On the battlefield, the smoke gradually cleared.
Hashirama Senju knelt on one knee, gasping for breath, his chakra nearly depleted.
His Sage Mode had faded, the black markings around his eyes completely gone, revealing a face exhausted to its very limits.
Not far before him, Tobirama Senju lay motionless in a pool of blood.
“Tobirama…” Hashirama’s voice was hoarse.
He tried to stand, but his legs gave way, stumbling back to his knees.
In the distance, the Uchiha shinobi were slowly advancing.
Crimson Sharingan gleamed in their eyes, and their kunai caught the dim light with a cold sheen.
In the Warring States Period, everyone understood the rules—defeat meant annihilation.
The surviving Senju shinobi quickly gathered around Hashirama, forming a protective circle around him.
Fear and defiance were written on every face, but no one retreated.
Some gripped their shuriken tightly, others stood before Hashirama, forming a thin but resolute human wall.
“Hashirama-sama, fall back.”
“Let’s fight the Uchiha to the death!”
“We’ll cover your retreat!”
Hashirama Senju heard none of it.
His gaze was fixed on Tobirama’s fallen form on the ground, countless images flashing through his mind—Tobirama as a child, following him around to learn techniques; Tobirama with that stern face, scolding him for being too reckless…
He had once had several younger brothers.
Kawarama, Itama—one after another, they had fallen on the battlefield.
He had sworn to protect his last remaining brother, Tobirama, no matter what.
But now Tobirama lay there, his chest caved in—and it was Hashirama, his older brother, who had failed to protect him.
The Senju shinobi were working frantically to stop Tobirama’s bleeding.
At least three ribs were broken, and his internal organs were severely damaged.
The medic’s face went pale, his hands trembling, but he gritted his teeth and tightly bound Tobirama’s chest with cloth strips.
“Tobirama-sama…
hold on…”
But everyone knew that with injuries this severe, the chance of survival was slim.
Hashirama Senju’s eyes were rimmed with red.
Just then, Madara Uchiha walked forward.
He crossed the Senju defensive line alone.
The Senju shinobi instinctively raised their kunai, but Madara did not spare them a single glance.
Madara Uchiha stopped before Hashirama Senju.
“Hashirama.
The war is over.
Stand down.” His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly to every ear on the battlefield.
Hashirama Senju looked up.
Those usually gentle eyes were now bloodshot, burning with rage and grief.
“Madara…
you tell me to stand down?
Tobirama is—”
“I know.” Madara cut him off, a trace of barely perceptible weariness in his voice.
“But if we continue, the entire Senju clan will die here today.
You know this.”
Hashirama Senju fell silent.
Of course he knew.
With three Susanoo fighting in concert, the Uchiha’s power had completely overwhelmed the Senju.
Continuing would only bring more casualties.
The Senju clan might vanish entirely from the map of the Warring States.
“Madara, what do you intend to do with the Senju?” Hashirama’s voice was hoarse.
“The strong dictate the weak in this age.
Defeat means death.
Have you come…
to kill us?”
The moment those words left his mouth, the Senju behind him tensed as one.
Some quietly reached into their tool pouches, others began forming hand seals.
Even if they were to be annihilated today, they would make the Uchiha pay a devastating price.
Madara Uchiha did not answer.
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze resting on Hashirama with unreadable complexity.
“Hashirama.
Let us join forces.”
Hashirama Senju froze.
“Do you remember our dream?” When Madara spoke these words, his voice carried a stubborn, almost childlike sincerity.
“To build a place of peace, free from war.
Hashirama, if the Senju and Uchiha unite, we can end this chaotic era together.”
With that, Madara Uchiha extended his hand toward Hashirama Senju.
That hand hung in the air, waiting for a response.
Hashirama Senju stared at that hand, but in his mind, all he saw was Tobirama lying in a pool of blood.
“Madara…” Hashirama’s voice trembled.
“No.
Tobirama’s fate is unknown.
A thousand years of hatred between our clans cannot be erased so easily.
At the very least…
I cannot simply let this go right now.”
Hashirama refused.
Madara’s hand froze in midair, then slowly withdrew.
“Hashirama, have you forgotten our childhood dream?”
“I have not forgotten.” Hashirama Senju rose abruptly, his voice suddenly rising.
“It is precisely because I have not forgotten that I cannot shake your hand and make peace at this moment.
Tobirama is my brother.
He lies there now, and may never wake again.
How can you expect me to form an alliance with you right now?”
The Senju shinobi formed a protective barrier around their clan head, their kunai aimed at Madara.
The air was taut as a string about to snap.
Madara Uchiha took a deep breath.
He turned to look behind him—Uchiha Hikaru and Izuna stood not far away, with the Uchiha shinobi arrayed in formation behind them.
Every eye was fixed on him, waiting for his decision.
“Izuna,” Madara suddenly spoke.
“If I die, you will succeed me as clan head.”
“What?” Izuna’s eyes went wide.
“Nii-san, what nonsense are you saying!”
Madara Uchiha drew a kunai from his waist.
He pressed the blade against his own abdomen, the tip piercing through his clothing and drawing a thin line of blood against his skin.
“Madara-sama!”
“Nii-san, don’t!”
“Why?!”
Cries of shock erupted from the Uchiha.
They had just defeated the Senju—the man now standing at the pinnacle of the Warring States was about to take his own life?
Madara Uchiha paid them no heed.
His gaze never left Hashirama.
“Hashirama, you are the only person I have ever acknowledged.
This chaotic world has devoured too many lives—your brothers, my brother, countless children who should have lived to adulthood.
If even you and I cannot join hands, then this era is truly beyond saving.”
Madara’s hand pressed down slightly, the kunai digging deeper.
Vivid red blood seeped from the blade’s tip, trickling down his garments.
“If my death can awaken your dream, if it can make you willing to unite with the Uchiha to build a village of peace—then my death will have meaning.”
With that, he moved to drive the kunai into his abdomen—
“Stop!”
Hashirama Senju lunged forward, his hand clamping down on Madara’s wrist with desperate force.
“Madara, are you serious?”
“I am completely serious.” Madara Uchiha held Hashirama’s gaze.
“Hashirama, answer me—if I die, will you set aside your hatred and join forces with the Uchiha?”
They stared at each other.
In that moment, the wall of rage and grief that Hashirama Senju had built in his heart came crashing down.
“…Madara.
I accept.
The Senju and Uchiha will unite.”
Behind him, Izuna Uchiha let out a long breath.
Uchiha Hikaru swept his gaze across the surroundings—the Senju and Uchiha shinobi were looking at one another in confusion and shock.
In his mind, Uchiha Hikaru began to calculate:
The Senju-Uchiha alliance was now set in stone.
The founding of Konoha was only a matter of time.
But the inertia of history was too strong—he could not allow the Uchiha to repeat their tragic fate.
The position of First Hokage absolutely had to go to Madara Uchiha.
Only if Madara held power as Hokage could the Uchiha clan’s destiny be rewritten.