Everyone in Konoha loves to chant about the Will of Fire—and precisely because it hasn't taken true root, the Third Hokage and his circle won't shut up about it.
No place reflects this contradiction more than the Corpse Processing Division, one of the most sensitive corners of the village, and the one that most demands "Will of Fire" rhetoric. If even one person here lost resolve or betrayed the village… the damage would be catastrophic.
The very next morning, Tsukasa Kaede arrived at the eastern gorge beside Training Ground 44.
The place resembled a perpetual crematorium, the air steeped in cold ash. Empty memorial stones dotted the slopes, wilting flowers scattered across the earth like fallen confessions.
He pushed open the iron door of the Corpse Processing Annex, startling a few crows under the eaves, their wings flinging dust into the stale light.
His first impression?
Absolutely wretched.
This place should have met strict medical standards—essentially a satellite autopsy ward of the Konoha General Hospital. But it looked more like Root's incineration zone.
"As expected," Kaede thought. "All the corpses getting dissected here… they're enemy shinobi. I'm not even qualified to handle Konoha corpses."
He submitted his reassignment scroll and followed a tired-looking shinobi deeper inside, observing everything—he always observed.
This was a relatively new department. Konoha hadn't even fully systematized the training of medical-nin, let alone diverted elite ones into corpse-based enemy analysis.
"No newcomers in a while," the man muttered, leading him past steel gurneys and specimen tanks. "Especially none sent by someone like Lord Ryoma."
Squelch.
A scalpel sliced into a Sand shinobi's chest. The man holding it was Morino Isuke, an aged medical-nin with yellowing eyes and steady hands. He observed as thick, dark blood splashed into a porcelain basin.
The dripping sound was… almost like a whisper.
Kaede bowed slightly. "You must be Lord Morino Isuke. I'll be under your command now. It looks like this division is running with minimal personnel."
"Five of us now, including you," Isuke said flatly. "Plenty. Any more would be waste—send them to the front lines or back to the hospital."
"Your desk's in the Special Cellular Analysis Room. Your first task is to prep a batch of heads delivered yesterday—especially the ones from Sunagakure. They love wrapping that ugly hair of theirs in cloth."
Kaede's fingers brushed over the cold nameplate bolted to the autopsy table. Three corpses rested under white sheets. One had a toe sticking out, sand from the Land of Wind clinging under its nail.
"Understood, Lord Isuke. I've worked with corpses for most of my service. This… is my element."
He peeled back the sheet. The Suna shinobi's face was locked in a final expression of terror. The right arm was scorched black—Fire Release damage.
Perfect material for his Corpse Release research.
Once Kaede entered work mode, his talent became evident. As long as chakra wasn't required, he was efficient, precise, and composed.
The lab had space. It had material.
And it had silence.
Now and then, he gave simple commands to moving corpses—flex, turn, kneel. No one batted an eye.
Everyone assumed he was practicing Dead Soul Jutsu. No one else in Konoha had mastered it, after all.
But the truth was, nobody working in corpse dissection was exactly "upstanding." If they were, they'd be out on the battlefield dying with the rest.
"Once in a while, we get jōnin-grade corpses," Kaede murmured, cleaning his tools. "Still haven't seen a Kekkei Genkai body though…"
Isuke didn't even look up. "We watch for bloodline-limit users on the battlefield—and so do they. No village allows a Kekkei corpse to fall into enemy hands. If they can't retrieve the body, they destroy it on the spot."
"You ever seen a Sharingan or Byakugan corpse left behind?"
Kaede shrugged. "The day's coming. Mist'll be stupid enough to leave a Byakugan behind—Ao will run around with it in his head someday. But sure, not yet."
Isuke scratched his chin. "I remember last year… during the Rain front. Some Uchiha were confirmed KIA after a brutal ambush. Lord Orochimaru practically overturned the entire battlefield trying to retrieve the bodies."
Kaede raised a brow. "Didn't the Legendary Sannin end the war with Amegakure? If there were negotiations, they probably demanded the eyes back."
He said it like he believed it.
But he knew better.
Whoever retrieved those eyes—it might not have been Hanzo. Might've been Uchiha Madara himself.
Last year, Jiraiya had already begun training Nagato in the Rain. That meant Nagato's Rinnegan awakening came early. And if Madara lost the Rinnegan prematurely… he'd need Sharingan stock to compensate.
"War… it's never about what people think it is. Public truth and battlefield reality aren't the same thing."
Every time Kaede thought of Madara, Black Zetsu, Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki, or the moon-dwelling remnants of the Ōtsutsuki clan silently watching the world shift…
He felt small.
But not helpless.
That was the difference.
They were too far removed.
He was just a genin—scheming from the shadows, biding time, praying for a stronger body.
Time passed.
No visitors came. No glory, no recognition. The division was forgotten by the village, except for the occasional corpse delivery—most of them of little value.
Only when their findings trickled up the medical chain—fueling the next leap in bio-research—did they even register on anyone's radar.
Kaede still hadn't seen a single Kekkei corpse.
And that meant what he already suspected was true:
There's a more advanced, deeply hidden department. The real secrets—Sharingan, Byakugan, and beyond—go there. Not here.
And Kaede wasn't surprised.
Ever since Senju Nawaki was blown apart right under Orochimaru's nose, that incident had flipped a switch. Orochimaru had set his sights on immortality.
That would've been right after the Second Shinobi War, right before the Third.
And Kaede knew the whole picture.
"After the Second War, the village began human experimentation using First Hokage cells. Mass casualties. Genin. Civilians. All sacrificed."
If they reached that stage of experimentation… that meant the preliminary research had long been completed.
Their own dissection logs—the notes Kaede now filed—would become the foundation for the village's future atrocities.
The cells of Hashirama Senju.
Just thinking about it made Kaede's fingers twitch with longing.
No one understood the sheer torment of living in a weak body like he did.
No one craved a replacement more.
Your average Konoha citizen had 130 trillion cells. A shinobi—trained and chakra-enhanced—might have far more.
But the Senju Clan? The Uzumaki Clan?
And Hashirama Senju?
Those weren't bodies. They were living engines.
Absolute life force is absolute power. If your body can't keep up—everything else is worthless.
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300 Stones in this story = 1 Bonus chapter in every fanfic currently translated