Beside the residence of the clan head within the Uchiha Clan Grounds, Uchiha Itachi stood alone on a telephone pole, his hair disheveled.
The melancholic expression he always wore was replaced by surprise, and the fiery glow of explosions within Konoha cast his silhouette in a grotesque and bizarre light.
His hand gripped his blade.
On the edge, blood had congealed into a dark red crust.
Every blood groove was filled with bits of flesh and bone, gleaming with a cold, eerie light under the moonlight.
He did not remember how many people he had killed.
He did not remember.
Nor did he care anymore.
He looked up, gazing toward the center of Konoha.
There, flames soared into the sky.
A golden Susanoo burned in the night.
Even from this distance, the sounds of explosions were deafening; the screams merged into one, and Konoha was being torn apart.
Uchiha Itachi looked down, glancing at Uchiha Fugaku standing in the courtyard below.
That man stood with his arms crossed, his expression terrifyingly calm, as if the massacre unfolding had nothing to do with him.
Uchiha Fugaku possessed the Mangekyō Sharingan.
But Uchiha Fugaku never used it in front of anyone, including Uchiha Itachi himself.
Why was it like this?
He had clearly already made up his mind to sacrifice the entire clan.
He had clearly already killed five or six hundred clansmen, so why had war still broken out?
“Itachi, we understand your decision. Do it!”
Uchiha Fugaku spoke from below, while his wife, Uchiha Mikoto, stood to the side, weeping uncontrollably.
In truth, Uchiha Fugaku had long since foreseen everything through his Mangekyō Sharingan.
He had sought out the Sandaime Hokage for secret talks countless times, but neither of them could come up with a way to resolve the conflict between the Uchiha Clan and the Village.
So he had given up; if the clan had to die, then so be it…
Thus, he had invited the clan’s experts to his home in advance and drugged them.
This was for his sons; he feared Uchiha Itachi would not be able to defeat the entire clan, and he feared his two sons would be injured in the conflict…
It no longer mattered what happened to the others, nor did it matter what happened to himself; he only prayed that his two beloved sons could survive…
“Do not hesitate. Compared to your pain, our pain is but for a moment.”
Uchiha Mikoto also could not help but speak softly:
“Itachi, my child…”
…
The golden light and the fiery glow of explosions tore through the night sky.
Every swing of the Susanoo’s blade made the earth tremble.
The fire illuminated every window, every wall, and every pair of eyes that were still alive.
Tianti’s goal had been achieved; the massive commotion alarmed all the surviving members of the Uchiha Clan, and they grabbed their gear and rushed out of their homes.
Then, they saw the corpses.
Uchiha Yashiro lay at his own doorstep, his Sharingan gouged out, his empty eye sockets staring blankly at the sky.
His wife lay three steps away, still gripping a shuriken she had not thrown.
His son lay at his feet, with a hole punched clean through his back.
“Uncle Yashiro—?!”
A young Chūnin’s knees went weak, and he knelt in a pool of blood.
He tremblingly reached out to touch Yashiro’s shoulder; the icy coldness that traveled to his fingertips made his entire body shudder violently. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
Dead…
The entire street, it was full of dead people!
“Enemy attack—!!!”
Finally, someone let out a roar, the sound carrying a hysterical sharpness that echoed over the Uchiha Clan Grounds.
“Everyone! Take up your weapons!”
“Protect the elderly and children!”
“Notify the Konoha Military Police Force—!”
“Go notify the Clan Head and the elders…”
The shouting slowly faded.
Because more corpses were discovered.
Those who were supposed to be Three-Tomoe Sharingan powerhouses were lying scattered everywhere.
The backbone of the Uchiha.
Slaughtered in their sleep like chickens?
“Who… who did this?!”
The questioning exploded among the crowd.
Someone crouched down to examine a corpse and discovered there were no signs of any struggle.
“No resistance… how is that possible?”
“Uncle Yashiro was a Three-Tomoe Sharingan, Senior Inabi was a Jōnin, how could they be… wait, no, they were drugged!”
“Drugged? Who could have drugged them?!”
All eyes began to turn in the same direction.
The Clan Head’s residence.
And just then… someone caught sight of that figure.
Under the moonlight, on a telephone pole, Uchiha Itachi stood alone in the night wind.
The blade in his hand was still dripping blood, and his Anbu uniform was soaked through with blood.
There was no expression on his face, no guilt, no sorrow, no anger.
Only an empty, chilling silence.
“Itachi…?!”
A young female Shinobi looked up, her voice trembling uncontrollably:
“Quick… quickly help us—”
Her voice grew quieter and quieter.
Because she saw the blood on Uchiha Itachi.
She saw that blade.
She saw those cold eyes, devoid of any human emotion.
“Itachi!!”
At the very front of the crowd, an old Shinobi with gray hair let out a question that was nearly a roar:
“What happened?! Why are you here?! Why are you covered in blood?!”
Uchiha Itachi did not answer.
He was only watching that golden Susanoo in the distance.
In the crowd, a voice spoke up, carrying a hint of uncertain speculation:
“Could it be… has Itachi been caught in an enemy Genjutsu? Is he being controlled?”
“Genjutsu? Yes… yes! It could be Genjutsu!”
“Someone is controlling Itachi!”
“Quick, quickly help Itachi break the Genjutsu!”
Some in the crowd began to form hand seals, attempting to release any possible Genjutsu control on Uchiha Itachi.
There was no other way; this was simply too inconceivable.
Throughout thousands of years of human history, no one had ever been able to do something like this!
“Don’t bother.”
A middle-aged Jōnin spoke in a deep voice.
His name was Uchiha Tekka, a wielder of the Three-Tomoe Sharingan, and an elite who had escaped disaster… because he had not gone for tea.
He had always been at odds with the Clan Head, Uchiha Fugaku, yet at this moment, it was because of this stubbornness that he had survived.
He stood at the very front of the crowd, his Three-Tomoe Sharingan glowing, locked firmly onto the figure on the telephone pole.
His voice was as cold as winter iron:
“Uchiha Itachi’s skill in Genjutsu is top-tier within the clan. Who could possibly control him with Genjutsu?”
No one answered.
Because the answer was too cruel.
Uchiha Fugaku stood there, arms crossed.
“Everyone.”
Uchiha Fugaku spoke, his voice not loud, yet it clearly reached everyone’s ears:
“No need to guess.”
“It was me.”
“It was I who drugged them.”
“It was I who made Itachi do this.”
The crowd exploded.
“Clan Head…! What did you say?!”
“Are you crazy?! How dare you… how could you do this? Yashiro and the others were your comrades! Your brothers! How could you…”
“For what?”
Uchiha Tekka’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, bloodshot veins bulging in his Three-Tomoe Sharingan:
“Clan Head, tell us! For what!?”
Uchiha Fugaku did not answer.
He simply stood there, like a stone statue that had died long ago but still stood tall.
He knew what charges he would bear.
He knew how the clansmen would revile him.
He knew how the writers of history would judge him… a traitor, a coward, a murderer who killed his own clansmen, a lackey begging for pity from the Hokage faction.
But he did not care anymore.
He only wanted his sons to survive.