The scorching winds lashed against two ninja clad in layered Sengoku-style armor, the crimson burning sky above them seeming to foretell the coming of a storm.
"Soldiers? Hahaha... How laughable that you'd look down on me so."
Arms folded across his chest, high upon a great tree, Uchiha Madara gazed down arrogantly with his Rinnegan eyes at the small, heavily armored knight who had issued a challenge.
He appeared from within the sea of fire that had consumed the tendrils of Hashirama Senju's 'Advent of a World of Flowering Trees' technique.
The figure wore a closed helmet with two horn-like protrusions resembling those of a demon. The white suit of armor, adorned with red and black fae runic patterns, exuded a level of craftsmanship far beyond anything seen in the Warring States era of the ninja world.
In her hands was a magnificent greatsword, gleaming with brilliance surpassing any silver weapon Madara had ever seen.
That heavy knightly armament was completely alien to the world of shinobi.
Madara instantly concluded that this being was not of the ninja world.
From one leaf, he could foresee autumn.
In the shinobi world, even among unique groups like the Sky Ninja Village, the toads of Mount Myōboku, the white snakes of Ryūchi Cave, and the slugs of Shikkotsu Forest, their distinctive traditions still shared common roots.
The newcomer before him clearly wasn't the same entity he had once glimpsed through the stirring of his soul and the faint residue of a special chakra. That cosmic god had not arrived. Good... Madara quietly exhaled in relief.
Of course, outwardly, the battlefield's rose—the Asura of the shinobi world—never allowed himself to show weakness or retreat.
"Then what are you? A soldier, a general, or a king? I am Uchiha Madara. Intruder—state your name!"
Madara's lips curled into a feral grin. He let out a wild, beastlike laugh, leaping forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. One hand wielded his flaming gunbai, the other gripped a long scythe. In midair, his hands interchanged, forming seals in an instant.
"Fire Style: Dragon Flame Song Technique!"
"Naturally... a general!"
From behind that demonic helmet, a crisp, feminine voice rang out—utterly at odds with her hellish appearance, her words cutting through the roar of flames.
Zzzzt... Boom—!
As the earth shattered beneath her armored boots, crimson lightning burst forth. Instead of retreating, the petite knight charged forward, arcs of red thunder leaping from her armor as she struck directly at the roaring fire dragon.
Boom!
The shockwave from the collision pierced through the flaming dragon in an instant. As a mushroom-shaped blast wave soared tens of meters into the air, Madara—mid-charge—froze in astonishment.
A radiant sword, luminous as divine thunder and crossing a kilometer in a blink, was already aimed straight at him.
Clang!
Metal clashed. A single blow. Only one.
Boom!
The surrounding ground erupted, stones scattering as the overwhelming power of the impact produced a shrieking, ear-splitting roar. An invisible shockwave laden with collapsing magical particles spread violently in all directions.
"Impressive... you're worthy of my name! Listen well, Uchiha Madara!"
Clang clang clang—
The greatsword and flaming gunbai scraped against each other, sparks flying wildly, the screech of metal echoing across the battlefield.
"Before you stands Mordred—last seat of the Sacred Selene Empire's Knights of the Round Table, and the first successor to King Arthur, future lord of a fief to be!"
Boom, boom, boom...
One slash after another—Mordred swung her ornate sword like a cleaver, hacking relentlessly while shouting with fervor, her voice brimming with excitement, devoid of any knightly grace as she smashed again and again against Madara's gunbai.
Though she had long reconciled with her father, Mordred still clung to her identity as heir—not with the same obsession as before, but the title remained hers. Now that her father no longer held the throne and the new realm of Camelot was still being carved from the chaos, that didn't stop her from calling herself the rightful successor.
After all, every one of the revived Knights of the Round Table knew she was King Arthur Artoria's blood-born child.
Artoria had no other offspring—so who else but her could claim the inheritance?
And as for the lack of a kingdom to inherit?
Well, that was only temporary. Why else had they come here? To earn it.
Besides, whether it was her father Artoria, Mordred herself, or the other knights of the Round Table, every one of them carried immense pride and ambition.
Since they intended to rebuild Camelot, they would follow the standards of the Sacred Selene Empire's military merit system for bestowing titles and lands—raising the requirements as high as possible.
After all, a kingdom the size of England or Great Britain was far too small.
They needed to amass wealth and military achievements, and once they had enough, they would request a personal "reward" from the Imperial Queen Selene herself—to create, on the spot, a flawless, dreamlike Camelot planetary system as the new domain of the Knight Kingdom!
So, for someone like Uchiha Madara—so proud, so arrogant, his nostrils pointed to the heavens—in Mordred's eyes, wasn't he just a walking military achievement?
"Arrogant, woman. Do you wish to dance as well?"
This reckless, Raikage-like fighting style, coupled with the invader's feverish tone and her look of unshakable confidence, made Madara frown deeply.
His Edo Tensei body feared no physical damage, but Madara was a man of pride. He would not allow just any random opponent to land a hit on him.
He did not immediately use Susanoo—the overwhelming area-of-effect slaughtering technique. Mordred was the vanguard of the extraterritorial invaders, and one could never be too cautious.
Compared to flashy but hollow techniques like Susanoo, the pure use of chakra and ocular power could serve him better in close combat, letting him gather more data before adjusting his tactics accordingly.
Gripping his flaming gunbai tightly, Madara charged toward Mordred.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The two clashed fiercely—white flashes of swordlight laced with crimson thunder intertwined as steel met steel, fan deflected blade, and both combatants moved faster and faster. To an outside observer, their bodies had already vanished, leaving behind only a chain of explosive sonic booms.
"Fire Style: Hiding in Ash and Dust Technique!"
"Wood Style: Wood Dragon Technique!"
"Uchiha Reflection!"
...
While Madara's techniques filled the battlefield, Mordred stood firm, countering each attack with her surging Honkai energy release.
Crack!
Blocking one of Mordred's frontal strikes, Madara angled his flaming gunbai sideways, redirecting her blade.
"Shinra Tensei!"
Bang!
Mordred crossed her crimson lightning-wreathed sword in front of her just as the repulsive force struck. Her armored feet carved deep furrows into the ground—over fifty meters long—before she came to a halt. Szzzt! Szzzt!
Madara's eyes widened in disbelief. This woman had resisted Shinra Tensei's repulsive force head-on—and retaliated immediately?!
Crack crack!
Beneath the shattered armor, her fair skin showed through—streaked with red wounds inconsistent with such monstrous strength. Yet at that moment, Madara felt her gaze meet his.
Beneath that horned helm, there was not a trace of retreat—only defiance, her eyes burning with challenge.
"Your repulsion... is nothing compared to the one I endured in Romania!"
As her helmet fractured and dissolved like disassembling nanoblocks, a mane of wild, lion-like golden hair spilled free. Mordred's face showed no pain—only unrestrained fighting spirit.
Bzzzzt—!
High-pitched thunder and crimson lightning flared continuously along the blade she gripped, spreading like wings of light. Each surge of energy neutralized the repulsive field generated by Madara's Edo Tensei body.
"Clarent Blood Arthur: Rebellion Against My Beautiful Father!"
Rumble—!
Unimaginable Honkai energy converged and compressed upon her sword. In the brief stillness before release, the scarlet lightning condensed—and then the Noble Phantasm erupted forth with a deafening roar.
...
"Madara!"
It all happened in the blink of an eye. The two collided like human-shaped bulldozers, flattening the giant forest into splintered debris. The rocky wasteland beneath crumbled into shattered stone, the thunderous echoes cascading like falling dominoes.
Hashirama Senju was just about to move.
Whoosh—!
The air split apart with a sharp, keening wail. A gleaming white vacuum arrow shot straight toward Hashirama's head. He tilted his head on instinct—his body remembering before his mind—and the arrow whistled past his ear. Yet even so, a strange burning sensation seared across his cheek.
And this was an Edo Tensei body—one without sensation or pain!
"Madara! Their attacks contain an unknown corrosive energy—it can directly affect Edo Tensei bodies!"
Issuing the warning to his old friend, Hashirama flared his chakra, brushing the hair from his forehead. His expression hardened, and a deep blue-black Sage mark spread across his face.
His eyes turned a fierce orange-red, coldly locking onto the direction of the attack.
A man clad in pure white armor, with long red hair and a white fur cloak draped across his shoulders, held a strangely shaped longbow. His presence radiated immense pressure, yet his eyes remained closed as though he were asleep.
He was none other than Tristan, the Sad Knight of the Round Table.
Whizz, whizz, whizz—!
Like anti-aircraft fire, a barrage of blazing vacuum arrows shot forth, spanning several kilometers, forming a dense curtain of projectiles aimed straight at Hashirama Senju's position.
"Wood Style: Barrier Technique!"
Crash—!
From the ground erupted a massive wooden shield carved into the shape of a demonic, fanged visage. The next instant, boom, boom, boom!—already-ruined stone pillars were shattered midair, and exploding arrows reduced the fragments into clouds of dust.
"Wood Style: Grand Sack Technique!"
Boom!
Gigantic wooden hands, larger than mountains and even surpassing tailed beasts in size, burst up from the earth, slamming down toward Tristan, who stood poised upon a distant cliff, loosing arrows without pause.
Yet Tristan remained unmoved, quietly drawing and releasing his bow.
Because—
"This sword is the incarnation of the sun."
"It is the solar flame that burns away all impurity. Receive it—Excalibur Galatine!"
The earth trembled, and the heavens groaned.
A white-hot sun rose upon the land, its violent surge of magical energy generating such pressure that one could almost smell the stench of burning air.
With a clear, sonorous laugh, a handsome knight with golden hair and gleaming white armor stood proudly upon the ground. Behind him shimmered a radiant transport beam. Holding aloft a blazing sword of golden sunlight, he looked every inch the paragon of valor.
Bzzzt...
In the next instant, an unstoppable solar torrent cascaded downward.
Faster than sound could travel, the immense forest kilometers away exploded outward. Only after the roaring Honkai energy and chakra had scorched the land did the ravaged terrain convulse again, its already-scarred surface further fragmented.
All stone, rubble, and timber shattered and were hurled skyward. Dust poured down like waterfalls from the walls of destruction.
Hashirama's pupils constricted. His technique had been overpowered head-on. And that blazing column of light—its path led directly toward the Allied Shinobi Forces headquarters.
Damn it. He could sense countless chakra signatures rushing from the rear. He knew he could not evade.
At that moment, he truly felt the limits of his current strength.
This body could not draw out his full power.
"Summoning: Quintuple Rashōmon!"
With no other choice, Hashirama pressed his palm to the ground. Rumble...
The earth split apart once more, and five monstrous iron gates, as though from hell itself, rose to stand nearly a hundred meters tall—forming a wall between Hashirama and the descending beam of light, blocking its searing brilliance and heat.
Rumble, rumble, rumble—!
"Lord Third! Look—what is that?!"
In that moment, the sun dimmed.
A Konoha shinobi leapt up, eyes wide, as the sky darkened and the horizon glowed.
Waves of heat swept rapidly across the shattered land, burning their skin raw. The deafening roar and the earth-shaking tremors that followed were unlike anything they had endured—even greater than the fiercest battles of the Fourth Shinobi World War.
Every mouth fell open. A creeping terror took hold.
"Can we even intervene in a battle like this?"
...
For dozens of kilometers, the area lay shrouded in swirling dust mixed with ash, turning the world a dim ocher hue. No sound remained—only the suffocating heat and the crunch of crystallized glass and scorched sand beneath their feet.
Whoosh...
A figure stepped forth, violet hair flowing gracefully. His sharply defined features looked as though carved from marble, his azure cloak fluttering as he entered the vast, sunken crater—the once-verdant forest now a desert basin.
It was Lancelot.
"Is it over?"
"No. Something's off. I sense no vitality from him... It's as if we're fighting a corpse with a soul."
Gawain, gripping his solar holy sword, furrowed his brow.
Then—crackle, crackle.
The crystallized sand split open, forming a massive conical crater webbed with cracks that spread outward. With a loud bang, fragments scattered, and from the debris emerged a figure clad in red layered armor.
"A corpse? Or a Heroic Spirit of this world?"
"Rather than a Heroic Spirit, his energy feels... more like that of a vengeful spirit. For instance—similar to Sir Lancelot when he was lost."
"..."
The two knights exchanged words, Gawain's unintentional jab earning a silent glare from Lancelot. Having once died and been reborn as Heroic Spirits, they were long past such petty confusion.
"Your auras are not those of villains. Why have you invaded the shinobi world? If you come as guests, perhaps this is a misunderstanding—we could talk..."
As his Edo Tensei body mended itself, Hashirama regarded the two knights solemnly, his tone earnest and sincere.
"What if we say we have come to conquer? What then, native leader?"
A soft yet commanding voice echoed.
"My King." "Our King."
As the two knights stepped aside and bowed, a graceful figure appeared before the First Hokage.
Long, radiant golden hair. Emerald eyes that sparkled like gemstones. A face so beautiful it made goddesses pale by comparison.
"This is the will of the Divine Empress. Submit... or be destroyed. There is no third choice."
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