On the other side, in the Uchiha encampment within the Valley of Hell.
The Uchiha clan members stationed here long-term had already constructed traditional machiya-style buildings on the relatively flat, forested slopes. These structures served as both workspace and residence, a small slice of Konoha tradition in this desolate place.
At this moment, the wind blowing from the Land of Frost carried a lingering winter chill that felt out of place for spring. Beside a flickering hearth, an old man and a middle-aged man sat in silence, cradling cups of hot tea. They watched the thickening clouds in the night sky, their expressions heavy with concern.
After a long pause, the younger man, Hikaku Uchiha, reached into his robes and produced a letter, handing it to the elder.
"News from Granny Cat," Hikaku started. "Iwagakure has suffered a defeat at the Green Ridge Reef battlefield. Their attempt to launch a surprise raid on the Land of Water's mainland failed, and Kirigakure's rear-guard strategy has completely collapsed. As a result, Iwa has drastically reduced their orders for ninja tools, switching instead to large-scale acquisitions of transport vehicles for moving supplies. This war... is nearing its end."
Setsuna Uchiha took the letter, scanning the contents before letting out a sharp sigh.
"Just as I anticipated. The Third Great Ninja War is finally reaching its tipping point." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "And what about the village?"
Hikaku's stoic face was cast in alternating light and shadow by the jumping flames. "Exactly as we theorized. The battlefield in the Land of Rain is about to expand, dragging in seven surrounding nations. The Sannin, the core Konoha regular forces, and the new generation will likely all be deployed to the Rain, Grass, and Waterfall fronts. Smaller clans and the bulk of Konoha's civilian ninja will be thrown into the Land of Rice Fields to counter Kumogakure's advance."
"And us?" Hikaku's voice turned grim. "We and the Hyuga will be sent to the Fire Country's eastern coastline to face the imminent offensive from Kirigakure. Our window of opportunity... is down to two months."
Setsuna's grip tightened on his teacup. He watched the ripples on the surface of the tea in silence before murmuring to himself, "Only two months left..."
Eventually, he waved a hand dismissively and glanced at Hikaku through the heat of the fire. "Hikaku, what is your assessment of Ren? Is it possible for him to master this sword style?"
"Ren Uchiha?" Hikaku frowned slightly. "By all accounts of natural talent, it should be impossible for him. The Uchiha Style Kenjutsu has been refined over generations until its threshold for entry is astronomically high. It is far beyond this era."
However, Hikaku's expression turned strange, and he let out a short, mocking laugh. "But for some reason, this brat has learned a mess of unrelated styles—Wild Style, Hot Spring Style, Iron Country Samurai Style, Cloud Style, Mist Style... even the Hōzuki Style, which should be physically impossible for a normal person to learn. He has already grasped the basics of all of them."
"The root of Uchiha Kenjutsu is essentially our ancestors using the Sharingan to copy every major style across the continent, taking the essence and discarding the dregs. It is a style tailor-made for the Sharingan, which is why it grants that 'Future Sight' ability in combat."
Hikaku shook his head. "He isn't walking our path; he is walking the path of the ancient Uchiha. Even if he cannot reach our level in the short term, as he faces more enemies and gains more experience... perhaps he can reach the 'Ultimate Realm' of this sword style, just like the clan leader of the founding era, Madara Uchiha."
"The Mastery of All Arms!"
Setsuna looked up in surprise. "I didn't expect you to hold such a high opinion of the boy."
"He is your chosen candidate, so I paid extra attention," Hikaku replied with a faint smile. "His raw talent may be subpar, but that combat drive... and those eyes of his... they carry a certain sinister quality. He gains something from every battle. It's no wonder you favor him."
Setsuna nodded slowly. He felt the weight of Ren's ridiculous growth rate more than anyone. A month ago, leaving the village, he never would have dreamed the boy could trade blows with a Jinchūriki.
"It seems he has eyes that see deeper than ours," Setsuna whispered. "He might go further than any of us."
Hikaku froze, looking at Setsuna with a sudden gravity. "So... you've already decided to go through with that?"
A look of absolute determination flashed in Setsuna's eyes. "The Third Great Ninja War will only get more dangerous. The village, the clan, the future—everything is at risk in this chaos. If Konoha falters, they will inevitably throw us at the Mist front to face an entire Great Nation alone."
Setsuna grit his teeth, a hint of madness—like a cornered lion—glinting in his gaze.
"In times like these, the Uchiha need a second Madara!"
In the wooden cabin near the cliffside.
Poof!
In a burst of smoke, a completely naked teenager plunged headfirst into a tub of now-cold medicinal broth.
"Ptooh! Ptooh!"
Ren stuck his head out of the water, spitting out a mouthful of the foul-tasting liquid. It was salty, sweet, astringent, bitter, and numbing all at once—tasting exactly like the traditional Chinese herbal soups he vaguely remembered from a past life.
Suddenly, a kaleidoscopic light flashed in his eyes! Endless streams of knowledge and characters flickered past, forming a complex secret technique.
In those final moments in Ryūchi Cave, the White Snake Sage had flicked its tail, using a combination of toxins and Genjutsu to put him into a trance. In that warped perception of time, his consciousness was forced to memorize a terrifyingly complex secret art:
Sage Art: Transmission of the Distant Shadow.
Realizing the name of the technique and its unorthodox effects, Ren's eyes lit up. He activated his snake-slitted Sharingan, engaging his 360-degree holographic vision. His pupils narrowed, and a wide, triumphant grin spread across his face—looking exactly like a child who had just found a priceless treasure.
He maintained this ecstatic act until the lingering sense of being watched and the feeling of danger finally vanished.
Immediately, Ren's face dropped. He went stone-cold.
He leaped from the tub, threw on a short-collared kimono, and sat at the desk in the cabin. He picked up a brush, dipped it in the water on his skin rather than ink, and rested it on the table while completely lowering his mental defenses.
In the next moment, from Ren's perspective, his hand—the one holding the brush—began to move on its own. It rose without his control, moving with a mechanical, eerie precision.
Line after line of text, written in a script resembling ancient Sanskrit sutras, began to appear on the desk—the exact contents of the Sage Art stored in his mind.
Ren's pupils shrunk to pinpricks. He couldn't help but dwell on the final words the White Snake Sage had left him.
"Using this body to reach that body..." What on earth did that actually mean?
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