Chapter 15: The Village Is Founded
That night, the rain fell in a torrential downpour. The entire world was veiled by a dense curtain of water, as if nature itself sought to shroud the darkness that had befallen their lives.
Uchiha Izuna walked through the deluge to a brand-new tombstone, carefully placing a bouquet of fresh flowers—which he had sheltered in the crook of his arm—before it. He seemed not to have fully processed the suddenness of her death; it was only when his fingers brushed against the cold, rain-slicked stone that a flicker of realization crossed his numb expression.
It was real. Senju Stelle was dead. Truly dead.
After saving him time and time again, she had finally paid the ultimate price.
He was supposed to be strong now. As one of only two Uchiha in this warring era to have awakened the Mangekyo Sharingan, how could he have been so weak as to need saving once more? How could he have been brought to the brink of death again?
Uchiha Izuna sank to his knees before the grave, his composure finally shattering. His shoulders began to shake with unrestrained sobs, the sound swallowed by the drumming rain.
After an unknown stretch of time, an umbrella appeared above him, shielding him from the downpour. Uchiha Madara had arrived.
He stared at the name carved into the tombstone, a shadow of grief and fury passing over his features. "Hashirama and I interrogated the Senju who attacked you. I used genjutsu, but he knows nothing. His memory of that period is a complete blank. All he remembers is seeing a black shadow."
Madara's voice was low and grim. "We investigated for three days straight and confirmed he was being controlled, but there are no clues as to who the puppeteer was. When I went to the dungeons this morning, he was already dead. His heart was pierced through, but it's impossible to determine the weapon used."
Uchiha Izuna snapped his head up, his crimson eyes blazing with a bone-chilling killing intent. "What about the sealing script that appeared on my body? I remember it perfectly—every stroke, every line of those runes. I saw it all."
Uchiha Madara reached out and brushed away a wet leaf that had plastered itself to the tombstone. "None of the clans possess a controlling ninjutsu like that. However, the cold, destructive sensation that came with the curse mark was extremely similar to the Black Flame of the Destruction Organization. Hashirama and I have already dispatched clansmen to investigate."
Izuna fell silent for a moment, then suddenly seized Madara's hand, his grip as desperate as it had been when he was a child. Tears shimmered in his eyes, mingling with the rain on his face. "The first time she saved me, when I was nine, I told her that personality of hers would be the death of her. And now… she's really gone. What am I supposed to do? Big brother… what do I do?"
Madara forcefully pulled his younger brother to his feet, his grip firm. He met Izuna's gaze and said, each word a solemn vow, "Then you will work that much harder to achieve the peace she wanted to see."
The alliance between the Uchiha and the Senju was a union of titans. In the past, the smaller clans had survived by trailing in their wake, picking up whatever scraps of benefit they could. Now that the two great rivals had joined forces, these lesser clans weighed their options with extreme caution, each move a careful calculation.
Their apprehension deepened when rumors spread that one of the Senju clan's three pillars—another Wood Release user—had been assassinated. The clans grew even more guarded, terrified of offending some unseen power and being summarily dealt with.
The grand plan to establish a village had already begun. During the initial visits, the various ninja clans had been polite but noncommittal, offering no definitive answers.
So, Senju Hashirama and the other three set out once more, visiting the territories of each clan one by one. With two minds for strategy and two fists for enforcement, what clan could possibly hold out when they stood united?
Soon, the members of both the Senju and Uchiha clans noticed a startling change in their leaders' younger brothers.
One, Izuna, was known to be gentle at heart, his focus solely on protecting his clan. The other, Tobirama, was famously calm, restrained, and pragmatic. Now, both had become terrifyingly radical.
Clans that refused to join the village were, of course, beaten into submission. That was to be expected.
But clans that agreed to join were also given a sound thrashing. When they dared to ask why, the two would state with chilling seriousness: how could they be sure the clan wasn't lying without a fight? What if they were only feigning compliance now, only to cause trouble later? All unstable elements had to be nipped in the bud.
The terrifying part was, their logic was sound, which drove the other ninja clans to the brink of madness.
What if the Daimyo of the Land of Fire had objections to the village's establishment?
"Kill a couple of his nobles first, just to liven things up."
What if the Daimyo's funding was insufficient?
"Kill another two nobles. That should set the mood."
What if someone dared to make trouble?
"Kill a few of them to serve as a deterrent."
This radical approach even frightened the hardliners within their own clans, causing them to shrink back in fear. If Tobirama and Izuna were going to beat people, they certainly didn't want to be on the receiving end. They had opposed the peace treaty before, but that was a long time ago; now, they wouldn't dare utter a single word of protest.
The radicals felt that things were getting too radical. They pleaded with their respective clan heads to step in and restrain their younger brothers. If those two death gods weren't reined in, they would eventually run out of outsiders to beat and would inevitably turn on their own. They were warlike, not masochists.
Senju Hashirama had the biggest headache of all. If he hadn't been actively suppressing them, his two younger brothers—Tobirama and Izuna—would have already started researching that wild idea Stelle once mentioned: cladding his Wood Golem in a Susanoo and laying waste to the Four Great Nations.
Fortunately, while his friend Madara was deeply intrigued by their research, he did not join in on their madness.
To allow his brother and Izuna to vent the crushing grief in their hearts, Hashirama had no choice but to let them run wild, albeit within a "controllable" range.
With the two most radical men in the world leading the charge, all the hardline factions and belligerent clans were pinned down, not daring to even breathe too loudly. They would rather face Uchiha Madara himself, looking down on them like ants with his Mangekyo Sharingan activated, than have to deal with two brilliant, calculating madmen.
Under this bizarre and oppressive atmosphere, the village was successfully established.
Senju Tobirama stood on a high vantage point, looking out at the settlement that was already taking shape below. He murmured in a low voice, "It really is a good village… one that protects children and the weak. It's a shame she'll never get to see it."
Beside him, Uchiha Izuna spoke up suddenly. "Let's move her grave into the village. She would have wanted to see this grand occasion."
"Good."
The village was built, so it needed a name.
The four of them gathered to discuss the matter. Uchiha Izuna retrieved a piece of paper from the documents Senju Stelle had given him and placed it on the table.
"Stelle and I discussed it. The village will be called Konoha, and its supreme leader will be the Hokage. It represents the union of the Senju and the Uchiha."
Senju Tobirama took the slip of paper. Seeing the familiar handwriting, his expression tightened. "Why did she never mention this to me?"
Izuna's voice was low and husky. "It was that time she was a guest at the Uchiha compound. You were there too, but you had gone to the training grounds to check on my younger clansmen."
"So I missed it."
Tobirama lowered his head, his gaze falling to his right hand. An indescribable emotion churned in his chest. He looked up at Izuna and said flatly, "Let's fight."
"Let's."
Uchiha Izuna glared back at him, his Mangekyo Sharingan spinning to life as killing intent flooded his eyes. Their gazes locked, and in the next second, they burst through the window, clashing with a flurry of ninjutsu while still in mid-air.
This was how shinobi were. When their spirits were low and their frustrations too heavy to bear, a good fight could burn off the excess energy and soothe their turbulent emotions.
The village had been founded, and a mountain of administrative affairs awaited them. Soon, they wouldn't even have time for sorrow. For this one moment, they would allow themselves to be willful one last time, to mourn deeply for the soul that was lost.
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