"If we end up slaughtering one another here because of past hatred,"
Gaara asked calmly,
"then what difference is there between us… and him, the one who seeks to destroy everything?"
His words fell like heavy drumbeats, striking directly at the hearts of every shinobi present.
All eyes were fixed on the platform—on that Kazekage who looked far too young for the weight he carried—watching the immense strength and unyielding resolve hidden beneath his calm exterior.
This young man, who had clawed his way back from hell itself, used his own life to show them what redemption meant—and that hatred was not something that could not be transcended.
Within the camp of one hundred thousand, not a sound could be heard.
The earlier unrest and hostility were temporarily replaced by something deeper under Gaara's soul-baring question.
The cracks were still there.
But a faint light—called understanding and shared purpose—seemed to pierce through the thick clouds of hatred, if only barely.
In the present shinobi world, countless people fell silent after Gaara's speech.
The Fourth Kazekage, Rasa, wore an iron-dark expression.
Meanwhile, Temari and Kankurō gazed at the transformed figure of their younger brother on the projection, their eyes filled with pride—and pain.
Gaara himself stared blankly at the version of him in the sky, a trace of longing and yearning flickering in his eyes.
Is it really possible… to become like that?
Inside the Kazekage's office.
Rasa watched the composed, commanding son on the projection—one who spoke with conviction and had even earned the acknowledgment of a hundred thousand allied shinobi. His emotions were impossible to untangle.
He confirmed one thing, at least:
he had not died at Gaara's hands.
That realization brought him a measure of relief.
But a far more pressing question immediately followed.
"Then… who exactly killed me?"
He was still in his prime, ambitions unfulfilled, and Sunagakure could not afford to lose him. He was unwilling to accept an unclear, meaningless death.
Rasa stared fixedly at the projection, desperate to find even the slightest clue about his fate.
And he was not alone.
The other Kage—Ōnoki, the Fourth Raikage A, and even the usually inscrutable leaders of Kirigakure—were all grappling with the same enormous doubt.
"Naruto Uzumaki is strong—we can understand needing Sasuke Uchiha and the Five Kage to confront him," they thought.
"But… was it really necessary to assemble a one hundred thousand–strong shinobi alliance?"
"Against a foe of that level, sheer numbers lose meaning. Elite strike units should be the optimal solution."
"So what, exactly, were these one hundred thousand shinobi meant to fight?"
Unable to reach an answer, they could only hold their breath and wait for the projection to reveal more truths about the future battlefield.
Back within the projection—the Allied camp.
Gaara's speech, forged from pain and redemption alike, had achieved tangible results.
It was impossible to erase grudges built up over decades in an instant, but for now, a sense of shared identity—born from a common threat and the instinct to survive—had overwhelmed internal hatred.
For the first time, one hundred thousand shinobi truly regarded themselves as members of a single force:
the Allied Shinobi Forces.
Orders were issued immediately.
Gaara appointed seasoned, powerful jōnin such as Hatake Kakashi, Kurotsuchi's father Kitsuchi, and Darui as division commanders. Each led tens of thousands of shinobi, advancing from different directions toward the designated battlefield to carry out encirclement and surprise attacks.
The shinobi forces acknowledged the orders and dispersed like a raging flood—grand, solemn, and lethal.
Soon, only the Five Kage, Sasuke Uchiha, and a small number of core support personnel remained.
Tsunade gazed at the departing troops, worry she couldn't suppress lingering between her brows. She sighed softly.
"I hope they… can successfully eliminate the White Zetsu forces."
The Fourth Raikage A responded at once, his voice booming with confidence.
"We won't lose! How could the Allied Shinobi Forces possibly lose to a mere army of monsters?!"
"An army of one hundred thousand White Zetsu?!"
The words struck the present shinobi world like thunder.
"So that's it!"
"Besides Naruto Uzumaki—the ultimate threat—there's also an army of a hundred thousand monsters!"
"No wonder a hundred thousand shinobi were needed! This wasn't about surrounding one man—it was about fighting a war of unprecedented scale!"
All prior doubts were instantly resolved, replaced by even deeper horror.
Naruto Uzumaki alone was already terrifying enough.
Add one hundred thousand White Zetsu on top of that…
Just how desperate had the future of the shinobi world become?
The projection shifted—onto the battlefield itself.
The force led by Hatake Kakashi arrived at a vast, open plain.
At the far edge of the horizon, an endless white tide surged forward.
It was a terrifying army composed of countless identical figures—pure white bodies, identical faces—
White Zetsu.
Kakashi pulled down his forehead protector, revealing the Sharingan beneath. His voice was as cold and steady as ice.
"Prepare for battle! Those are White Zetsu—don't be fooled by their appearance. Every single one of them possesses at least chūnin-level combat strength!"
There was no room for further words.
The instant the white tide slammed into the Allied front lines, brutal combat erupted.
Ninjutsu flared wildly.
Explosive tags roared without end.
Kunai flashed—and blood and flesh flew.
The same scenes unfolded simultaneously across every other front.
This was no longer the elusive, high-speed duel of elite ninja—
This was raw, merciless army-on-army annihilation.
Every second, lives were extinguished.
Through the projection, the cruelty of war was laid bare before all who watched.
In the present shinobi world, silence reigned.
Everyone was shaken by the sheer scale of the war—and the horrific cost it represented.
The Kage of every village watched their own shinobi fall beneath the White Zetsu tide. Some even recognized familiar faces dying in agony.
Their hearts burned with fury and grief they could not suppress.
Compared to that shock, the reaction outside the Akatsuki hideout was far more explosive.
Zetsu's half-black, half-white face nearly twisted out of shape.
"White Zetsu… the White Zetsu army was exposed just like that?! What the hell is going on?!"
For years, he had hidden this force in secrecy—
and now it was being displayed on the projection like expendable cannon fodder!
His plans were in complete disarray.
Behind the mask of the man posing as Madara Uchiha, Obito's expression was equally dark.
He had always remained in the shadows—yet in this revealed future, he seemed almost completely absent.
Could it be…
that something had happened to him before the plan was even completed?
A creeping sense of unease spread through his heart.
Within the tower of Amegakure, Nagato and Konan felt emotions even more complex.
Nagato had once been certain that the feared "world-destroyer" would be himself.
But now, it seemed that his future self might also meet a grim end.
But how?
He possessed the Rinnegan—the eyes of the Sage of Six Paths.
He was a god.
Soon enough, the projection began to provide part of the answer.
The scene shifted away from the chaotic front lines—
And turned toward the command core, where the Five Kage were stationed.