The forest ahead belonged to Konoha's defensive perimeter, which meant one thing: more blood, more noise, more idiots trying to stab each other over old grudges.
Senju Hashirama marched at the front of his strike team, now officially leading the vanguard. Their orders were simple.
Find Konoha squads. Break them. Move on.
"Understood. Keep advancing," Hashirama murmured.
He looked calm on the outside, but everyone in the Senju team knew the truth: except for Amamiya Raizen, no one in Konoha could challenge him.
Not anymore.
The squad moved openly, almost arrogantly. Where normal shinobi would slink through cover, the Senju advanced in a straight line, relying on their patriarch's presence to shield them from consequences.
"Contact ahead," Hashirama said suddenly.
Every Senju halted instantly.
Konoha's scouts had caught their trail first, but hiding was pointless. Hashirama's senses made shadows meaningless.
Figures flickered behind tree trunks, closing in from every angle.
Then came the first attack.
A cluster of chakra-lined mice skittered out from the underbrush, sigils glowing across their tiny bodies.
Boom.
Explosions ripped through the clearing, shattering earth and swallowing the vanguard in smoke.
But when the dust settled, the Senju stood untouched behind a thick wooden barrier grown in an instant.
Wood Style.
Hashirama didn't even bother to look proud of it.
"Forward!" a Senju chūnin shouted.
The clash erupted immediately. Steel rang against steel. Men screamed. Branches snapped under bodies falling.
Hashirama didn't join the fight. He simply watched it unfold with a hollow expression, as if the whole thing were a play he had already grown tired of.
Two shinobi grappled desperately in front of him, kunai trembling inches from each other's throats.
Their faces twisted. Their fear poured out in ragged breaths.
And Hashirama just stared.
Senju Seoma had died only days ago.
His last surviving uncle. Another link to a childhood he barely remembered.
With Butsuma gone, with so many clan members buried in the dirt, only Tobirama remained close to him now.
The war kept taking, and taking, and taking.
"Why must it always be like this?" Hashirama whispered.
The agony in the air finally cracked something inside him.
"Wood Style… Strangling Roots."
The ground heaved. Thick vines exploded upward, writhing like the arms of some furious god.
They tore through the forest, wrapped around Konoha shinobi, and crushed them before they could scream.
Silence followed.
A heavy, ugly silence.
"The patriarch is incredible!" Senju shinobi cheered behind him.
Hashirama didn't hear them.
He stared down at the dead — at the bodies tangled in his own jutsu — and raised his hands slowly, as if they belonged to someone else.
"I killed them… with my own hands."
He hated war.
He always had.
But here he was, becoming the very monster he wanted to erase from the world.
Night fell on the forest. The Senju squad camped inside a shallow cave, sharpening kunai under torchlight and preparing for the next day's hunt.
Hashirama sat alone against the stone wall, lost inside thoughts darker than any battlefield.
"Patriarch…?"
A hesitant voice broke the quiet.
Hashirama looked up. "You're… Mujin, right?"
The young Senju blinked, surprised and shyly pleased. "The patriarch remembers my name?"
Hashirama managed a gentle smile. "What do you need, Mujin?"
"I… I noticed you seem troubled. If there's something on your mind… maybe speaking about it could help?"
Hashirama sighed. "Even the strongest shinobi have problems they can't untangle. Power doesn't make the heart any lighter."
Mujin swallowed, then pushed on. "Even so… maybe we can help with the things the patriarch can't see."
The cave grew very still.
At last, Hashirama spoke. "Then answer me honestly, Mujin… do you hate war?"
Every Senju in the cavern froze.
Ears sharpened.
Breaths quieted.
Mujin hesitated. His lips trembled, but no words came out.
Hashirama exhaled, shoulders slumping. "I see."
"The Patriarch…" Mujin bit down hard on his fear. His voice cracked as he forced the words out.
"I hate it. I hate war more than anything. My parents died on the battlefield. I don't understand why we keep fighting. I don't understand why the clan keeps marching into the same blood over and over!"
He didn't shout. He cried the truth.
Several Senju shinobi surged up.
"Watch your mouth!"
"How dare you speak that way to the patriarch!"
Mujin flinched, face burning with shame, tears streaking through the dirt on his cheeks.
But the cave had already gone still again — waiting for Hashirama's answer.
Waiting to see whether the man who hated war more than any of them could finally admit it out loud.