The moment Raizen mastered Shinra Tensei and Universal Pull, the war between Konoha and the twin clans exploded into a new level of brutality.
With Raizen's three avatars vanishing from the front lines for recovery, the battlefield turned into a chaotic brawl of smaller squads clashing in the shadows.
Deep inside the Konoha forward camp—
"Nasha, Hoshino! Move it or we're getting left behind!"
A black-haired boy waved frantically, practically dragging his two teammates forward. The problem?
His teammates moved with all the urgency of old men heading to a bathhouse.
"We're marching into a warzone," the white-haired Hatake Hoshino muttered as he rolled his eyes. "Why are you acting like you're late to a festival?"
"Oh, please. I need to rack up some achievements," the black-haired boy declared, puffing up with misplaced pride. "This is the perfect chance for everyone in Konoha to finally acknowledge my greatness!"
Whatever image he was imagining made him grin like an idiot.
Nasha snorted at the scene, her nerves melting a little. Somehow, their bickering always made the impending battlefield feel less fatal.
These three—
Amamiya Shinsuke,
Nasha,
and Hatake Hoshino—
were among the first graduating class of the newly-founded Konoha.
They had already survived more battles than most shinobi twice their age.
And with Konoha mobilizing twenty thousand shinobi for this campaign, the three of them were just another drop in the overflowing bucket.
"You? Becoming famous?" Hoshino scoffed. "Relax, Shinsuke. No one in the village is going to remember you."
"Hmph! Shows what you know. I've awakened a powerful new ability. The next time we return to the village, the name Amamiya Shinsuke will echo through every street!"
Hoshino blinked, remembering something.
"Wait… is this about that scroll you bought? The one you kept bragging about? Something about a new elemental fusion?"
Shinsuke's shoulders stiffened.
"Did you actually master it?" Hoshino pressed.
Shinsuke stood tall and declared—
"…No!"
Hoshino's face fell. "Then why did you bring it up?!"
"Support me emotionally!" Shinsuke snapped. "I'll figure it out this time!"
"You said that two months ago."
"This time it's real!"
Nasha giggled under her breath as the argument continued all the way toward the rally point.
When their squad finally assembled, the captain swept his gaze across the unit.
"Everyone present?"
A chorus of nods answered him.
"Good. Move out."
No speeches. No wasted breath.
Just steel, silence, and the march toward another round of killing.
Their squad was one among hundreds.
Each one tasked with hunting down stragglers from the Senju and Uchiha, whittling both clans down strike by strike.
And the enemy was doing the same to them.
In this era, most battles weren't glorious fields or legendary duels.
They were these small squads stalking and ambushing and bleeding each other dry.
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Far from the marching Konoha team, atop a towering tree deep within the endless forest—
Senju Hashirama stood alone.
From up here, he could see everything.
Smoke curled in the distance like black fingers scraping the sky.
Another skirmish.
Another place where someone was dying.
"Why… do people keep fighting?"
Hashirama's voice was hollow.
He sat on the thick branch, staring at the battlefield far away as the wind tugged at his hair.
He thought defeating Raizen would clarify his path.
He thought severing those ties would ease his burden.
But when one of the last Senju elders—Senju Seoma—fell in battle, the pain crushed him all over again.
Hashirama didn't blame Raizen.
He blamed the world.
"Is our resistance right… or wrong?" he whispered. "What is a village? What is a clan? Why do we spill our blood over and over…?"
He had no answers.
Only doubts that grew heavier every day.
A rush of air, and a red-clad figure leapt through the branches.
"Hashirama!"
Uchiha Madara landed beside him, armor rattling with the impact.
"You're spacing out again," Madara muttered. "What's eating you?"
"Madara… why do people fight?" Hashirama asked, eyes clouded. "Is resisting Konoha the right path? Uncle Seoma died for this. How many more will fall before we stop?"
Madara's expression twitched.
Even he didn't have a clear answer.
"Who knows?" Madara said, looking away. "Everyone fights for something. No one decides the right path. We just follow it."
Hashirama exhaled shakily.
He feared Raizen's power, but that wasn't the issue.
He feared watching his own clan die out, one by one, for a war without meaning.
"If you're troubled, walk it off," Madara said, clapping his friend's shoulder. "There's no large-scale battle today anyway."
"…Walk it off, huh?"
Hashirama nodded slowly.
He needed to move.
To breathe.
To drown out the weight in his chest with something—anything—other than grief.
He pushed off the branch, heading toward the Senju strike teams.
If he couldn't make sense of the world, then he would at least fight beside his people.
Until he found an answer.
...
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