The deep, quiet darkness of the Uchiha compound felt completely different today.
For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the morning breeze didn’t smell like burning pine trees or wet mud.
There were no distant shouts of dying men.
There were no heavy, shaking footsteps of tired soldiers returning from the river.
There was just peace.
A heavy, quiet, five-year peace.
Shinra was currently lying flat on his back in the center of his personal room, which was located in the main family estate.
He was sleeping on a thick, comfortable cotton futon.
He wasn’t wearing his heavy red armor or his weapon pouches.
He was just wearing a loose, soft blue shirt and comfortable pants.
His breathing was slow, falling into a perfect, quiet rhythm.
Deep inside his body, his Matured Sage Body was completely relaxed.
It was passively working in the background, pumping healthy, massive physical energy through his muscles and healing any tiny tears he had suffered over the past few days of intense warfare.
For the first time in his two lives, he felt completely rested.
But even in times of peace, a ninja’s instincts were always awake.
Creak.
It was a tiny sound.
A tiny groan of a wooden floorboard just outside his sliding paper door.
A normal guard wouldn’t have even heard the noise over the wind blowing through the compound trees.
But Shinra possessed his Supreme Combat Awareness.
Even deep in his sleep, his brain instantly caught the sound.
The passive skill felt the exact weight of the footstep.
It wasn’t a grown man.
The weight was too light.
Shinra didn’t open his eyes.
He didn’t tense his muscles.
He just kept his breathing exactly the same, acting like he was fast asleep.
The paper door slowly slid open, just an inch.
Then two.
A small figure crept into the room, staying very low to the floor.
The intruder moved with impressive stealth, holding a small wooden bucket of freezing cold well-water in his hands.
He crept closer and closer to Shinra’s futon, getting ready to dump the water right on his older brother’s face.
In a flash of movement, Shinra’s right hand shot out from under his warm blanket.
He grabbed the intruder’s wrist, pulled him forward, and effortlessly flipped him over.
He pinned the boy flat on his back against the floor mats without spilling a single drop of water.
“Nice try, little monster,” Shinra laughed, his voice warm and totally awake.
“Ahhh!
No fair!
You weren’t even looking!” Seven-year-old Izuna squirmed under Shinra’s grip, kicking his legs in the air.
The young boy was wearing his casual black training clothes, his neat ponytail totally messed up.
He let out a loud groan, puffing his cheeks out in a massive pout.
Shinra let go of his little brother’s wrist.
He sat back on his heels and stretched his arms high over his head.
His back popped loudly, relieving the tension.
“Your footwork was sloppy, Izuna,” a confident, aggressive voice spoke from the hallway.
Madara stepped through the open sliding door.
The nine-year-old was fully dressed in his training gear, his heavy short scythe strapped securely to his back.
He didn’t look like a polite kid; he looked like a fierce warrior ready for a fight, a sharp, eager grin on his face.
“Your stance was too wide when you held the bucket,” Madara lectured, looking down at his younger brother.
“Because you leaned forward, you put all your weight on your toes.
That is what caused the floorboard to squeak.
If you kept your balance centered over your hips, Shinra-nii wouldn’t have heard you.” Izuna sat up, rubbing his elbow and glaring at Madara.
“You’re just mad because you tried to sneak up on him yesterday and he grabbed you by the ankle!” Madara’s pale cheeks flushed a bright red.
The fierce warrior look vanished for a second.
“That was completely different!
I was testing his blind spot!” Madara snapped defensively, crossing his arms.
“And I got really close!” “You screamed like a little girl, Madara-nii,” Izuna giggled relentlessly.
“I was trying to distract him!” “Alright, quiet down, you two,” Shinra chuckled, standing up from his futon.
He walked over to his washbasin and splashed some cold water onto his face.
The chilled water felt amazing, completely waking up his brain.
“Why are you two bothering me before breakfast anyway?” Madara quickly cleared his throat.
His dark eyes turned serious and focused.
He rested his hand on the hilt of his scythe.
“Father sent us to wake you, Brother,” Madara reported.
“He has finished the morning meeting with the Grand Elders.
He is currently waiting for us at the private family training grounds.
He wants to see how strong we have gotten.” Shinra grabbed a small towel and dried his face.
He looked at Madara through the bronze mirror on the wall.
A sparring session, Shinra thought, his dark eyes sharpening.
Tajima had been completely swamped with clan politics and signing the massive ceasefire treaty with the Senju.
He hadn’t had a single second to sit down and actually examine his sons after the brutal battle.
Tajima knew his boys had awakened their eyes, and he had heard the crazy stories of Shinra killing a Jonin without hand seals, but seeing it in person was different.
“A full test, huh?” Shinra muttered, tossing the towel onto his wooden desk.
“Is he in a good mood, or an angry mood?” “Father is extremely focused today,” Madara answered, his tone turning heavy.
A fierce, battle-hungry glint flashed in his eyes.
“He told us to bring our real steel weapons, not the wooden practice swords.
He wants a real fight.” Izuna nodded quickly from the floor, his playful attitude totally gone.
“Yeah, Father looked really scary this morning.
He was sharpening his broadsword.” “Understood,” Shinra said.
He didn’t feel nervous.
In fact, a rush of heavy, warm excitement began to pump through his veins.
He had a massive arsenal of strong jutsu, and he possessed the monstrous Sage Body.
He honestly wanted to see exactly how his new strength stacked up against a genuine, thirty-year veteran of the Warring States period.
“Go wait for me in the courtyard,” Shinra ordered, his voice shifting effortlessly into the commanding tone of the Clan Heir.
“I will get dressed and meet you there.” Ten minutes later, the three Uchiha brothers were walking side-by-side through the dirt streets of the main compound.
The mood in the settlement was completely different than it had been three days ago.
The heavy, dark blanket of fear was entirely gone.
The women walking past them with baskets of laundry were actually smiling.
The blacksmiths working at the open fires were hammering out farming tools instead of repairing bloody armor.
They had five years of absolute peace.
For the first time in their lives, the clan could actually breathe.
They reached the heavy iron gate of the private family training grounds, located at the very back of the compound.
The area was massive, surrounded by high stone walls to keep spying eyes out.
The ground was packed dirt, covered in deep scorch marks and shattered boulders from decades of intense training.
Standing in the absolute center of the dirt field was Tajima Uchiha.
The Clan Head wasn’t wearing his red battle armor today.
He wore a simple, dark black kimono.
His wild, spiky black hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, highlighting the deep scars running across his neck.
His arms were crossed over his chest, and his heavy, razor-sharp broadsword was stabbed directly into the dirt right next to his boots.
He looked like a mountain that couldn’t be moved.
“You are late,” Tajima’s deep, rumbling voice echoed across the quiet field the second the boys stepped through the gate.
“Izuna couldn’t hold his balance while carrying a water bucket, Father,” Madara instantly threw his little brother under the bus, using his flat, honest tone.
“It delayed us.” “Traitor!” Izuna hissed, glaring at Madara.
Tajima didn’t laugh.
He simply reached down, gripped the handle of his broadsword, and pulled it out of the dirt with a sharp shing.
He pointed the tip of the blade directly at the ground.
“We have secured five years of peace,” Tajima said, his voice cutting through the morning air.
“But peace makes men lazy.
It makes them soft.
The Senju will use these five years to train and figure out exactly how to break our throats the second the treaty expires.
If you three think you can relax just because the borders are quiet, I will beat that foolishness out of you right here.” Tajima’s completely pitch-black eyes locked onto his youngest son.
“Izuna.
Step forward.
Draw your blade,” Tajima commanded.
Izuna swallowed hard.
The seven-year-old marched directly into the center of the scorched field, drawing his short steel sword.
He closed his eyes tightly for a fraction of a second.
When Izuna opened his eyes, they were blood-red.
A single black tomoe spun slowly in each iris.
Tajima’s stern face didn’t change, but a sharp glint of pride flashed in his eyes.
“Show me your speed,” Tajima ordered.
Tajima vanished, moving incredibly fast.
He appeared directly above Izuna, bringing the flat, unsharpened side of his heavy broadsword crashing down toward the boy’s shoulder.
Izuna’s single-tomoe flared.
He tracked the downward swing perfectly.
Izuna smoothly spun on his back foot, dodging the massive blade and thrusting his short sword directly toward Tajima’s exposed ribs.
Clack.
Tajima casually raised his left hand, catching Izuna’s steel blade directly between two bare fingers.
“Your tracking is good, Izuna,” Tajima praised, stepping back.
“Your instincts told you to dodge instead of block.
That was the right choice against a heavier enemy.
However, your counter-attack lacked the will to kill.
You hesitated.
Never hesitate on the battlefield.
Understood?” “Yes, Father!” Izuna bowed deeply, breathing heavily from the intense exchange.
“Fall back,” Tajima ordered.
“Madara.
You are next.” Madara walked forward.
He didn’t look nervous at all.
A massive, bloodthirsty grin stretched across his face.
He loved combat.
He drew his short scythe from his back, spinning it once in his hand.
His dark eyes flared instantly, revealing the two perfectly formed black tomoe spinning aggressively.
Madara didn’t wait for his father to attack.
The nine-year-old prodigy bent his knees and exploded forward, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Madara fought like a wild animal, but his mind was sharp and calculating.
He threw a quick, savage strike at Tajima’s knee, forcing the Clan Head to lower his sword.
“Your stance is too high, Father!” Madara shouted, instantly changing his grip and dragging the curved blade of his scythe upward toward Tajima’s neck.
Tajima easily blocked the strike, pushing Madara back.
But Madara used the backward push to spin his body in mid-air, his hands blurring through hand seals before his boots even touched the dirt.
Fire Style: Phoenix Flower Jutsu!
Four small, highly controlled fireballs shot out of Madara’s mouth.
But because he was smart, Madara didn’t just throw them in a straight line.
He perfectly guessed where Tajima would move, curving the fireballs through the air to cut off his father’s escape paths.
“Smart attack,” Tajima praised aloud.
The Clan Head didn’t even bother dodging.
He simply swung his heavy broadsword, generating a strong gust of wind that blew out the four fireballs before they could hit him.
When the fire cleared, Madara was standing ten feet away, his scythe lowered, breathing slightly heavily but grinning like a maniac.
“You fight with pure Uchiha rage, but you plan your moves perfectly, Madara,” Tajima said, resting his sword on his shoulder.
“It is a terrifying combination.
You have the mind of a true warrior.” “Thank you, Father,” Madara nodded respectfully, his chest swelling with pride.
He sheathed his scythe and walked back.
The dirt field fell completely silent.
The wind blew through the training grounds.
Tajima slowly turned his head.
The proud fatherly tone he had used for Madara and Izuna completely vanished.
He was a warlord looking at his top general now.
Tajima locked eyes with his eldest son.
“Shinra,” Tajima’s voice dropped into a heavy, dangerous tone.
“Step forward.” Shinra calmly walked into the center of the scorched field.
He didn’t draw a weapon.
He didn’t take a stance.
He just stood there, completely relaxed, his hands resting naturally at his sides.
“The Senju are terrified of you,” Tajima stated bluntly.
“Butsuma sat across from me at the table, and he looked like a man who had seen a ghost.
He claimed you slaughtered a veteran Jonin without using a single hand seal.
The medics claim you possess a physical body that completely ignores all our limits.” Tajima stabbed his heavy broadsword into the dirt.
He wasn’t going to use a weapon for this.
The Clan Head slowly raised his hands, settling into a brutal, close-quarters fighting stance.
His own three-tomoe Sharingan flared to life, glowing brilliantly in his scarred face.
His veteran, heavy chakra leaked out into the air, creating a suffocating pressure.
y”I am not going to hold back, Shinra,” Tajima warned, his voice dead serious.
“I want to see the monster that Butsuma fears.
Come at me to kill.” Shinra looked at his father.
He felt the heavy pressure of Tajima’s chakra.
This wasn’t a joke.
Tajima was a man who had survived thirty years of endless war.
A massive, unrestrained grin stretched across Shinra’s face.
Finally, Shinra thought.
I don’t have to hold back anymore.
Shinra closed his eyes.
He stopped holding back the massive, oceanic reserves of his Matured Sage Body.
He let the mental floodgates completely open.
Boom.
The air in the training ground didn’t just get heavy.
It violently warped.
The loose dirt beneath Shinra’s boots instantly cracked and pushed away by the sheer, raw power of his energy.
A visible wave of dense blue chakra rippled outward, rattling the heavy stone walls.
Madara’s two-tomoe eyes widened in absolute shock.
“His power…
it’s monstrous!” Shinra opened his eyes.
The three perfectly formed black tomoe spun lazily in his blood-red irises.
He didn’t take a stance.
He simply looked at his father, his face completely empty of fear.
“You asked for the monster, Father,” Shinra said calmly.
“Don’t blink.”