He walked into the intelligence room, lit the oil lamp, and began flipping through the latest intelligence scrolls. These were the ones he hadn't had time to read two days ago.
He had been tracking Sasori for the past two days and hadn't had the chance.
He casually picked one up and unfurled it.
Then his movements stopped.
It was intelligence from the border. From three days ago.
"Konoha officially declared war on Kumogakure three days ago. Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Itachi, and Minato Namikaze led teams and captured five cities in succession along the Kumogakure border. Kumogakure lost seventeen Jonin and countless others below the rank of Chunin."
Nobunaga was stunned. He quickly picked up the second one.
"Kumogakure and Iwagakure have reached an emergency ceasefire. The two countries met at the border and reached a temporary alliance agreement to jointly defend against Konoha's offensive."
The third one: "The Sannin—Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Tsunade—have already set out for the Iwagakure front. They are expected to arrive within three days."
The fourth one: "The Hidden Mist Village continues to maintain its isolationist state. The Yondaime Mizukage has not made any response to Konoha's movements."
The fifth one: "Konoha's White Fang, Sakumo Hatake, has appeared at the Land of Wind border, guarding the direction of Kikyo Pass alone. Sunagakure's border troops have entered the highest state of alert."
Nobunaga slowly put down those scrolls.
He stood there, looking at the night sky outside the window. The moonlight shone in, falling on his face.
"The Konoha of this world is a bit too strong to have any friends."
Konoha had made its move.
It wasn't the passive defense of the main world, but an active offensive.
And in an instant, it had pressured the two great nations of Kumogakure and Iwagakure so much they could barely breathe, forcing the two mortal enemies to set aside their hatred and join forces for self-preservation.
This parallel timeline was also different from the main world.
After the Second Ninja World War, the Third Ninja World War did not start quickly. Konoha, which possessed the most abundant resources, had recuperated for over a decade and had already become exceptionally powerful.
The Sannin and the White Fang were still at their peak.
Minato Namikaze had already grown up.
Even Uchiha Itachi and Uchiha Shisui were born early, and their Mangekyo Sharingan had already begun to show their prominence.
Today's Konoha, even without the Jinchuriki, already possessed eight powerhouses at or above the Kage-level.
Every one of these people was an existence capable of changing the course of a battle.
And now, Konoha's White Fang was guarding the Sunagakure border.
One person, one short blade, waiting for them.
Nobunaga closed his eyes. He thought of those numbers, the exhaustion in the Sandaime's eyes, and this Village that was about to be pushed to its limits.
He began to think about this problem from the perspective of a Kage.
Finally, he thought of Sasori.
A genius puppeteer, eighteen years old, with no light in his eyes.
He was strong. Truly strong.
What if he could stay and help?
"But how to persuade Sasori?"
Nobunaga looked at the moon outside the window.
Sasori's parents died in the Second Ninja World War, at the hands of Konoha's White Fang.
Sasori's grandmother, Chiyo, that wrinkled old lady, would fall silent for a long time every time her son and daughter-in-law were mentioned.
The current Sasori was an eighteen-year-old youth. He felt that only eternal things were worth pursuing, so he turned living people into puppets.
Because he had already lost too much, he was afraid of losing.
Thinking of this, Nobunaga turned and walked out of the intelligence room.
The night wind howled, and sand pelted his face.
He strode toward the north of the Village, toward that abandoned mining area.
The plan had changed; it wasn't to kill.
The next night, the abandoned mining area.
The moonlight shone on those abandoned tunnels, lighting the jagged rocks into a ghastly white color.
The wind poured into the cave mouth, making a wailing sound like countless spirits crying.
Sasori stood deep inside a cave, surrounded by scattered puppet parts—some made of wood, some of metal, and some of bone.
Those bones had been meticulously polished, gleaming faintly under the moonlight.
Three blank scrolls were placed before him, specially prepared to hold his most important collections.
He took a scroll from his robes and unfurled it.
On it were dense rows of names, all the "materials" he had collected over the years.
His finger slid across those names and stopped at the last line.
Temari. Kankuro. Gaara.
"Soon," he muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the empty cave, "just a few more days of preparation..."
"No need to prepare anymore."
A voice came from the cave entrance.
Sasori turned around abruptly.
The moonlight shone in, illuminating the person at the cave entrance.
Nobunaga stood there, wearing an Anbu uniform with a Kunai hanging at his waist, holding no weapons in his hands.
The moonlight cast his shadow on the ground, stretching it long.
Sasori narrowed his eyes.
"It's you."
Nobunaga didn't speak; he took a step forward, his footsteps echoing in the cave.
Sasori took a step back. "How did you find this place?"
Nobunaga didn't answer and took another step forward.
Sasori's fingers twitched.
In the corner, two puppets stood up, blocking the way in front of him.
They were made from the corpses of Jonin, retaining most of their abilities from when they were alive.
"Do you know what kind of place this is?"
Sasori said, a hint of dangerous amusement in his voice:
"Here is my workshop. I've made dozens of puppets here. You only have the strength of a Jonin; do you think you can leave here alive?"
Nobunaga stopped walking. He looked at Sasori, his eyes deep. "Little boy, it's very impolite to not let someone finish speaking."
"Let me see your strength," Sasori said suddenly. "If you can win against me, I'll listen to what you have to say."
Nobunaga looked at him and nodded.
With a flick of Sasori's fingers, the two puppets lunged forward simultaneously!
Then he saw those eyes.
A crimson background, with Three-Tomoe spinning in the moonlight, instantly connecting into the shape of a pinwheel.
The world went still.
Sasori found himself standing in a warm light.
It wasn't the workshop he was familiar with, nor those scattered puppet parts, but a small room.
Sunlight shone through the window, falling on the wooden tables and chairs.
A red-haired woman had her back to him, cooking; the miso soup in the pot was steaming.
A man walked in from outside, still carrying the dust of travel, but with a smile on his face.
"Sasori," the man spoke, his voice gentle, "were you a good boy at home today?"
Sasori was stunned. That was his father. That was a face that only existed in his blurred memories.
The woman turned around, her hands still stained with flour. She looked at Sasori and smiled.
"Come here, Mommy will make rice balls for you."
Sasori wanted to open his mouth, wanted to speak, but his throat felt as if it were blocked by something.
How many years had it been since he last heard this voice?
How many years had it been since he last thought of this scene?
He took a step forward. Then another.
Then he saw the woman's face clearly. It was exactly the same as in his memory. Those eyes, that smile, that hand reaching out to him—
All the warmth was withdrawn in an instant.
He stood under a blood-red sky.
His father lay slumped in front of him, the sword wound on his back still bleeding.
His mother knelt beside him, cradling his father's body, then looked up and stared at him.
"Live on," she said.
The image shattered.
Sasori snapped his eyes open, finding himself kneeling on the cave floor, hands propped against the ground, gasping for breath.
Cold sweat dripped down his cheeks, soaking dark marks into the ground.
He looked up at Nobunaga.
Those eyes had returned to their normal black, quietly watching him. Those eyes were very deep.
Very still. As if they had seen everything, understood everything.
Sasori slowly stood up. His hand was still trembling slightly.