The quiet forest was filled only with the faint rustle of footsteps.
By the campfire, the surviving Uchiha carefully sealed their fallen clansmen's bodies into scrolls.
After such a battle, no one spoke.
Gazing blankly into the flickering flames, Uchiha Itachi's dark eyes reflected their burning glow.
Beside him, Artoria sat in silence—her back straight, hands neatly folded upon her lap, every movement graceful and composed.
"Your Majesty… has anyone ever died for your sake?"
Itachi's quiet thought broke the silence.
Ever since he'd carried Uchiha Hui back from the ambush site, he couldn't shake the feeling that everyone's eyes were on him.
Even when Artoria assured him that no one was watching, he still felt their unseen gazes—filled with blame, with judgment.
"Yes."
Artoria's answer was calm. "Many. Far too many."
"…And when they died for you," Itachi asked softly, "did it make you sad?"
"It did," she said. "But I didn't let the sadness consume me."
He wanted to ask why—but in the end, he didn't.
He knew they were different.
He'd realized it back in the hollow, during their earlier conversation.
He was just one person.
She was a king—the bearer of a kingdom's hopes, the vessel of countless souls' faith.
The meaning of her life was to protect her people and her nation.
Even if it meant sacrificing herself.
Even if it meant bearing every sorrow alone.
To her, the inability to protect her homeland was far more painful than death itself.
For Artoria, to die for Britannia was the highest honor.
Such conviction… such impossible faith.
He couldn't understand it.
He couldn't comprehend that kind of greatness—that kind of absolute ideal.
So when she told him he was a "protector of the Land of Fire," he couldn't feel what she felt.
Even now, he imagined she must view this victory as something worthy of celebration.
They had won against overwhelming odds—outnumbered three to one, they'd destroyed the enemy ambush almost entirely.
By any measure, it was a decisive success.
The fallen had died honorably—for the sake of the Land of Fire.
But… should he think of it that way?
In his heart, Itachi shook his head.
Their squad leader, Uchiha Tera, was dead.
The death of their commander, combined with the heavy losses among their kin, had turned this "victory" into a quiet tragedy.
No wonder his father had lost control.
Ever since the war began, Itachi had often heard that man's name from his father's lips.
Tera had been Fugaku's childhood friend, his trusted right hand.
And now—he was gone.
—
Crunch.
The soft sound of shoes pressing into the dirt made Itachi lift his head from the fire.
Beside him, Artoria quietly faded from sight.
"What's wrong? Still shaken up from earlier?"
A harsh, sharp-edged face appeared before him—it was Uchiha Hui, the genin who had been captured by the Iwa-nin.
The enemy had not harmed him physically; they'd simply used a powerful sedative to knock him unconscious—likely intending to study his Sharingan intact.
Now, revived by the team's medical-nin, he seemed physically fine.
"I… I'm all right."
Itachi lowered his gaze again, avoiding eye contact.
He wondered—had Hui come to scold him?
To blame him for the delay that led to the ambush?
For causing his capture?
"I heard it was you who carried me back," Hui said instead, his tone unexpectedly gentle despite his severe features. "Thanks."
"And you're really something… only five years old, right? Five, and already sent to the front lines—and you survived. That's incredible."
He's… thanking me?
Itachi blinked, unable to believe it.
Didn't the interrogators find out from the Iwa-nin that their ambush succeeded only because he had asked for rest?
That the enemy had gathered overwhelming numbers during that pause?
"Oh, right. I forgot to introduce myself."
Noticing Itachi's puzzled look, Hui slapped his forehead.
"I'm Uchiha Hui, graduated just last year."
Then, to Itachi's surprise, that sharp, fox-like face softened with a smile.
It was the kind of smile that looked intimidating on the surface, yet strangely sincere.
"Nice to meet you, junior. I'm Uchiha Itachi," the boy replied politely. "But you should thank my father, not me. He's the one who rescued you."
"I know," Hui said with a nod. "But you're the one who carried me back, aren't you?"
He chuckled wryly, then sighed.
"Honestly, though… once we're back home, I'll never hear the end of it."
"Getting captured alive—that's practically unheard of for an Uchiha. A disgrace, really."
"If my father finds out, I don't even want to imagine the training he'll put me through…"
...
He kept talking.
About the battle, about his terrifying father, about his academy days.
Despite his grim face, Hui turned out to be surprisingly talkative.
Itachi barely spoke, answering only when asked—about whether his own father was strict, or if he'd be entering the Academy next year.
For someone so used to silence, this long conversation felt strange.
He wasn't used to it—but not unpleasantly so.
—
"Hey, you—Genin."
A cold voice called out from afar.
"Stop chatting and pack your gear. We're moving out soon!"
"Coming!"
Hui waved, brushing off the dirt from his clothes as he stood.
He turned back with a grin.
"You know, your father's even scarier than mine."
"I heard Captain Tera was close to him. Didn't think he'd die like that… but your father doesn't look any different."
"Already holding a meeting and organizing the retreat."
Itachi froze.
He turned his gaze toward the distance, where his father stood.
Fugaku was temporarily acting as captain, calmly leading the surviving jōnin in a debriefing around the campfire.
His face was as expressionless as ever—cold, still, giving nothing away.
And yet… Itachi could feel it.
The minute tremor in his stance, the heaviness in his aura—details only a son would notice.
Sadness. Pain. Regret. Anger.
He couldn't name them exactly, but he knew they were there.
And realizing that—that his father felt, even if he didn't show it—
Itachi's heart twisted with something he didn't understand.
Something between sorrow… and confusion.