At Land of Wind, the setting sun sank below the horizon while the dying crimson sunlight dyed the entire desert a boundless dark red.
In this barren land, seemingly forgotten by the world, an ancient Buddhist temple stood alone deep within the sea of sand.
The walls had long been eroded by wind and sand until they were mottled and weathered.
The beams leaned crookedly, broken tiles lay scattered everywhere, and even half the face of the stone Buddha before the temple gate had been worn smooth by the passage of time.
No one knew when it had been built, nor did anyone remember who the last monk to chant scriptures there had been.
Amid the endless sandstorm, a lone figure walked forward at an unhurried pace.
The figure was dressed like a monk; however, unlike the shaved heads commonly associated with monks, he wore his long hair tied into a thick braid hanging behind his shoulder.
Most eye-catching was the black diamond-shaped mark on his chin.
Against his pale skin, it resembled a piece of solidified obsidian.
The raging sands swept wildly through the sky, yet not a single grain of sand touched his robes.
Even the air within several feet around him seemed completely still, forming a world utterly separate from the roaring sandstorm surrounding it.
"A meaningless war between insects."
The monk casually glanced at the newspaper's contents, delivered his brief, indifferent judgment, and then tossed it aside.
The moment it left his hand, something strange happened.
Without a sound, the paper transformed into gray-white fragments.
As though the very essence of its existence had been removed, it simply disintegrated and scattered into the wind, leaving not even the slightest trace behind, then his figure flashed as he entered the temple.
Sitting upon a stone stool before the damaged Buddha statue, he took an ancient, yellowed scripture from his robes, opened it to a page, and began reading.
The sutra of infinite life.
"The world-honored one sat beneath the bodhi tree in the lotus position, entering profound meditation... For seven days and seven nights, his mind remained unattached. He severed all afflictions, shattered the shell of ignorance, and on the seventh day emitted great radiance from his entire body, illuminating immeasurable and boundless Buddha worlds in all ten directions..."
"At that time, Papiyas, the Demon King of the sixth heaven, saw that the world-honored one was about to attain perfect enlightenment and became filled with fear... He rained stones, hurled mountains, stirred great storms, and roared like thunder in an attempt to destroy the world-honored one..."
"Through the power of compassion, the world-honored one pressed a finger to the earth, calling it as witness... Papiyas fell to the ground, and the demon host scattered... The world-honored one then subdued Papiyas through divine power and placed him within the true dharma..."
"After subduing the demon, the world-honored one observed the karmic ties of all beings in the ten directions and preached the wondrous dharma. Finally, between the twin sala trees, he lay on his right side and entered parinirvana..."
"The world-honored one abandoned this mortal body. With his merits complete, he entered the realm of nirvana without remainder, finding bliss in extinction and forever severing the cycle of reincarnation..."
"Shibai..."
The monk expressionlessly closed the scripture and softly uttered that one word.
What exactly are you trying to do?
In his view, the so-called Papiyas were Shibai, and the so-called world-honored one was also Shibai.
"With a mere wave of his arm, this demon could summon great storms. With a roar, he could unleash powerful lightning."
Those were not the powers of some demon king; they were Shinjutsu of the Otsutsuki Clan.
As for the world-honored one's so-called perfected merit, entry into nirvana, abandonment of the mortal body, translated plainly, it was none other than the Godhood pursued by the Otsutsuki Clan.
Abandoning the flesh and ascending to a higher dimension, yet the monk still could not understand the purpose behind Shibai's self-directed performance all those years ago.
Was it merely to toy with these natives?
For many years, he had searched throughout the Shinobi World for traces of Shibai.
His injuries had been too severe, and not only had he lost half his body, but even the data within the karma inside him had been largely destroyed.
Now, he could only cling to life within this body while trying to find Shibai.
Only something belonging to Shibai could allow the karma within him to complete its evolution and free him from his otherwise certain death.
After all, karma had been created by Shibai.
And Shibai had once been the member of the Otsutsuki Clan closest to Godhood. Or perhaps one who had already achieved it, yet after all these years, he had still found nothing.
Only occasionally, within fragmented ancient scriptures and seemingly absurd religious myths and legends, had he managed to uncover tiny traces of information regarding Shibai.
At this point, he was almost completely convinced.
Papiyas was Shibai, and the so-called world-honored one was also Shibai.
Otherwise, could this primitive native planet, with its crude power system, really have produced someone thousands of years ago capable of suppressing Shibai, who was on the verge of becoming a God or had already become one?
The monk glanced at the ruined Buddha statue standing in the center of the stone temple and sneered inwardly, then he withdrew his gaze and stepped out of the temple.
By now, night had fully fallen.
A solitary moon hung high in the center of the sky.
Its cold light spread across the endless sea of sand, turning the entire desert into a boundless silver-white world. His gaze lingered on the moon for a brief moment.
Then he took a deep breath, as though forcibly suppressing the icy killing intent that was on the verge of bursting from his chest.
When he finally exhaled, the monk had returned to his former indifference.
He no longer looked at the moon, nor did he look back; he simply continued walking into the endless wind and sand.
...
Time passed quickly, and in the blink of an eye, more than twenty days had gone by. The season had quietly stepped into August.
During these twenty-plus days, the Village Hidden in the Mist's offensive had noticeably calmed down.
To be precise, it could hardly even be called an offensive attack.
They merely sent out a few squads from time to time to stroll along the coastline, casually throw a few Ninjutsu toward the distance, leave several insignificant craters on the beach, then turn around and head back.
Their attitude was so perfunctory that it was hard to tell whether they had come to attack, scout, or simply clock in because they had been ordered to.
It carried a feeling of, as long as we throw a few Ninjutsu into the sky, we've fulfilled our duty to the Mizukage and the Daimyo.
Compared to launching an offensive, the Village Hidden in the Mist side was now more worried that Konoha would seize the opportunity to launch an amphibious invasion of the Land of Waves and uproot the forward base they had spent months establishing, yet what made them both uneasy and irritated was that Konoha had absolutely no intention of doing so.
When the Village Hidden in the Mist sent squads to stroll along the coast, Konoha's patrols simply watched from afar onshore.