Teizawa tucked the scroll into his ninja tool pouch.
Then he stood and brushed the dust from his knees.
Moonlight slanted in through the mouth of the cave, painting an uneven patch of brightness across the ground.
He walked to the entrance and looked outside.
Under the night sky, the desert stretched out like a frozen sea. The silhouettes of the dunes rose and fell along the horizon. Far in the distance, several clusters of firelight flickered—the patrol teams from Suna.
He turned back without alerting anyone.
By the time he returned to Suna, dawn was nearly breaking.
The village slowly stirred awake in the morning light. Early-rising vendors began setting up their stalls. The first batch of flatbread from the bakery filled the air with a warm, toasted aroma. A few ninja stumbled out of an izakaya with their arms around one another's shoulders, cursing and grumbling as they argued about last night's card game.
Everything was normal.
So normal it made it feel as if war had never come at all.
As if peace would never end.
Teizawa did not return to the Kazekage's office.
He avoided the main road and cut through a hidden alley, making his way to a building deep within the village.
The building had no name and no sign.
Most ninja in Suna did not even know it existed.
From the outside, it looked like nothing more than an abandoned warehouse. Dead vines crawled over the walls. Most of the paint on the wooden door had peeled away, exposing the gray-black wood beneath.
But behind that door was a staircase leading underground.
Teizawa pushed open the creaking wooden door and descended.
The stairs were long. It took him nearly two minutes to reach the bottom.
Below lay a wide-open space, far larger than he had expected.
It was roughly the size of three or four basketball courts. The ceiling was high, embedded with cold-glowing ore. Pale blue-white light illuminated the entire chamber as brightly as day.
The air was dry and cold.
It carried a stale smell, like something had been fermenting there for a very long time.
This was his laboratory.
No. More accurately, it was a White Zetsu manufacturing workshop.
Because what took place here was not ordinary experimentation.
It touched one of the most forbidden domains in this world: Impure World Reincarnation.
Teizawa walked to the center of the workshop.
There stood a round platform built from special ore. It was about two meters in diameter, its surface covered in densely packed runes.
Several transparent containers were arranged around the platform.
Inside them, various biological tissues floated in solution.
There were slices of White Zetsu skin, cells from the dead gathered on battlefields, and even older samples dug out of underground ruins—things so ancient they could no longer be identified.
He took out the scroll, unfurled it, and opened it with a light motion.
With a burst of white smoke, four White Zetsu bodies appeared on the platform.
They lay there in a heap, like dolls tossed aside without care.
Their faces were indistinct, their limbs twisted, their whiteness almost glaring.
Teizawa stood before the platform, hands in his pockets, head lowered as he looked at them.
The White Zetsu's greatest strength was not combat ability.
It was their unique constitution.
They could contain any form of chakra.
They could carry souls of any strength.
Ordinary vessels for Impure World Reincarnation had too many limitations.
If the vessel was alive, its soul would be corroded.
If the vessel was dead, the body could not be maintained.
But White Zetsu were different.
They were artificial vessels to begin with.
They had no self-awareness, no soul, and no rejection reaction.
They were perfect materials for Impure World Reincarnation.
Teizawa took another scroll from the shelf beside the platform and unfurled it.
The scroll was packed with names.
They were records he had collected through various channels after arriving in this world—information on those who had already died.
Elite ninja from Suna who had fallen across the village's history.
Experts from various nations who had perished during the Third Shinobi World War.
And even strange, powerful figures who only appeared in legends, the kind of people official histories were reluctant to record at all.
Beside every name, he had written the approximate burial site, their combat style in life, and the type of kekkei genkai they had possessed.
If he could bring them all back with Impure World Reincarnation...
What kind of army would that be?
An image surfaced in Teizawa's mind.
A boundless battlefield. Black earth soaked through with blood. A sky buried beneath smoke.
And he stood on high ground, with countless spirits of the dead behind him.
The names that had once terrified the entire shinobi world would all be his soldiers.
They would not eat.
They would not sleep.
They would not rest.
They would not betray him, fear death, or fail him at the critical moment.
They were all dead.
And the dead were the most honest.
"When that day comes," Teizawa said quietly, his fingers gliding over the scroll, "it will truly be the descent of the dead."
He did not smile. His expression was even somewhat grave.
Because he knew this power would not be easy to control.
Impure World Reincarnation required the caster to possess extraordinarily powerful chakra and mental strength.
Once it went out of control and the dead turned on him, the consequences would be unimaginable.
His current strength was still not enough.
He needed more White Zetsu.
He needed more materials.
He needed more time to perfect this jutsu.
But he was not in a hurry.
He had plenty of time.
This world had given him a second life.
He intended to use it properly, slowly, and in the most extravagant way possible.
Teizawa rolled up the scroll and returned it to the shelf.
He gave the four White Zetsu bodies on the platform one final look.
Then he turned and climbed the stairs.
Behind him, the White Zetsu on the platform slowly opened their eyes.
As if those unseen eyes had closed once more.
...
Teizawa pushed open the bedroom door.
...
The night was already very deep.
Moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, drawing a thin silver line across the floor.
The room was quiet. Only the faint sound of breathing rose and fell.
Karin and Amaru were already asleep.
The two of them were squeezed together on one bed.
The blanket had been kicked into a mess.
Karin lay on her back with one hand over her forehead. Her long red hair spilled across the pillow like unfurled silk.
Amaru was curled up beside her like a little shrimp, her head buried in the hollow of Karin's shoulder. Her mouth was slightly open, and she made a tiny, broken sound as she breathed.
Hinata was not asleep.
She sat on the edge of the bed in a white cotton nightgown, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her fingers twisting the hem of her skirt.
Her head was lowered, and no one knew what she was thinking.
When she heard the door, she suddenly looked up.
The instant those pale eyes saw Teizawa, they lit up.
Like two stars catching fire.
"You're back..."
Her voice was soft and gentle, threaded with joy she could not quite suppress.
She stood, wanting to go to him.
But embarrassment stopped her from taking a step.
She remained where she was, twisting her fingers even more tightly into the fabric.
Teizawa walked over and reached out, pulling her into his arms.
Hinata's body stiffened slightly.
Then she slowly relaxed.
She pressed her face against his chest and listened to his steady, powerful heartbeat.
"Why are you still awake?"
His voice was low, carrying a hint of tenderness as it fell lightly over the top of her head.
"Waiting for you..." Hinata's muffled voice came from against his chest. "You weren't back yet, so I couldn't sleep..."
(End of Chapter)
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