Shinra didn’t wait to see the shocked expressions of the three Grand Elders.
He had made his decision, and as the young patriarch of the Uchiha clan, his word was absolute law.
As he walked down the wooden steps of the main compound and stepped into the cool, damp air of the courtyard, the familiar blue screen flashed to life in his vision.
[Ding!] [New System Mission Released!] [Mission Title: Brothers in Arms.] [Objective: Reach the southern camp and protect your brothers, Madara and Izuna, from the Senju ambush.] [Reward: A-Rank Ninjutsu – Chidori (Kakashi Hatake version).] [System Note: A high-speed, lightning-based piercing technique.
When paired with the perfect vision of your 3-Tomoe Sharingan, the jutsu’s dangerous tunnel-vision drawback is completely eliminated.
It is the ultimate assassination tool.] Shinra’s eyes lit up with a flash of fierce determination.
He couldn’t help the sharp smile that formed on his lips.
He didn’t have the jutsu yet—it was the prize waiting for him at the finish line.
But just the thought of it made his blood pump faster.
First the system gave him the Rasengan to smash through defenses, and now it was offering him the Chidori, a blade of pure lightning designed to pierce hearts.
If he could complete this mission, he would have the ultimate close-combat arsenal.
But he needed to get to the southern forest and save his little brothers first.
If he failed, the reward meant nothing.
“Captain!” Shinra barked.
He didn’t slow his pace at all as he walked toward the heavy wooden gates of the clan compound.
The guard captain, who had quickly jogged after him, appeared right at his side.
“Yes, Shinra-sama!” “You mentioned a rescue squad was already dispatched to the southern camp.
How long ago did they leave?” “About twenty minutes ago, young master,” the captain replied, his armor clinking as he walked.
“They won’t make it in time.
The southern forest is incredibly dense, and if the Senju are already there, our men will just walk right into a blind trap,” Shinra analyzed perfectly.
His new Supreme Combat Awareness was already calculating the distances, speeds, and terrain in his head.
“I am much faster than a standard squad.
I will handle the southern camp myself.” “But Shinra-sama, you are just one person!” the captain protested, his eyes wide with worry.
“Send a messenger bird immediately,” Shinra ordered, completely ignoring the man’s hesitation.
He pointed toward the courier tower near the massive front gate.
“Use the fastest pigeon we have.
Write a direct order under my name as the Clan Heir.
Tell the rescue squad to abandon the southern route and turn completely westward.
They are to reinforce my father, Clan Head Tajima, at the main river line.
He will need the extra manpower against the main Senju army much more than I do.” The captain hesitated for only a fraction of a second before bowing deeply.
The sheer authority rolling off the twelve-year-old boy was impossible to argue with.
He truly sounded like a seasoned general.
“Understood, Shinra-sama!
I will send the bird right now!” Shinra nodded.
With the rescue squad diverted to help his father, he didn’t have to worry about the main army falling apart.
Now, he just had to focus on his own mission.
He bent his knees slightly, channeling a massive surge of chakra down into the soles of his feet.
Before his awakening, doing this would have felt like trying to force a raging fire through a tiny, blocked straw.
But now, with his Level 3 Chakra Control and his Senju-level body, the energy flowed like perfectly smooth water.
Shinra performed a single hand seal.
Body Flicker Jutsu!
Whoosh!
To the normal guards standing at the gate, it looked like the young master simply vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but a swirl of dead leaves and a sharp gust of wind.
Out in the dense, towering trees of the Land of Fire, Shinra was a red and blue blur.
He leaped from branch to branch with terrifying, explosive speed.
His feet barely touched the rough bark before he launched himself forward again, covering massive distances in seconds.
The wind whipped violently against his face, messing up his dark curly hair.
But Shinra didn’t care.
He felt amazing.
The Matured Sage Body was working overtime, but he didn’t feel a single drop of sweat form on his forehead.
Normally, using the Body Flicker Jutsu over and over again would drain a ninja completely dry in ten minutes.
But Shinra’s chakra reserves were so deep they felt bottomless.
His heart beat strong and steady.
His lungs pulled in the cool forest air effortlessly.
He activated his Sharingan.
The world around him instantly slowed down.
The three black tomoe spun lazily in his blood-red eyes.
With his perfect vision, he could see every single leaf, every branch, and every hidden tripwire in the forest, allowing him to take the fastest, most direct route possible.
Hold on, Madara.
Hold on, Izuna, Shinra thought, pushing his leg muscles even harder.
Big brother is coming.
Meanwhile, miles away in the damp, muddy clearing of the southern forest, the Uchiha supply camp was tense and busy.
Several large, dark tents were set up in a wide circle.
They were surrounded by heavy wooden crates filled with medical bandages, ninja wire, and dried food rations.
The war at the river was burning through supplies fast, and this camp was the lifeline keeping the main Uchiha army fighting.
Because it was so important, the camp wasn’t empty.
There were about twelve Uchiha guards stationed here.
Most of them were younger Genin—teenagers who were too inexperienced for the brutal front lines.
Leading them were three battle-hardened Chunin, recognizable by the heavy scars on their arms and their serious, unsmiling faces.
Sitting on top of the tallest wooden crate near the edge of the camp was a nine-year-old boy.
He wore a dark blue shirt and pants, with standard Uchiha armor that fit surprisingly well over his young frame.
His spiky, wild black hair covered his right eye, but his visible left eye was dark, sharp, and filled with a heavy, bitter anger.
This was Madara Uchiha.
Below him, standing in the muddy ground, was a seven-year-old boy with a neat ponytail.
The younger boy wasn’t playing with toys.
He was moving through a complex series of sword strikes.
His wooden training blade sliced through the air with loud, sharp whistling sounds.
Every step he took was balanced and perfect.
This was Izuna Uchiha.
“Too slow on the backhand swing, Izuna,” Madara criticized, not taking his eyes off the dark, spooky forest.
“If you face a grown Senju, he will use that half-second gap to cut your throat.
Step into the strike, don’t pull away from it.” Izuna nodded seriously.
He wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead, adjusted his grip, and performed the strike again.
This time, it was twice as fast and packed with real, deadly force.
Even at seven years old, Izuna was a terrifying prodigy.
He was already stronger and faster than half the Genin guarding the camp.
“Like that, Madara-nii?” Izuna asked, breathing slightly heavy.
“Better,” Madara muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Silence fell over the two brothers.
The only sound was the wind blowing through the high branches, the distant croaking of frogs in the mud, and the soft chatter of the Genin guards double-checking the supply crates.
“Madara-nii,” Izuna spoke up again, his high-pitched voice sounding a little worried.
“Do you think Shinra-nii is going to be okay?
The medics sent a message saying he was bleeding from his eyes yesterday.
They said he was unconscious…” Izuna stopped talking, swallowing hard.
He didn’t want to say the word ‘die’.
Madara’s grip on his own arms tightened until his knuckles turned white.
His dark eyes flashed with a deep, hidden pain.
They had already buried their younger brothers.
Tiny graves in the Uchiha compound.
Madara didn’t think his heart could take losing Shinra too.
Shinra was the oldest.
He was the one who always protected them, the one who always smiled and took the hardest, most dangerous missions so Madara and Izuna wouldn’t have to.
“Shinra-nii is tough, Izuna,” Madara said, his voice hard and absolute.
“He won’t die.
He is the strongest out of all of us.
He wouldn’t leave us behind.” Izuna smiled faintly, finding comfort in his older brother’s fierce confidence.
“Yeah.
You’re right.” Madara looked back out into the dark, towering trees.
His confident mask slipped just a little bit.
He hated this.
He hated waiting in this boring camp while his oldest brother was fighting for his life.
But mostly, Madara just hated the endless, bloody cycle of killing.
His mind drifted back to a few days ago.
The memory tasted bitter, like ash in his mouth.
He thought about the rushing river.
He thought about a boy with a bowl-cut named Hashirama.
For a short time, Madara truly believed he had found someone who understood him.
A friend who shared his impossible dream of building a peaceful village where kids didn’t have to die.
But it was all a lie.
Hashirama was a Senju.
The sworn enemy of the Uchiha.
Madara remembered the sickening feeling of betrayal when his father, Tajima, and little Izuna had suddenly jumped out of the bushes at the river.
They had used Madara’s secret friendship to set a trap for the Senju.
And on the other side of the river, Hashirama’s father and brother had done the exact same thing to him.
Shinra-nii wasn’t even there, Madara thought angrily.
He was miles away, bleeding on the front lines to hold off the enemy army, while Father used me as bait.
That day at the river, Madara’s childhood had officially died.
He had looked Hashirama in the eyes and told him their friendship was over.
The pain of that moment had been so sharp, so terrible, that Madara had actually awakened his Sharingan, a single black tomoe spinning in his eye.
Now, there was no more dream of peace.
There was only the clan.
There was only survival.
Suddenly, Madara’s sharp instincts flared to life.
His nine-year-old body was incredibly sensitive to changes in the environment.
He was a true genius of battle, and right now, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck were standing straight up.
The forest was always noisy.
But right now?
The crickets had stopped chirping.
The frogs were completely silent.
It was the terrifying, unnatural silence that only happened when a predator was getting ready to strike.
“Izuna,” Madara said.
His voice dropped completely, turning cold and deadly.
“What is it?” Izuna asked, instantly noticing the change in his brother’s tone.
The seven-year-old dropped his wooden training sword and instantly reached to his lower back, drawing a real, sharp steel blade.
“Enemies.
We are surrounded,” Madara ordered, jumping down from the tall crate.
His hands moved in a blur, drawing two sharp kunai knives and locking them into a defensive grip.
“Back to back!
Now!” Izuna didn’t ask questions.
He pressed his back tightly against Madara’s, holding his small sword with both hands, his eyes darting wildly across the dark tree line.
“Guards!” Madara roared, his young voice echoing powerfully across the camp.
“Ambush!
Defensive positions!” The twelve Uchiha guards instantly stopped what they were doing.
The three older Chunin drew their swords, their Sharingan eyes flaring to life, while the younger Genin nervously grabbed their kunai.
“Madara-sama!
Where are they?!” the lead Chunin shouted, scanning the trees.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Before the Uchiha Genin could even form a single hand seal, three dark figures shot out from the muddy ground right in the middle of the camp.
They didn’t come from the trees; they had hidden themselves deep in the earth using advanced ninja techniques, completely bypassing the perimeter alarms.
“They were under us!” one of the Genin screamed in panic.
The three figures landed perfectly among the supply crates.
They wore dark green armor and white cloth masks over the lower halves of their faces.
Madara’s eyes narrowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He could instantly read their power levels based on the dense, heavy chakra rolling off their bodies.
Two of them were Elite Chunin.
They were fast, deadly, and experienced killers.
But the man standing in the center was different.
He was taller, his muscles thick and covered in old scars.
His chakra felt like a heavy, suffocating wave that made it hard for the younger Genin to even breathe.
He was a Jonin—a top-tier Senju commander.
It was a highly specialized assassination squad.
“Well, well,” the Senju Jonin chuckled, his voice rough like grinding stones.
He drew a heavy, serrated sword from his back.
“Tajima’s little brats are sharper than our scouts reported.
You actually sensed us.” “Kill the guards.
Burn the supplies,” the Jonin ordered his two Elite Chunin, not even looking at the twelve Uchiha soldiers surrounding them.
“The two kids belong to me.” The Senju Chunin didn’t say a word.
They simply vanished.
It was an absolute massacre.
The Uchiha Genin were brave, but they were vastly outmatched.
One Senju Chunin blurred through the smoke, his blade flashing in the moonlight.
In less than five seconds, four Uchiha Genin fell to the mud, their throats cut before they could even scream.
“Fire Style!” the lead Uchiha Chunin yelled, desperately trying to cast a jutsu.
But the second Senju Chunin was already behind him, driving a kunai straight through the man’s armored back.
The Uchiha camp was falling apart in seconds.
Blood mixed with the mud as the highly trained Senju elites ripped through the normal guards like wolves in a flock of sheep.
“Don’t underestimate us just because we’re young, Senju trash!” Madara yelled fiercely, refusing to be intimidated by the slaughter happening around him.
The Senju Jonin smirked behind his mask.
He flicked his wrist, throwing three heavy shuriken coated in deadly purple poison directly at Izuna’s face.
The speed of the attack was meant to instantly kill a normal child.
But Izuna was an Uchiha prodigy.
With a sharp grunt, the seven-year-old stepped forward and swung his small sword with absolute, perfect precision.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Izuna perfectly deflected all three heavy ninja stars in the blink of an eye, his small arms not giving up a single inch of ground.
At the exact same time, Madara didn’t wait to be attacked.
He went straight on the offensive.
His hands blurred through four hand seals faster than the eye could follow.
He took a massive breath, feeling his chest expand, and blew out a massive sphere of super-hot flames.
Fire Style: Great Fireball Jutsu!
The giant ball of roaring fire lit up the entire camp, burning away the damp mist and heading straight for the Senju Jonin.
For a nine-year-old to cast a jutsu of that massive size and heat was absolutely mind-blowing.
The Senju Jonin’s eyes widened in genuine surprise.
“What a terrifying brat!” The Jonin slammed his hands onto the muddy ground.
Earth Style: Mud Wall!
A thick, heavy wall of wet earth ripped out of the ground, blocking Madara’s fire.
The flames smashed into the dirt, creating a massive cloud of boiling hot steam that covered the center of the camp.
“Izuna, move!” Madara shouted, grabbing his brother’s shoulder to pull him back into the cover of the thick smoke.
But the Jonin was already a step ahead of them.
Bursting right through the top of his own mud wall, the Senju Jonin appeared high in the air right above Madara and Izuna.
His heavy, serrated sword was raised high above his head, glowing with sharp, cutting wind chakra.
“You’re good, kids,” the Jonin yelled, bringing the heavy sword down with bone-crushing force.
“But you’re still just kids!” Madara’s eyes went wide.
He raised his twin kunai to block, but his genius battle instincts told him the truth.
The physical strength behind the Jonin’s strike was simply too much.
It would cut right through his knives and cleave him in half.
Is this it?
Madara thought, his heart stopping in his chest.
I’m sorry, Shinra-nii.
But just as the deadly, wind-coated blade was about to touch Madara’s spiky hair, a terrifying, grinding roar echoed through the entire forest.
It sounded like a massive hurricane trapped inside a tiny bottle.
A blinding, glowing sphere of pure blue chakra shot out of the dark trees, lighting up the camp like a second moon.