I, Uchiha, will not be whitewashed!

The months-long chaos resulted in too many deaths.

The five major powers gradually calmed down, not because they didn't want to fight anymore, but because they were too exhausted to fight.

Sunagakure was the first to give way—the truth behind the Kazekage's disappearance hadn't been uncovered yet, and their forces had already lost nearly 30%. If the fighting continued, they wouldn't be able to defend their own village, let alone seize resources.

Although Iwagakure killed the Third Raikage, it was a victory achieved at the cost of human lives. Their elite demolition unit suffered heavy losses, and the list of Jonin killed was longer than that of the previous two Shinobi World Wars combined.

With the death of the Raikage in Kumogakure, the newly appointed Fourth Hokage needs to stabilize the internal situation first and has no time to fight externally.

Wuyin was just coasting along from beginning to end, and when the situation turned against them, they retreated faster than anyone else.

What about Konoha?

Konoha was initially besieged by the four great nations, facing defeat on all sides and suffering heavy losses to the point that even the children from the Ninja Academy were sent to the battlefield.

But now, the other four families are struggling to breathe, while Konoha is the most stable.

It wasn't because Konoha was stronger, but because Konoha had no way out from the start. If they retreated, the village would be gone. So they could only grit their teeth and stand their ground, only to find that the other side had already surrendered.

The war transformed from a period of high morale into a war of attrition and a protracted struggle.

No one was willing to back down first, and no one had the strength to charge forward again.

The battle line was stuck there, like a bleeding wound—not fatal, but painful.

-

In Konoha's camp, a new saying emerged.

"Have you heard? Two little devils have appeared at the front lines."

Which front line?

"Both of them. The one from the Iwagakure front is called 'Blade,' from the Uchiha clan; his sword is so fast you can't see it. The one from the Kumogakure front is White Fang's son; he knows the Lightning Blade technique and once killed three Kumogakure Jonin with a single strike."

"Two little devils?"

"Two brats. One's seven, and the other's also seven. Konoha's about to produce two monsters."

Someone gave it a name: "Konoha Twin Blades".

One sword is on the Iwagakure front, and the other sword is on the Kumogakure front.

Two swords, two battlefronts, striking fear into the hearts of the enemy. The name of Blade spread throughout the front lines, and the name alongside his was Kakashi Hatake.

Shuoge was wiping his knife when he heard this.

After the messenger left, he paused for a moment while wiping the knife, then continued wiping.

Kakashi, the Hidden Cloud Front.

He is alive.

They are doing very well.

They killed so many enemies that they trembled with fear.

pretty good.

-

A stronghold on the front lines of the Hidden Rocks.

A map was laid out on the table, with the location of the Konoha camp, patrol routes, and supply points circled in red.

The group of people gathered around the table were wearing vests of Iwagakure Jonin, their expressions as hard as stone.

"That brat, the one called 'Blade'."

The speaker was named Oiwa, a commander on the front lines of Iwagakure. He had a burn scar on his face that ran from his forehead to his chin, a scar left from his battle with the Third Raikage.

He pointed to a point on the map.

"How many of us did he kill in three months?"

No one answered.

It's not that I don't know, it's that I don't want to say.

A seven-year-old child, in three months, killed dozens of Chunin and three Jonin.

When this number was sent back, no one in the higher-ups at Iwagakure believed it.

Later I believed it, because the people sent to investigate never returned.

"Konoha has produced a genius."

Daiwa's voice was deep. "We've seen geniuses. White Fang was a genius, the Legendary Sannin were geniuses, and the Yellow Flash was a genius. But this one is different."

He paused. "He's too young. Seven years old. He can kill a Jonin at seven. What will he be like in a few years? When he grows up and stands at the forefront of Konoha's forces, what will we use to stop him?"

There was a moment of silence in the tent.

"So," Daiyan looked up, his gaze sweeping across everyone's faces, "we'll uproot him while he's still a seedling."

No one objected.

This kind of meeting has been held many times, and every time there are people who object—not out of kindness, but because they feel it's not worth it.

It's shameful to mobilize elite troops for a mere brat.

But now no one objects.

Because that brat is no longer "a brat".

He is the blade of Konoha, the nightmare of Iwagakure, a towering tree that is growing wildly and will eventually block out the entire sky. Before he grows up, before he is just a sapling—cut him down.

"Here's the plan."

Daiyan drew a line on the map with his finger.

"Intelligence indicates that his squad will be carrying out a supply line escort mission in three days. The route goes from here to here, passing through this canyon. The canyon is flanked by high ground, with only a narrow path in the middle. We'll set up an ambush here."

He looked up. "This time, not alive. Just the bodies."

three days later.

canyon.

Shuoge walked behind Zhonglin, his knife behind his back, his hands at his sides. The cliffs on both sides of the canyon were very high, squeezing the sky into a narrow slit. The wind rushed in from the canyon entrance, howling like someone was crying.

He stopped in his tracks.

Zhonglin stopped too. He didn't turn around, just stood there like a stone. Xiazi's hand had already reached for her ninja tool pouch, and the Iron Horse's kunai slid out of her sleeve and was held in her palm.

"Come out." Zhonglin's voice was very calm.

A dozen or so people stood up on the cliffs on both sides of the canyon.

Iwagakure's headband and khaki vest.

Jonin, all of them are Jonin.

The leader stood at the highest point, looking down at the four small figures in the canyon. He saw the child—seven years old, carrying a knife longer than himself, standing at the back of the group, his face expressionless.

Daiyan's pupils contracted slightly.

Seeing something in a photo and seeing it face-to-face are two different things.

The photo shows just a child standing face to face, but what he feels is something else entirely—not murderous intent, not oppression, but something quieter, deeper, that sends chills down his spine.

"Blade." Great Rock's voice descended from above, echoing through the canyon. "You killed many of us."

Shuoge looked up at him. The wind from the canyon blew his hair back. He didn't speak, but just looked at the man, at the dozen or so people, at the vulture-like gazes falling from above.

Daiyan raised his hand.

"kill."

A dozen or so people jumped down from the cliff. Kunai, shuriken, and explosive tags rained down like a storm.

Zhonglin drew his sword. Xiazi's kunai flew out. Tie Ma's figure disappeared from his original spot and reappeared on the rock wall to the left.

Shuoge did not move.

He stood there, the knife still in its sheath, his hand still at his side.

The wind howled as it rushed in from the mouth of the canyon. He looked up at the figures falling from the heights, at the blades gleaming in the sunlight, at those who wanted him dead.

Three months. He killed many people, and many people wanted to kill him.

But this time is different.

This time, they came specifically to find him.

They weren't just passing by, nor were they just bumping into each other; they came specifically to kill him.

He gripped the hilt of the knife. The sound of the blade being drawn echoed through the canyon, light and crisp, like the sound of bones breaking.

His eyes have changed.

The two-tomoe Sharingan slowly rotated in the shadows of the canyon, like two burning black suns.

Daiyan saw it.

His heart skipped a beat—not out of fear, but out of some primal, ingrained instinct.

Uchiha. Sharingan.

That bloodline that made the entire ninja world tremble during the First Shinobi World War. He took a deep breath, suppressing the chill that rose up his spine, raised his hand, and then lowered it.

"Kill him."

"At all costs!!!"

-

Da Yan's hand fell down.

A dozen figures swooped down from the cliff, kunai and shuriken gleaming coldly in the shadows of the canyon, like a flock of vultures swooping down. (Shuo)

Go's Sharingan spun, two tomoe, not fast enough, but sufficient.

He saw the trajectory of each kunai, the landing point of each Iwa ninja, and the gaps between them—like a net, densely packed, but always with holes.

His knife slid out of its sheath without making a sound.

The first kunai flew past his ear. He turned his head and slashed upwards with his sword, slicing off the first Iwa ninja's kunai along with his wrist.

Blood spurted out, the man screamed, and fell from mid-air.

Shuoge didn't look at him. He pushed off with his feet and shot out like an arrow. His blade slashed horizontally, leaving a red line on the throat of the second Iwa ninja. He was already dead when he landed.

"Scatter! Don't let him get close!" someone shouted.

But the canyon was too narrow.

So narrow that Shuoge's knife could reach everyone.

His figure darted among the Iwa ninja, as fast as a cat and as agile as a snake.

A flash of light, and a person fell.

In another flash, another person fell. His two-tomoe Sharingan captured every movement and predicted every trajectory; his body was faster than his mind, and his sword was faster than his body.

But there were too many people.

Zhonglin was entangled by three Jonin. His sword was already dulled, and he had a wound on his side. Blood soaked through his clothes.

Xia Zi stood in front of Tie Ma, using her kunai to block a Jonin's sword, but was knocked back three steps, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Tie Ma knelt on the ground, a kunai stuck in his leg, unable to be pulled out.

"Walk!"

Zhong Lin shouted.

He forced back the Iwa ninja in front of him with a single slash, then turned to rush forward, but another Jonin pounced from the side and stabbed him in the shoulder.

Zhonglin grunted, then swung his knife backhand and sliced ​​off the man's ear, blood splattering on his face.

Shuoge saw it.

His knife moved even faster, so fast that his own blood began to boil.

The third, the fourth, the fifth—his blade sliced ​​across the neck of an Iwa ninja, who fell with his eyes still open.

But there's more.

Oiwa stood on high ground, looking down at the massacre, his face expressionless.

He brought twelve Jonin, and now four are dead and two are wounded. That brat killed three. In three months, a seven-year-old child killed six of his Jonin.

He raised his hand, ready to strike again—

"Captain!" Tie Ma's voice came from behind.

Shuoge turned around.

Iron Horse stood there, holding an explosive tag in his hand, his face covered in blood, tears, and laughter.

He looked at Shuoge, his lips moved as if to say something, but the wind in the canyon was too strong to hear clearly.

Then he rushed out. Not towards Shuoge, but towards the enemy. Towards the place with the most people, towards the thickest encirclement, towards a dead end.

"Iron Horse—!" Xia Zi's voice ripped out.

Iron Horse didn't look back. His leg was bleeding, and he ran with a limp, but he ran very fast. By the time he charged into the middle of the Iwa ninja, several of them hadn't even reacted yet.

The detonator exploded.

boom--!!!

Flames exploded in the canyon, sending rocks flying and dust billowing everywhere.

The blast wave sent Shuoge flying, his back slamming against the rock wall, the pain making his vision go black.

His ears were ringing, and he couldn't hear anything. All he could see were the scattered figures in the firelight, those blown to pieces, charred, and unable to stand up again.

The iron horse is gone.

Shuoge lay on the ground, supporting himself with his hands on the rubble, trying to stand up.

His hands were trembling, not from fear, but because—he didn't know what it was.

He looked at the still-burning ground; there was nothing left there.

No iron horse, no kunai, no scar on his finger from when he turned the kunai. Nothing left. Iron horse. His dream was to be a carpenter. He had an elderly mother. He stopped turning kunai. He woke up. He said, "That's just how the world is."

Xia Zi burst out of the dust, grabbed Shuo Ge by the collar, and dragged him outside.

"Go! Go quickly!"

Shuoge was being dragged along by her, his feet leaving two furrows in the ground. He glanced back—Zhonglin was still behind them.

Zhong Lin stood in the middle of the canyon, knife in his hand, his whole body covered in blood.

He looked at Shuoge, his lips moving slightly. "Go." Then he turned to face the Iwa ninja rising from the dust. One man, one sword, one narrow path.

"Nakabayashi—!" Natsuko's voice was crying.

Zhonglin did not turn back.

He raised his sword like a flag. The Iwa ninja rushed forward, and he cut down one, two, three. Then more surged forward, and stronger Jonin overwhelmed him.

Like a tide that submerges a reef. The reef crumbles, but the tide also slows down.

Xia Zi dragged Shuo Ge out of the canyon.

Another explosion sounded behind me, this time even more muffled, like a mountain collapsing.

Shuoge knew that it wasn't an explosive tag.

That was Zhonglin's chakra. He destroyed the last of his things. The road was cut off. Rocks rolled down the cliff, blocking the canyon entrance. The Iwa ninja were blocked behind and couldn't catch up for the time being.

Xia Zi threw Shuo Ge to the ground and fell down herself. She lay on the ground, panting heavily, her face covered in ash and blood, indistinguishable from whose. She cried, silently, tears streaming down her dirty face, leaving two white streaks.

Shuoge knelt on the ground, looking at the pile of rubble.

Iron Horse is dead.

Zhonglin also died.

The canyon was blocked; they couldn't get through. He was still alive. He was alive. He should be happy. He should be grateful. He should— His fist slammed into the rubble, breaking his skin and drawing blood, but it didn't hurt.

"It shouldn't be like this." His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

Natsuko looked at him.

"I practiced every day. Under the waterfall, under the moonlight, on the river. Thousands of times, tens of thousands of times. I awakened the Sharingan, I learned ninjutsu, I killed so many people—"

His voice trembled, a tremor that was heard for the first time on the battlefield.

"I shouldn't be chased around like a dog."

Xia Zi did not speak.

She looked at him, at the seven-year-old boy kneeling in front of the rubble, his fists pounding on the stones, blood seeping from between his fingers.

She had seen many people break down—a recruit would break down when he killed someone for the first time, a veteran would break down when he watched his comrade die, and a captain would break down when his mission failed.

But she had never seen such a breakdown. Not crying, not screaming, not trembling.

It's anger.

That kind of anger that had been suppressed for a very long time, and finally could not be suppressed anymore.