When Patriarch Sarutobi summoned the commanders of the Sarutobi Alliance, the news hit the camp like a cold wind: a full-scale mobilization.
Some leaders looked ready to fight to the last breath. Others looked like men already mourning their own deaths.
Orders spread through the ranks, but what came with them wasn't courage—it was dread. Every step, every clang of armor, felt like marching toward the inevitable.
"How are we supposed to fight the Konoha Alliance with morale like this?"
Sarutobi Sanbei muttered to himself, watching his commanders leave the tent. Their faces told him everything—fatigue, fear, resignation. Even if they obeyed, how many would actually fight when the final battle came?
He let out a long sigh that seemed to drag years out of his chest. For the first time, the great patriarch of the Sarutobi felt his age.
"It seems even pride has limits," he whispered.
Then—
A strange voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Giving up already?"
The sound slithered through the air like smoke. Sanbei snapped upright, his chakra flaring instinctively as he scanned the shadows.
"Who's there?! Stop pretending to be a ghost and show yourself!"
The voice chuckled, calm and disembodied.
"Relax, Patriarch Sarutobi. I'm not your enemy. In fact, I came to help you."
"Help me?"
"We share a common enemy. Helping you helps me."
"A common enemy?" Sanbei's eyes narrowed. "You mean Amamiya Raizen?"
"Exactly."
The unseen voice dropped lower, conspiratorial.
"To the south of the Floating Slope lies a special place—one that hides a secret powerful enough to change the entire battlefield. Send your people there, and you'll understand what I mean."
"A secret south of the Floating Slope…?"
But before Sanbei could demand answers, the presence vanished—like mist scattered by wind. The tent was silent again.
He stood there, heartbeat loud in his ears, replaying the words.
The secret that could change the war.
It was almost laughable… almost. But when you've already lost everything, even a ghost's promise sounds worth chasing.
"A dying horse is still worth a doctor," he muttered bitterly.
That night, Sarutobi Sanbei sent a small team of clan shinobi to investigate. They slipped past enemy lines and moved south under the cover of darkness.
Days later, they returned—shaken, pale, and clutching a scroll.
Whatever they found, it wasn't a rumor.
When Sanbei read the message, his expression twisted—shock first, then something colder. Hope, maybe. Or vengeance.
"So that's it…" he whispered.
By the time the candle burned out, he had already made his decision.
If the gods offered him a blade, he would wield it, even if it burned his hand to ash.
He summoned thirty elite Sarutobi that same night and dispatched them south to seize the "secret" in full.
Late March.
The Sarutobi Alliance, desperate and cornered, rallied for one last assault on the Konoha Alliance's eastern camp near Floating Slope. They came howling with rage and hunger, kunai flashing like sparks in the dusk.
But Raizen's scouts had already seen it coming. His counterattack was ruthless, precise—a trap disguised as mercy.
By dawn, the Sarutobi charge had broken apart like a wave against stone. Their survivors limped back to camp, defeated yet again.
Early April.
Amamiya Raizen stood at the edge of his command post, watching the fog drift over the battlefield.
"Enough waiting," he said. "We end this now."
Under his leadership, ten thousand Konoha Alliance shinobi assembled. The other ten thousand remained behind to guard the heartland—Raizen didn't intend to risk it all at once.
The Sarutobi forces had shrunk to just over five thousand. Half-starved, half-broken.
To Raizen, it looked less like an army and more like a funeral procession waiting for its priest.
He drew his strategy on the map in clean, ruthless lines:
Two divisions.
He would lead the first in a frontal assault.
Aburame Shō would command the second, circling through the mountains to strike from behind.
A pincer meant to crush what was left of the Sarutobi name.
When dawn broke, the hills thundered with the sound of war horns.
"Positions!"
"Form the lines!"
The Sarutobi camp erupted in motion. Shinobi scrambled to the barricades, clutching weapons slick with sweat. From the horizon, a black tide surged forward—thousands of Konoha shinobi moving as one.
"Knife unit—ready!"
Commander Rentarō raised his hand. The order rippled through the lines.
"Loose!"
A storm of kunai filled the sky, flashing silver before falling like steel rain.
For a heartbeat, it looked as though the storm might turn the tide—until the horizon bled red.
"Susanoo!"
A deafening roar shattered the battlefield. Crimson chakra exploded upward, burning like a second sun.
A colossal figure rose from within the Konoha ranks—an armored giant wielding a sword forged of living flame.
At its crown stood Amamiya Raizen, his eyes gleaming with cold determination.
"Let's finish this."
The giant raised its burning blade, and the falling kunai clattered harmlessly against its surface.
Then came the strike.
"Ikazuchi no Tachi!"
The sword fell.
The world split.
The shockwave tore the ground open, sending rock and soil flying into the air. Screams followed—raw, human, immediate—as the crimson flames of Amaterasu devoured everything they touched.
The Sarutobi line buckled under the weight of one man's will.
Raizen's voice cut through the chaos, calm and merciless.
"This is what happens when pride outlives purpose."
The battlefield burned black.
...
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