Chapter 104: Conversation in the Ruins
Uzushiogakure, once a powerful ally of Konoha in the Land of Fire, was once considered the safest ninja village in the world.
The Uzumaki clan possessed extraordinary vitality and regeneration, their chakra far surpassing that of most other shinobi. They also mastered the strongest sealing techniques in existence, passed down through an exclusive and intricate system of inheritance.
To many, the Uzumaki were once a sacred people. The symbol of their clan was proudly engraved upon Konoha's flak jackets, marking an unbroken alliance of blood and friendship. Yet, one day, Uzushiogakure was annihilated. Without Konoha's timely response, the once-prosperous village was destroyed, its people scattered across the lands.
The surviving Uzumaki acted strangely afterward—they chose not to return to Konoha, their supposed blood ally. Instead, they wandered the ninja world, traveling far from the Land of Fire to distant nations and minor villages. The exact reason behind this behavior, and the identity of the force capable of wiping out the Land of Whirlpools overnight, remains shrouded in uncertainty.
Some speculate that Kirigakure was responsible, but the Mist had little reason to strike. Though they had long coveted Konoha's might, they were too isolated by the seas to risk direct conflict.
Others blamed Kumogakure, yet the Cloud Village was already engaged in wars with both Iwagakure and Konoha at the time. They simply lacked the resources to mount such an attack.
The same could be said of every other major village—none had the time or means to strike.
And so, a more sinister theory emerged. Some whispered that Konoha itself orchestrated the destruction of Uzushiogakure during the chaos of the Fourth Shinobi World War. The reason, they claimed, was to prevent the Uzumaki sealing arts from ever appearing outside Konoha's control.
Techniques such as the Adamantine Sealing Chains and the Tailed Beast Sealing Method were the foundation of power upon which the great villages stood. If smaller nations were to acquire such power, the balance of the world could collapse. And thus, under the silent approval of the major powers, Uzushiogakure was erased in a single night. Its secrets vanished, its survivors scattered across the world—harmless, broken remnants of a once-mighty clan.
But now, white-clad figures moved among the ruins of that fallen village.
They worked tirelessly, restoring fragments of old structures, studying what remained of the ancient texts, and slipping in and out of shadows as though another city existed beneath them.
On a high ridge, two men stood side by side, watching as a lone figure vanished into the sunset. Their faces bore faint smiles—warm, almost nostalgic—until the last rays faded and the ruins were swallowed by dusk.
"Aren't you even a little curious about what Orochimaru is doing in the ruins of Uzushiogakure?"
"I'm not particularly interested in what my partner does," Aizen replied calmly, his gaze fixed on the glowing seals spreading through the darkness below. "I only hope he sees it through to the end."
Down in the ruins, complex arrays shimmered faintly in the night, connecting fragments of light that glowed like distant stars.
Aizen stood with his hands tucked inside his robes, serene and composed. His attire had changed—an outward reflection of his new identity. He always approached such things with an almost ritualistic precision. Influenced by the modern soul within him, he often found himself unconsciously recreating moments reminiscent of great scenes from memory.
They were harmless indulgences—small reminders that he was still human, capable of vanity and sentiment. If even that sense of ritual faded, if he became nothing more than a shadow chasing an endless ideal, then his existence would lose all meaning.
Aizen sought truth not for power, but to live—to experience the act of seeking itself. He found joy not in the destination, but in the pursuit.
And that was why he could tolerate, even justify, actions the world would call madness.
Yet Aizen knew he had done nothing wrong. Where hope existed, he refused to extinguish it.
Standing beside him, Tobirama folded his arms, his sharp eyes following Orochimaru's fading figure. His voice carried a trace of disapproval.
"Do you have to be so heartless?"
"Heartless?" Aizen's lips curved faintly. "I think I've been kind enough."
Turning around, Aizen began walking down the mountain. Beneath the scattered shadows of the forest canopy, his calm voice echoed faintly.
"It's a simple question, Tobirama. What do you think truly drives people forward in this world?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
"Is it love? No. Love is a protective force. When one loves someone, that love becomes a reason to stop moving forward. Once the environment becomes stable, love stagnates. In that sense, love has no real power to propel progress. No matter how noble or selfless, love eventually circles back to the self—it is born of self-preservation."
He paused, stepping over a shallow stream as the sunlight broke through the canopy.
"What truly drives people forward has never been love. It is hatred, anger, greed, lust—negative emotions. These are the highest sources of human motivation. The oldest and most sincere human emotion is hatred. The first god humanity ever imagined, once emotion was born, was not love—but vengeance. Only through negative emotions do people evolve. Only they can push humanity endlessly forward."
Tobirama nodded slightly. "A rather extreme theory," he said quietly, "but so far, no evidence contradicts it."
The two walked side by side through the forest, their expressions calm yet thoughtful. Both men were researchers at heart—seekers of truth above all else. They shared a rare understanding: all theories remain hypotheses until the real truth emerges.
Humanity, they knew, was like a group of blind men feeling their way around an elephant—searching for fragments of truth and trying to recreate them through crude imitation. Their methods, though incomplete, were the only tools available. Whether they represented true reality or mere shadows of it was impossible to tell; they could only act according to what worked for now.
"So," Tobirama continued, "by that logic, if someone built a theory on love, and you were taken away by an unseen force, appearing only in a fixed form, how would they react?"
"They would become angry," Aizen replied. "Restless. Instead of addressing the whole, they would focus only on a single point—the loss itself. Since the act of me being taken away relates to space, their research would naturally turn toward space-time phenomena."
"I see," Tobirama said, eyes narrowing. "So that's why you chose to become the perfect embodiment of hatred—to give them a reason to investigate further. To betray them so that they would seek answers."
"It's not that I'm some kind of martyr," Aizen said softly, a faint smile curving his lips. "But sometimes you must do the right thing at the right moment. Konoha's existence is necessary—it concerns both my research and my partner's stability of mind."
He looked down the forest trail, now cleared and well maintained, and exhaled a quiet sigh.
"Besides, the current state of Konoha—and of the other villages—is ideal for us. With subtle adjustments and quiet guidance, the cost of trial and error has been drastically reduced. We no longer need to develop everything from scratch or hand over our findings for others to refine. The world's overall rate of progress has accelerated. That, at least, is worth appreciating."
Tobirama nodded in agreement.
"In that," he said, "our goals align."
Walking beside the man most considered a traitor, Tobirama couldn't help but feel a strange sense of optimism.
Once it became clear that something was fundamentally wrong with the world's chakra, his stance naturally shifted closer to Aizen's. Whether for Konoha's sake or for something beyond it, their shared purpose was clear. The true conflict lay deeper—in the unseen currents shaping the shinobi world.
Unfortunately, neither of them yet knew the source of that influence. They couldn't even determine whether the Five Great Nations themselves bore hidden seals or markers. All they could do was guide each village's advancement indirectly while secretly continuing their investigation.
Their efforts had yielded at least one major insight: a portion of the corrupted chakra disrupting the world was connected to Uchiha Madara himself.
The interference from the Moon Dream, and the signals emanating from Black Zetsu, glimmered to Aizen like faint stars against an infinite night.
But the intelligence was incomplete. For now, caution was their only path forward.
"So, no trace of Madara yet?" Tobirama asked.
"None," Aizen replied. "If we move too soon, we'll alert him. Since he still clings to life, patience will serve us better."
"I see... They're manipulating the chakra of both my brother and Madara. If we miss this chance, it might take another decade before the pattern repeats."
"Perhaps," Aizen said, his tone steady. "But time is an ally. The reincarnation cycle of the tailed beasts is long, and so is theirs. I've left certain contingencies in Konoha. If Madara wants to survive, he'll have no choice but to follow the path we've set for him."
He smiled faintly, almost to himself.
"I only hope the Uchiha won't disappoint me."
Out of habit, Aizen reached to adjust his glasses—but his fingers met empty air.
He stared briefly at his hand, then smiled softly and lowered it.
Together, he and Tobirama continued down the shadowed path. The forest ahead was deep and silent, filled with the murmurs of unseen life.
They still had much to do. This was no time to linger on the past.
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