You have to realize that the combined forces of the three Great Ninja Villages now totaled a staggering ten thousand shinobi. In past Great Ninja Wars, this was the absolute maximum troop deployment a major village would field under normal circumstances—and usually only to fight another superpower.
Now, they were mobilizing an army of this scale just to crush the Hidden Waterfall and the Hidden Grass. At first glance, it felt like using a butcher's cleaver to kill a chicken.
But ever since the Cloud Village's crushing defeat, an army of this size felt completely justified.
Every eye in the ninja world was once again fixed on the Hidden Waterfall. The conflict in the north between the Stone and the Cloud had temporarily lost the spotlight—after all, it wasn't a do-or-die clash pushing absolute limits.
Right now, that northern war had settled into a white-hot stalemate.
The real spectacle was the Leaf's impending assault on the Waterfall. Every nation had a premonition: this battle would define the future hierarchy of the ninja world.
If Menma Uzumaki could lead the Waterfall to withstand the Leaf-led coalition...
...then the Waterfall-Grass alliance would truly emerge as a new superpower. They would surpass the Sand and Mist, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Leaf, Cloud, and Stone!
The entire Waterfall-Grass alliance was on high alert. But unlike before, their mood was merely heavy, no longer plagued by panic. The Grass shinobi might not have fully grasped this shift since they missed the Cloud battle...
...but the Waterfall shinobi had forged genuine, ironclad confidence.
They firmly believed Menma would lead them to another victory. The only difference was that this path might be a little harder, a little more bloody.
At least until they saw Menma lose with their own eyes, the fighting spirit of the Waterfall shinobi would never break.
This was true for the rank-and-file.
It was equally true for the village elders—Shibuki, Agun, Doran, and Fushimi.
Because of this, when Menma gathered the high command to share the latest intelligence, the atmosphere in the administrative hall was entirely different.
Though Shibuki, Agun, and the others wore grim expressions, the suffocating tension and fearful dread of the past were completely gone.
Why?
Because the figure sitting at the head of the table—Menma—gave them an unshakable sense of security and confidence.
And starting with today's meeting, under Shibuki's strong insistence and the silent agreement of Agun and the other elders, Menma sat in the seat that had always belonged to Shibuki.
Looking down from the center.
Occupying the highest point.
The seat of the leader.
Menma had initially declined, but seeing Shibuki's absolute resolve, he stayed silent for a second before giving a slow nod.
Declining once was humility.
Declining repeatedly, especially against such firm resolve, was just hypocritical posturing.
This was the inevitable outcome anyway.
Menma had planned for this from the start, so there was no need to put on an act. He took the head seat with calm composure.
Shibuki, his face perfectly serene, took the first seat on the lower left.
When Fu finally arrived, she momentarily froze seeing Menma in the main seat and her "Brother Shibuki" off to the side. But within seconds, she recovered.
This was a scene she had mentally prepared for.
When Grandpa Satoru passed away, he had predicted this exact outcome. Menma's arrival would either lead the Waterfall to unprecedented glory or complete destruction.
Returning to their old, mediocre existence was permanently off the table.
And right now, the village was clearly rocketing toward the first possibility. Menma taking the leader's seat was simply the natural progression of things.
Fu wasn't going to complain about it.
At most, she just felt it had happened a bit too fast.
Even the late Mizuno Satoru couldn't have predicted things moving at this breakneck pace. You could only blame their peers for helping speed up the process.
War was always a double-edged sword.
But it was also the most direct way for a shinobi to build absolute prestige.
"I'm sure you all know why I called you here today," Menma began, pulling out a scroll and tossing it to Shibuki. "These are the detailed intelligence reports. It covers not just the Leaf and the Mist, but the Sand's movements as well. Take a look."
This intel was a compilation of sources.
It included reports from Orochimaru, cross-referenced with data from Menma's own newly established spy network, and field reports from the Waterfall's border scouts.
When verified against each other, the major villages' movements were clear. None of them were moving small squads. Even the Sand Village—which seemed the quietest—had massed over two thousand shinobi on the Grass Village's southwest border. You couldn't hide an army that size.
As Shibuki and the others quickly passed the scroll around, Menma unconsciously tapped his index finger against the desk.
The situation had shifted from his original predictions.
His plans needed massive adjustments.
The Leaf, in particular, was coming in with absolute, undeniable resolve this time.
To perfectly counter this invasion, Menma had to consider every angle. As for the little side note in Orochimaru's report—the news that his foolish little brother was on his way—Menma didn't care much.
They had no real emotional bond. Whatever "bond" existed had been thoroughly severed by Menma at the Valley of the End.
He wasn't Sasuke.
And he definitely wouldn't be talked down by Naruto.
His path was set in stone.
And it ran completely opposite to Naruto's.
Of course, Menma would never actually kill his younger brother. Keeping him alive was his final repayment to their parents for giving him life in this world. He already knew exactly how he was going to handle Naruto.
Didn't Naruto scream that he'd drag Menma back to the Leaf even if he had to break his arms and legs?
Well then. If his foolish brother tried to stand in his way again...
Menma would physically break Naruto's arms and legs, and permanently imprison him. Naruto wouldn't see freedom again until Menma had either achieved absolute victory or died trying.
That was the absolute limit of his mercy.
As for anyone else?
They didn't fall under Menma's umbrella of "mercy." Anyone who stood in his way deserved to die!
Naruto... this is the destiny we have to face as brothers. You can't stop me. Not unless you kill me.
Menma took a deep breath, a razor-sharp glint flashing in his eyes.
Shortly after, Shibuki and the others finished reading the scroll.
Compared to previous meetings, there was a new face in the room today.
A man with pale skin, a straight posture, and a distinct black ponytail. It was Muku—the man who had sworn eternal loyalty to Menma, and who could currently be viewed as the living incarnation of the Box of Ultimate Bliss.
Menma had specifically summoned Muku for this.
Through recent adaptations, suppressions, and two adjustments by Menma, Muku was gradually getting used to the Box's influence. As the Box's host, Muku could now summon it at will and physically transform into the monster 'Satori' for battle.
There was a time limit, of course.
And the chakra drain was terrifying.
But with Menma acting as a limitless, perpetual chakra battery, the drain wasn't an issue.
The time limit simply depended on Muku's own willpower.
As long as he could withstand the Box's mental corruption and hold onto his sanity, he could maintain the form. If his mind slipped, he had to cancel the Satori transformation immediately.
Factoring in the sheer power of their upcoming enemies—and the fact that Utakata was still recovering from the last battle—Menma needed Muku here.
Muku was a Kage-level asset. And a top-tier one at that, despite his restrictions.
The sheer devastation he could unleash on a battlefield was unparalleled.
Against a truly elite powerhouse, Muku might still fall short.
But against regular shinobi? It would be an absolute massacre.
Satori possessed absolute defense and devastating attack power. It was one of Menma's greatest trump cards. Once Muku could perfectly control Satori's power, there would be very few people in the entire ninja world qualified to fight him head-on.
The thing was easily on par with a peak Eight-Tails Jinchuriki.
In some aspects, it was even more dangerous.
Ordinary Kage-level fighters wouldn't even last a minute against Satori.
Menma gave a brief introduction of Muku to the elders. Since Muku would be fighting openly on the battlefield, they needed to be mentally prepared.
Even with that warning, Shibuki and the others couldn't entirely hide the subtle flashes of unease when they glanced in Muku's direction.
As the avatar of the Box, effectively half-Satori, Muku was hypersensitive to those emotional shifts. But he didn't care. He brushed it off completely.
His loyalty belonged exclusively to Menma.
The only people he cared about were his father, Mui, and his childhood friend.
The opinions of everyone else meant nothing to him.
"The Leaf is really going all out," Shibuki said from his seat on the left, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. "They already deployed three or four thousand shinobi, and now they're sending reinforcements? Over five thousand troops, led personally by the legendary Jiraiya... They really intend to wipe the Waterfall off the map in one battle."
Subconscious fear was unavoidable.
Yes, they had beaten the Cloud.
But decades of ingrained instinct didn't just vanish overnight. And if you looked at the raw numbers, the Hidden Leaf was still the undisputed overlord of the ninja world.
The pressure was immense.
Especially with the Mist and Sand loitering on the borders like vultures.
But looking up at Menma in the center seat, Shibuki felt his anxiety settle. He trusted Grandpa Satoru's judgment, and he trusted his own instincts.
More importantly, Menma had already proved himself in blood.
He was the one who would lead the Hidden Waterfall to greatness.
"The Leaf and Mist advancing is confirmed intelligence. But the Sand..." Agun frowned from his seat below Shibuki, looking up at Menma questioningly. "Menma-kun... ahem... Lord Menma, are we certain they actually intend to invade the Grass Village? If they're only massing troops on the border, couldn't that just be a defensive posture?"
The title change was a little clumsy.
But it was a necessary step.
Everyone in the Waterfall knew Menma was the village's true leader now. All that was missing was the official ceremony.
"True, we can't be one hundred percent certain about the Sand's intentions," Menma replied, shaking his head slightly. "But because of that exact uncertainty, the Grass Village cannot drop its guard. We cannot pull too many of their troops over here. That defensive line is critical for us."
"The Sand might not have the guts to attack outright, but if we empty out the Grass Village's defenses, we might accidentally encourage ambitions they didn't previously have. Maintaining the current stalemate there is our best play."
He had already pulled Muku—the Grass Village's heaviest hitter—over to the Waterfall. That was a massive chunk of their combat power. If Menma ordered even more Grass shinobi to relocate, he knew Mui would obey without question, but the rank-and-file Grass shinobi would panic.
With the Sand breathing down their necks—even a weakened Sand—the sheer pressure was terrifying. If Menma couldn't offer them stability, he shouldn't be exacerbating their fear.
That wasn't how a smart leader operated.
Having the Grass shinobi hold the line against the Sand was the best choice right now, and Menma trusted Mui to keep things under control.
The current Sand Village had no real powerhouses. Baki was barely scraping the bottom of the quasi-Kage tier. Mui was more than capable of handling him.
Unless the Sand decided to gamble everything and launch an all-out invasion, the line would hold.
But Menma highly doubted Baki had that kind of nerve.
And he definitely didn't believe Chiyo or Ebizo would let Baki take a risk like that.
The Leaf simply couldn't offer the Sand a high enough price to justify it.
This was Menma's most logical assessment based on the harsh realities of the ninja world. As long as the Waterfall's main battlefield remained undecided, the Sand would, at most, launch probing attacks. A do-or-die offensive was practically impossible.