A thousand years ago, this continent was ruled by the Goddess Kaguya, who descended from the heavens. She suppressed all tribes with absolute violence and unified the territory, causing the shrine maidens who had been venerated by people for generations and wielded tribal cursed seals and blessings to lose the foundation upon which they depended for survival.
The Goddess was wary of the bloodline curse arts and earth-vein sealing secret arts passed down through generations by shrine maidens everywhere. Consequently, she continuously reduced the shrine maidens’ fiefdoms, tore down shrines, and forbade the populace from making sacrifices and paying homage. The scattered shrine maidens were either conscripted and controlled or forced into exile.
The shrine maidens’ lineage, which originally had no dealings with one another, had no choice but to put aside regional divisions and gather closely together in solidarity.
They abandoned their respective shattered shrine strongholds, seeking out densely populated deep valley karst caves that were far from human traces and obscured by earth veins.
This place, free from the tyrannical rule of the Goddess Kaguya, became the only hidden zone untamed and independent of the chakra system—which is precisely the Land of Demons today.
Although the Goddess did not exterminate them completely, she had also renovated her own strongholds nearby to guard against these little bugs. Ever since the Goddess ascended to the moon, the remaining strongholds in due course became ruins.
Right now, the descendant of the Land of Demons’ shrine maidens—that man’s blood—was flowing along the runes of the sealing array, resonating with the ruins.
At that split second, Amanojaku felt strands of familiar aura. Before he could grasp that fleeting ripple of memory, he sensed the arrival of danger a step ahead—
He couldn’t help crying out in alarm: “Sasuke-sama!”
A dazzling blue radiance erupted.
Amanojaku’s vision and consciousness were both seized, and his heart was gripped tightly as well.
He felt an indescribable discomfort, as if someone were forcibly shoving a dozen lively, jumping fish into his stomach, convulsing and wanting to vomit.
Amanojaku opened his eyes, immediately closed them again, and then opened them once more.
After repeating this four or five times, he had no choice but to use the Byakugan to survey this space, as if accepting reality.
This realm possessed neither distance nor boundaries; everything within the field of vision was purely, boundlessly pale.
The mountains, vegetation, rivers, and lands of the world were no longer visible. He could not distinguish the boundary between heaven and earth; the up, down, left, and right all melted into a stagnant expanse of pure white. There were no clouds, no visible end, and not even light and shadow remained.
Ōtsutsuki Amanojaku lowered his head. The place where his feet landed was still a boundless, endless white. No sound of wind or flowing water could be heard; every sound in the world was swallowed up by this void, and a heavy, dead silence enveloped his entire body.
Only he stood alone in the center of this expanse of blankness, his figure slender and small, with no traveling companions, no path of arrival, and nowhere to go.
All bonds and conflicts from the outside world were thoroughly cut off and kept outside, as if the entire world had left only a single person: himself.
He reached out to touch the surroundings, yet could not touch any physical object; the vast expanse of white refused to give the slightest response.
Loneliness slowly crept up from all his limbs and bones. He had nowhere to escape and nowhere to lean, as if he had been stripped away and banished by the entire world, eternally trapped in this pure white wasteland of utter nothingness.
“Where is… this place?” Amanojaku could still hear his own voice, but received no response at all.
He walked forward, turned around in circles, and it remained the unchanging white.
Unclear how much time passed, he seemed to also begin losing his ability to see. When he placed his palm before his eyes, his vision actually began to progressively blur.
Is vision the very first thing being stripped away?
Uchiha Sasuke returned once more to that seventh year of his life—the weakest, most powerless, and most painful night.
It was precisely on this day that he was dragged into an abyss from which he could never break free. From then on, there was no light ahead on his path; every step he took was sticky fresh blood, and every night he sank into dreams filled with the painful gazes of his clansmen.
Loneliness and bone-corroding pain firmly entangled him from that moment on, never to be stripped away again.
The miserable screams of his clansmen and the explosive sounds of clashing ninjutsu burst forth continuously, every single sound nailing itself fiercely into Sasuke’s heart.
At that time he was merely a child. The neighbors, elders, playmates, and fellow clansmen who had been familiar in the past all fell in pools of blood. Warm blood spread along the gaps in the stone paving, and the air was stuffed with a pungent, rich scent of fresh blood.
Again and again like this, running like this with all his might, yet still having to witness scene after scene of Uchiha Itachi slaughtering the clan with his own hands, causing his spiritual pillar to collapse along with it.
That man, that ruthless and merciless man, would never feel a shred of remorse for what he had done. All of Sasuke’s past reliance, adoration, and closeness to him shattered into sharp blades in an instant, piercing fiercely into his heart.
His fragile heart felt as though it were being scorched by blazing fire and tightly frozen by icy cold all at once. Pain piled up layer upon layer, pressing down on him until he couldn’t breathe.
“Run away, my foolish…”
The crimson, ominous Mangekyō Sharingan was trembling. Uchiha Itachi’s calm face developed the tiniest cracks, and trails of blood spilled from the corners of his mouth.
He shifted his gaze away from his trembling, helpless younger brother, slowly turning his face to look at an expressionless, exquisitely beautiful face.
The youth’s fine, dark black eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his pitch-black eyes were stern and sharp, like an unsheathed long sword thrust into his heart. His rosy lips were pressed into a straight line, resembling a compassionate yet solemn Buddha.
He was killing people, yet behind him, it felt as though solemn lotus flowers were blooming one after another, unexpectedly holy and noble.
Uchiha Sasuke pulled out the Kusanagi sword, the faint, muffled sound of tearing flesh spreading low, and dark red beads of blood rolled continually down the cold, glittering, bright sword spine.
His wrist lifted lightly with a slight shake.
The blood droplets clinging to the blade’s surface suddenly splashed and scattered, fine threads of blood dripping down along the slender sword blade like rouge melting into cold iron.
Blood gushed endlessly from the wound in Uchiha Itachi’s heart, soaking layer by layer through his clothing, dripping drop by drop onto the ground to bloom into fine, bewitching bloodstains.
Cold light and crimson blood intertwined and fused. Amidst the tragic and severe trauma, it gave birth to a heart-stopping, desolate, and bone-corroding aesthetic.
The youthful Sasuke did not look at Uchiha Itachi, who had been killed by him and lay on the ground.
Crossing time and space, he simply locked gazes with that once-weak and helpless self who was as fragile as a fledgling bird, unexpectedly crashing into a pair of panicked and fragile black pupils.
His expression unchanged, he softly said to himself word for word: “No matter if you are numb from the pain, no matter if you have ever yearned for a way out, no matter what you are anticipating right now, you must be as steadfast as a rock, never wavering, and never regretting. The only thing you can rely on is yourself.”
The fledgling bird stared blankly at him, trembling no longer.
“Become stronger. This is the only path; no one can stop it.”
After those steadfast and sharp-edged words tumbled out, the once-solid heaven and earth instantly collapsed into tens of thousands of fine, shattered points of light, shattering as if an entire galaxy had been crushed to pieces.
Opening his eyes once more, he saw Amanojaku lying flat on his back, collapsed upon the array of sealing runes, with his life or death unknown.
Amanojaku heard footsteps.
After he made numerous attempts, this pure white space finally gave a response.
He turned around and saw a stunning, captivating black. That consisted of minimalist, supremely beautiful lines meticulously outlined by an artist, occupying his field of vision with particular dominance and thoroughness.
The youth whom he always quietly watched over in the snake cave—
Uchiha Sasuke walked toward him step by step, slowly. Wherever he walked, tender green grass shoots broke through the soil and sprouted branches, and colorful wildflowers blossomed sequentially along his footsteps all the way.
Out of the desolate blankness, trees with twisted and rugged branches sprouted from thin air, new leaves unfurled layer upon layer, and shades of light and heavy green bloomed outward. A clear breeze gradually rippled through the silent and quiet space; flying birds perched upon newly sprouted branches, their melodic chirping lingering by his ears, and a gurgling stream meandered along the terrain.
The pure white wasteland was pushed back and dispersed all the way, and vibrant colors continuously spread and expanded with him as the center. The cold and lonely void transformed into green mountains and a sea of flowers, rich floral fragrance rolling with the wind. The world, which had been left with only monotonous pale white, filled in bit by bit with all kinds of human sounds, colors, and warmth as his solitary figure walked.
This place was Amanojaku’s mental world.
“Sasuke-sama?”
Amanojaku negated himself the moment he spoke. “No, this place is just an illusion.”
He had this kind of innate, beast-like intuition. Besides, having just witnessed such a dream-like scene, there was no way he would ever think this was reality.
The youth standing before him retained an unchanged expression after he spoke, gazing steadily at him, and then reached out his hand to grab his wrist bones.
Even if it wasn’t the real person, the posture, words, and actions were far too similar—virtually identical.
And this kind of behavior… Amanojaku took a deep breath.
What was going on? Was he harboring inappropriate, delusional thoughts toward Sasuke-sama?
They continued walking forward, hurrying on their way using ninja footwork without making any stops. The gorgeous and colorful scenery all around turned into afterimages, left behind them.
Amanojaku followed the [Sasuke] before him back to the snake cave, resuming the lifestyle of the past.
[Sasuke] devoted himself wholeheartedly to cultivating ninjutsu here, while he continued to carry out meticulous care regarding this young master’s daily life.
Amanojaku occasionally managed Orochimaru’s experimental bases, raised funds for activities, and then ruthlessly extracted a large sum of money to spend on [Sasuke], occasionally receiving light, painless criticisms from Orochimaru and Yakushi Kabuto.
Days like this were peaceful and serene, feeling as wonderful as being immersed in a sweet and complete dream, yet so real and reliable.
Even Amanojaku’s rock-solid resolve was nearly shaken—perhaps they had already returned to the snake cave long ago, and everything that happened previously in the Land of Demons was merely a dream, with the present being reality.
Sasuke-sama actually didn’t have anything wrong with him; he was still proud and fierce, stepping without hesitation onto the path he had determined for himself.
And the others in the snake cave were doing their tasks as usual: Yakushi Kabuto was conducting research, and Lord Orochimaru was still thinking of Sasuke-sama’s body three years running.
Wait… the body…?!
The three-year time limit was approaching, and the vessel Orochimaru was currently using was facing a state of collapse; he had to change bodies.
Amanojaku’s heart sank accordingly into an icy lake, his hands and feet losing their warmth. Panic—an extremely unfamiliar emotion—swept over him in an instant, actually giving him a dizzy sensation.