as if offering tea instead of the lifeblood of a clan. "Well? Will the rest of you match it?"
Aburame Shō was the first to respond. "The Aburame will send two thousand shinobi, fifty thousand weapons, and a hundred thousand koku of provisions."
Inuzuka's patriarch slammed his chest. "The Inuzuka Clan will do the same. And I'll unleash every hound we have. Let's see the Hyūga try to hide behind their walls when the scent of their fear spreads."
One by one, the other clans committed their numbers. Some large, some modest, but the total climbed fast. By the time it ended, more than twenty thousand shinobi stood ready under the Konoha banner—nearly equal to the Hyūga's might.
Raizen leaned back, satisfied. "Then it's settled. Tanin will lead the scouts to monitor the Hyūga's movements. The rest of you—mobilize your families. Three days from now, we march south."
Every clan head rose in unison. "Yes, Raizen-sama!"
Within hours, messengers darted through the forests and roads. The Konoha Alliance's war drums echoed through every camp and village. Ordinary citizens froze when they heard the news. The war everyone had dreaded was no longer rumor—it was real.
Raizen wasted no time. In the administrative center, he signed new mobilization orders, calling upon the wandering shinobi who had joined the alliance for refuge.
"You wanted to live under our banner," he muttered to himself, stamping the documents. "Then you'll fight under it too."
Those scattered mercenaries and rogue ninjas—men and women who had once drifted between wars—were now being drafted, trained, and folded into the Konoha ranks.
Within a week, the Alliance's strength swelled to twenty-five thousand. Half their entire population was now under arms. For most leaders, it would've been cause for pride.
But Raizen knew better.
Fifty thousand people, twenty-five thousand soldiers… still nothing.
He remembered what was coming—how, in a few decades, the Shinobi World would field armies ten times that size. A hundred thousand ninja fighting under one banner. Konoha was still an embryo compared to that.
Even so, the Alliance moved with machine precision. Supplies streamed from warehouses. Seals glowed in storage chambers. Scouts reported enemy troop concentrations daily.
And across the river, the Hyūga Alliance responded in kind. Their forces grew to thirty-five thousand. The Qishui Gorge bristled with defenses—barricades, barrier seals, and observation towers. Both sides stared across the canyon, waiting for the first spark.
The Land of Fire trembled. Two great alliances, a combined sixty thousand shinobi, stood one wrong move away from plunging the entire country into chaos.
The Warring States burned again. And Raizen, the boy from a forgotten clan, stood at its center—grinning like a man who'd seen the future and decided to punch it anyway.