When Seiran heard that Minato had been sent to the Kannabi Bridge, he went very still.
Was this the timeline correcting itself, or was fate playing its hand?
The Kannabi Bridge battle was the true genesis of Naruto's story. Almost every alliance and enmity in the shinobi world for the next decade would trace back to that moment. Seiran had never interacted deeply with Obito before, but that didn't mean he could afford to be careless. If anything, he remained wary of the shadow that would one day rule the ninja world.
Part of why he'd created the shadow clone was precisely for this eventuality. Across the distance, his clone continued its surveillance. Madara's underground base remained expertly hidden, though Seiran had narrowed the search radius considerably. He couldn't predict whether Obito would still fall to darkness with Kakashi's altered trajectory—but he was ready. If Madara moved, the clone would detect it. After that, he could adapt.
Seiran's eyes gleamed with cold calculation.
The Third Shinobi World War was merely his launching point. His true ambitions stretched far beyond the battlefield, into a future he had already begun shaping. There was still so much to accomplish.
Days bled into one another.
The Iwa forces had grown cautious, limiting themselves to sporadic raids. Their main camps retreated incrementally, as if they anticipated Seiran's strategies before he deployed them. Their sensor squads maintained constant vigilance, spread thin across the entire perimeter.
The Konoha camp settled into an eerie quiet—too quiet. It hardly felt like a war at all.
"We're overdue for a decisive engagement," Jiraiya muttered, staring out from the command tent at the cloudless sky. His weathered face creased with concern. This silence was suffocating. The enemy's methodical retreat suggested calculation, not panic.
Whatever Iwagakure was planning, it had purpose.
Jiraiya couldn't pierce their intentions, but he took what he could—rest for the troops. Konoha's losses from the recent skirmishes were negligible, and morale had recovered. Minato's team should reach the Kannabi Bridge any day now.
Konoha's forces remained scattered across multiple sectors, each stretched thin. Besides Sunagakure, which had already capitulated, the remaining four villages still hammered at Konoha's lines. Iwagakure dominated the main theater numerically, yet Seiran's relentless strikes had visibly fractured their discipline. But fractured morale wasn't surrender—especially not for Iwagakure.
The Hidden Stone Village was notoriously unyielding. Their leader, the Third Tsuchikage Ōnoki, possessed a will as immovable as granite. Breaking that will would take more than casualties—it might require his death.
If Minato destroyed their supply lines, though... that could tip the scales. Complete devastation might finally force capitulation.
The oppressive atmosphere infected the entire camp. Even genin recruits sensed the wrongness in the prolonged quiet.
"It's gotten too calm lately," Rin said, her voice tight with unease. Her three crimson tomoe rotated slowly in her Sharingan.
"The decisive battle is coming," Seiran replied, his tone grave. He didn't know what Iwa was plotting, but he knew the next clash would be catastrophic. "Probably soon."
Two individuals wouldn't concern him. The Third Tsuchikage was different. Ōnoki commanded an ability—molecular disintegration, a technique Seiran theorized only a master of Electromagnetic Manipulation at Level Five could replicate. On the battlefield, that power would be absolutely lethal. One strike. Game over.
"When fighting starts," Seiran said carefully, glancing at Rin, "stay behind me. Your safety—"
"Don't be ridiculous." Rin's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm Uchiha. I don't hide."
"You just awakened your three-tomoe form," he began.
"Exactly," she cut in sharply, her chin lifting. "I can hold my own against any standard jonin. I'm not defenseless."
Seiran exhaled, recognizing the futility of argument. Rin's pride wouldn't allow retreat—typical Uchiha stubbornness. And her three-tomoe Sharingan at thirteen was genuinely exceptional. In his memory, only Minato and young Itachi could claim similar feats. War had honed her abilities in the crucible of combat.
But it wasn't enough. Seiran had seen war's true teeth. Without a Mangekyō Sharingan, she was vulnerable.
Since she wouldn't accept his protection, he would simply provide it silently.
Two more days crawled past.
Jiraiya was convening the senior staff to coordinate a general offensive when a scout burst through the tent flap, face ashen.
"Lord Jiraiya! Iwa is attacking! Large-scale mobilization!"
The Sannin's eyes turned to ice. "They finally moved."
"How many?" His voice was clipped.
The scout's hands trembled. "Eight thousand. Possibly more."
Jiraiya absorbed the number like a physical blow. Konoha had committed roughly five thousand shinobi to this theater. Iwa had deployed over six thousand initially. After attrition, he'd estimated four thousand combatants remained in their camp.
Eight thousand meant Ōnoki had recalled at least three thousand from village reserves. Was the man insane? Didn't he fear Kumogakure would capitalize on the vulnerability?
The ancient rivalry between Stone and Cloud made such a massive redeployment a catastrophic gamble.
Jiraiya's jaw tightened. No time for strategic puzzles now.
He rose to his feet, gaze sweeping across the tent canvas toward the sprawling encampment beyond.
"Sound the alert," he commanded, his voice dropping into the register of absolute authority. "Every shinobi mobilizes. This is it—the final battle."
---