"Eh? Orochimaru-sensei, you haven't learned it yet?"
Uchiha Gen's brows rose. With how clearly Orochimaru had explained Sage Mode, he assumed his teacher had already mastered it.
"I've never had the time," Orochimaru replied calmly, lifting a slice of meat from the hotpot with his chopsticks. "There has always been war, experiments, and research. To learn Sage Mode requires years, even with great talent. The worse the aptitude, the longer it takes and the higher the risk. For some, there is only death."
Gen's heart stirred at that.
In the original timeline, Orochimaru never mastered Ryuchi Cave's Sage Mode. Instead, he created a substitute through Jugo's innate ability, developing the Cursed Seal.
Could it be because he delayed too long, missing the best chance to learn?
As shinobi grow older, even if wisdom increases, the body, mind, and soul inevitably decline.
There's no reason Jiraiya could master Mount Myōboku's Sage Mode, yet Orochimaru couldn't grasp Ryuchi Cave's. Both were holy lands of equal weight. Ryuchi Cave's training might have been harsher, but Mount Myōboku's certainly wasn't simple either.
By the time Orochimaru turned toward Sage Mode, the toll of his Reincarnation Jutsu had already taken root, especially its side effects on the soul.
That likely closed the path to true Sagehood, leaving him only to pursue twisted alternatives.
The Cursed Seal was powerful, yes, but it could never compare to genuine Sage Mode.
After all, for Orochimaru, immortality always came first. Power, ninjutsu, and knowledge were steps toward that ultimate pursuit.
Gen thought quietly; If I push him now, if I urge him to Ryuchi Cave soon enough… could Orochimaru actually learn Sage Mode?
The thought made him smile faintly. The stronger his teacher became, the more advantageous it was for him as well.
"Sensei," Gen said lightly, "you should still make the time. Experiments and research never end. If you master Sage Mode, perhaps it will open new avenues in your quest for immortality. Natural energy is eternal, after all. Doesn't that sound like another form of immortality?"
He leaned forward, eyes glinting. "If the soul could be entrusted to the natural energy of the world itself, wouldn't that mean true eternity?"
Orochimaru's golden eyes gleamed like molten metal. "Fascinating… you've given me another line of research to pursue."
Gen smirked. "Your Reincarnation Jutsu is ingenious, sensei, but it has a fatal flaw."
"Oh?" Orochimaru's tone was sharp with curiosity. "And what flaw is that?"
"It doesn't create a true transformation of the body and soul. Even if you reincarnate into your own clone, the soul still erodes, just more slowly than in another's body. The naturel laws of the world would never allow such a loophole. Over time, the soul will collapse. You can live long, yes, but not forever."
Gen's voice lowered, filled with certainty. "To achieve real immortality, one must push the body and soul through a qualitative leap—transcend humanity itself. That is the path."
The Otsutsuki clan came to mind. Born with overwhelming power and lifespans stretching millennia, wielding Karma to reincarnate, they were beings who had stepped beyond death.
Orochimaru's Cursed Seal as an imitation, was a crude but impressive step toward that same principle.
Orochimaru was silent, chewing thoughtfully. At length, he set his chopsticks down, eyes sharp as blades. "You may be right. A leap in life's level… yes, that would be the truest immortality."
"But longevity still matters," he added with a faint smirk. "Think of the Reincarnation Jutsu as a safeguard. With enough time, anything becomes possible."
Gen raised his sake cup, smiling. "As long as you're alive, sensei, everything remains possible."
"A profound truth."
Their cups clinked together with a clear chime. Both downed the sake, warmth spreading through their bodies. Between the fire of the hotpot, the burn of the liquor, and the sting of the winter chill outside, the two felt a rare comfort.
They lingered over food and talk, sharing philosophies and memories. An hour slipped by unnoticed before they parted ways, leaving cleanup to Konoha's logistics corps.
But peace never lasted long. New Year's passed, and while the villages basked in celebration, war resumed on the front lines.
As Orochimaru predicted, the Hidden Mist avoided all-out assault. Instead, they shifted into a grinding war of attrition.
And upon learning that Uchiha Gen had been promoted to Deputy Commander, their resolve only deepened.
Commanders and deputy commanders did not usually lead missions in person; they stayed behind the lines.
For Hidden Mist, this was a relief. None of their jonin wanted to risk facing Gen directly.
Suikazan Fuguki, still haunted by memories of his brush with Gen's genjutsu, had no desire to gamble his life again. Other Mist jonin felt the same. Without an equal-ranked comrade to break illusions, an encounter with him meant death.
But Gen hadn't come to the battlefield to sit idle. His goal was harvesting souls.
Deep in the snowbound forests, a Mist Chūnin squad in white cloaks advanced cautiously, scanning for signs of Konoha shinobi.
Then, without warning, a near-invisible flash of light streaked through the snowfall and pierced the captain's chest.
"Captain? What is it? Enemy attack?"
The captain froze. His teammates clustered around him, confusion in their eyes.
Suddenly his lips curled into a grotesque grin. With a flick of his hands, kunai appeared one in his left, two in his right.
The left-hand blade drove straight into the chest of the genin beside him. The right-hand kunai flew in a blur, burying themselves in the hearts of his two remaining subordinates.
Blood splattered the snow.
"You—why?" one of the genin gasped, disbelief twisting his dying face.
The captain bared his teeth, voice low and fevered. "It's been too long since I've tasted my comrades' flesh. I… can't hold back anymore."
Terror filled the three young shinobi's eyes. The man they had followed, shared meals with, trusted... was a monster.
A pervert. A cannibal.
Before they could cry out, their lifespans and souls were wrenched from their bodies, sucked into their captain like streams of mist. Their corpses toppled into the snow with dull thuds.
The captain licked his lips, then quickly wove signs. A clone appeared, snatched the kunai from his hand, and plunged it into his heart.
Blood fountained. His body collapsed against the tree. The clone dispersed in smoke at the same instant his soul tore free, a pale silhouette streaking through the snowstorm, vanishing into the distance.