Deep beneath the Land of Iron, far from sunlight or seasons, a dim candle burned in stubborn defiance of the darkness.
Its flickering glow stretched the old man's hunched silhouette across the cavern wall, twisting it into something warped and monstrous. Withered fingers tapped slowly against the stone armrest of his chair—one strike at a time—each sound echoing through the vast emptiness like a heartbeat.
"Has everything been thoroughly investigated?"
The question was calm. Too calm.
"Not yet, Lord Madara~"
A White Zetsu surfaced from the ground, its body swaying theatrically, movements exaggerated to the point of irritation. "All of our clones sent to the Land of Whirlpools failed! Those beasts guarding the wasteland edge are terrifying. It's like they have Byakugan—burrow a hundred meters underground and they still find us~"
"They're incredibly strong," it continued, voice rising dramatically. "I think even Tailed Beasts might fall short!"
Another White Zetsu immediately scoffed. "Don't insult Tailed Beasts. Those things are just mutated summoning animals."
"How can summoning animals be that strong?" the first shot back. "Even the Three Great Sage Regions don't have monsters like that!"
"They're not chakra lifeforms!"
"They can still compare!"
"They can't!"
The argument escalated rapidly, voices overlapping, bodies twitching as though a physical fight was moments away.
Uchiha Madara ignored them.
His single visible eye remained fixed ahead, unfocused, as his fingers unconsciously brushed the thick chakra tubes embedded into his body—lifelines connecting him to the Gedo Statue. Beneath the stone floor, something vast and malignant pulsed in response.
With his current decrepit form, even if he forcibly possessed Tobi's shell, his combat power would barely reach thirty percent of his peak. Without those eyes, facing twelve beings with Tailed Beast–level energy would border on suicide.
And yet—
If that mysterious merchant were allowed to continue expanding unchecked, then by the time his grand plan reached its final stage, they would become an uncontrollable variable.
A danger.
A faint red gleam flashed within Madara's eye. In response, the chakra tubes convulsed violently, rippling like veins beneath stretched skin.
"Any intelligence from Konoha?" he asked coldly.
"No, Lord Madara."
Another White Zetsu emerged from the ground. "We only know they arrived by sea as a merchant caravan. Beyond that, all information is sealed tightly. Those who know… are silent."
"Hmph."
The sound was soft, but the effect was immediate.
The two arguing White Zetsu froze, snapping shut like insects caught in winter.
Madara slowly lifted his emaciated arm. The chakra conduits trembled as one.
"Notify the White Zetsu stationed in the Hidden Mist," he ordered. "Have the Third Mizukage bring every youngster who recently posted missions in the village to me."
"Not a single one missing."
"Oh my~"
One White Zetsu twisted gleefully. "Is Lord Madara planning to act against the juniors now?"
Madara's fingers brushed his sunken eye socket. The Sharingan flared, crimson and merciless.
"Before these eyes," he said quietly, "no secret remains hidden."
"That's amazing!"
Tobi suddenly burst out of the ground, spinning in place. "With Lord Madara's power, controlling a few brats will be effortless!"
"Once they're under control, intelligence will flow endlessly~"
Far away, above the open sea, waves rolled beneath a pale sky.
On the bow deck of a merchant vessel, Shui Bing'er and the four others stood shoulder to shoulder, observing the traffic between the Land of Water and the Land of Waves. Beside them, Sarutobi clan ninja patiently demonstrated maritime tracking and counter-tracking techniques—methods refined through generations of naval conflict.
The five listened intently, silently awed.
This world had been forged by war. Its methods of assassination and counter-assassination were ruthless—and precise.
As conversation grew livelier, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Four Hidden Mist ninja—dead ahead!"
A warning kunai clanged into the mast.
The deck instantly tensed.
Sarutobi Soulin appeared in front of the youngsters in a blur, hand already resting on his pouch. "Stay alert."
The other Konoha ninja shifted positions, forming a protective arc without hesitation.
This was no overreaction.
Before departure, Shinnosuke Sarutobi had personally warned Soulin: if even one of these five came to harm, the Sarutobi clan—and possibly Konoha itself—would pay an unthinkable price.
Soulin could die.
The mission could not fail.
As the Hidden Mist squad approached, Soulin raised a letter bearing the Hokage's crest.
"Konoha Jonin Sarutobi Soulin," he announced steadily, kunai reversed across his chest. "By order of the Third Hokage, I present a national letter to the Mizukage."
The opposing ninja halted.
"Leave the letter," their leader replied coolly. "You may not enter the Land of Water."
Soulin tightened his grip on the envelope. "This is a personal handwritten letter from Hokage-sama, concerning major diplomatic matters. I must deliver it in person."
It was only half the truth.
His true mission was escort.
The Hidden Mist leader hesitated.
He recognized the crest. He also knew his own situation.
The secret mission arranged by the Mizukage had already failed.
Worse—several of his subordinates were border agents loyal to the Elder faction. Any violence here would spiral out of control.
He had miscalculated.
"What is the background of those behind you?" he asked.
Soulin shifted precisely half a step, blocking the gaze. "Classified. By Hokage-sama's direct order."
"We will search."
"You may."
Soulin drove his kunai into the deck—a deliberate act of disarmament.
The Konoha ninja followed suit, withdrawing from vantage points in clear, measured movements.
Cooperation was survival.
After inspection and chakra sensing, the verdict came.
"You will follow the designated route," the Hidden Mist leader warned coldly. "Cross the boundary, and you die."
"Understood."
Soulin exhaled quietly.
The most dangerous hurdle… had passed.
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