Chapter 5: Objective: The Thousand-Hand Pavilion

My name is Gin Uchiha, I’m 24 years old, and I’m a failure. Just moments ago, while still sorting through my memories, Captain Fūka Uchiha assigned me to the very end of the team formation—perhaps to accommodate my still-unhealed injuries. Of course, the main reason was that my skills were truly lacking; leading the charge risked being struck down by the enemy and creating a breach in the formation.

According to the mission briefing distributed by Fūka Uchiha, I learned that our target was Itama Senju, the fourth son of Hoshigami Senju. His eldest and second sons had long accompanied Hoshigami Senju, making them difficult to approach. So, by process of elimination, we had to focus on Itama Senju, who was positioned at the rear of the battlefield.

Before dawn, we cautiously advanced through the Senju territory’s rear, but found no sign of the enemy. Several encampments along the way had long been abandoned. Perhaps because the Hagoromo clan had slain Waka Senju, the Senju had heightened their vigilance and started tightening their defenses. After all, the rear lines were filled with children—fresh blood—and the Senju knew better than to be careless.

Suddenly, not far ahead, there were flashes of fire and booming sounds. Fūka Uchiha, at the front of the team, leapt onto a high tree branch with us following closely behind. He immediately activated his Sharingan, and with his exceptional dynamic vision, quickly spotted two groups fiercely clashing amid the dust.

“It’s the Hagoromo clan and the Senju clan,” Fūka said gravely.

“Should we go assist them?” Ryōichi Uchiha asked eagerly. Nearby, Tsuru Uchiha and Tarō Uchiha bore bloodthirsty grins.

Fūka narrowed his eyes and considered for a moment. “Hold. Wait until they’ve worn each other down, then we’ll intervene.”

I scoffed silently at his cautiousness. Despite his broad brows and eyes, Fūka was clearly a lurking shadow.

While the others observed the battlefield through their Sharingan, I, without activating mine, could only see vague smoke and occasional bursts of fire and water. It was clear that without the Sharingan, I was far behind. In a battle of this scale, one careless move could cost me my life.

As I pondered how to survive, Fūka seemed to notice something and pointed toward the rear of the battlefield.

“That kid—is that our target?”

Following his gesture, we saw that although the two groups were fighting, the Senju were steadily retreating, seemingly reluctant to engage fully. A few adult Senju were covering a child’s withdrawal—the little one’s black-and-white hair stood out starkly.

“That’s right, Captain, that’s Itama Senju!” Tsuru exclaimed excitedly after quickly cross-referencing the information.

“Hahaha, relentless pursuit bears fruit at last! Charge!”

Having found the target, there was no need to sit and watch the tiger fight. With a grand sweep of his hand, Fūka led the charge. Except for me, who lagged behind, the others swiftly followed, dashing toward the battlefield while hurling shuriken.

The two weary groups were startled by the sudden arrival. The Hagoromo clan members, seeing the crimson eyes of our Uchiha, relaxed; after such a long fight, reinforcements had finally arrived. Meanwhile, the Senju felt the pressure mounting. Several in the front line desperately molded chakra to activate earth-style jutsu, raising stone walls to buy time. After all, this was Senju territory; their reinforcements should be on the way.

I arrived late. As I stepped onto the battlefield, the pungent stench of blood made my head spin; nausea welled up in me. Suppressing my discomfort, I drew my katana and warily scanned the unfamiliar enemies.

The Hagoromo leader was a middle-aged man clad in armor, long coffee-brown hair falling over his brow, where I glimpsed a small protruding horn beneath his bangs. Both his hands frantically wove seals, unleashing one elemental jutsu after another against the Senju’s earth defenses. Judging by his aura, he was at least an elite jōnin.

The Hagoromo strike team consisted of five members; already two lay motionless on the ground, their fate unknown. The elite jōnin leader was panting heavily. His recent torrent of techniques had drained much chakra; if such a formidable figure couldn’t defeat the Senju, the Senju must be no ordinary opponents.

“Hagoromo, fall back. We’ll take it from here,” Fūka sneered disdainfully at the exhausted foes.

The pride of the Uchiha clan forbade them from cooperating with other clans to slay enemies, even among allies; it was every man for himself in battle.

“But we’ve almost worn them down…” the Hagoromo jōnin protested anxiously.

“Got a problem with that?” Several pairs of cold, crimson eyes turned sharply on him.

“No, no problem. We’ll leave it to you then,” he stammered, his scalp tingling under their icy glares, forced to submit given their superior strength.

Satisfied, Fūka nodded.

Seeing the apparent conflict between the Uchiha and Hagoromo, the Senju leader signaled retreat, and his men quickly prepared to flee. But just as they turned, Fūka’s long blade struck out. The Senju jōnin reacted swiftly, raising his armored forearm to deflect the blow aimed at his face.

“Did I say you could leave?” Fūka’s group surrounded the Senju.

Senju Kōji, still numb from earlier blows, could barely raise his hand. The initial skirmish with the Hagoromo had drained his stamina and left him bleeding heavily. Now, trapped by Fūka’s encirclement, he knew the odds were grim. Yet he refused to die passively. The Senju’s future rested on his shoulders; even at the cost of his life, he must protect this sapling.

With a grimace, he forcibly refined chakra, ruthlessly extracting his life force to activate forbidden techniques that rapidly healed his wounds and restored stamina.

The Senju were born with robust constitutions, possessing extraordinary chakra reserves and regenerative abilities. In desperate moments, they could unleash strength far beyond their normal limits.

Gritting his teeth, Kōji faced the strongest among us, Fūka, hoping his sacrifice would buy the others time to escape.

Even as enemies, Fūka could not help but respect such tenacity, taking the battle seriously. He drew his blade and engaged Kōji in close combat; the battlefield flashed with steel and shadow.

The remaining Senju surrounded a child—our mission’s true target: five-year-old Itama Senju. The three Senju adults guarded him warily against Ryōichi and the others.

“I should have listened to Father and stayed quietly in the territory,” the trembling young Itama muttered. Yet Senju pride stirred him to draw a kunai from his waist with trembling hands, holding it before his chest. His ill-fitting armor creaked with every shiver.

This was Itama’s first battle. After his brother Waka was assassinated on the territory’s outskirts, their father had forcibly confined him, but a seed of vengeance had been planted deep within the child’s heart, growing wildly as the war raged on.

Finally, when Hoshigami Senju and two older brothers advanced to the front lines, Itama, unable to contain his vengeful spirit, snuck out overnight wearing his brother’s armor to seek out his family’s enemies.

Though the Senju’s guard caught wind and pursued, they were ambushed by Hagoromo forces en route. Several ordinary Senju soldiers were killed, leaving only Captain Kōji and three jōnin-level warriors.

As they fought a retreating battle, Uchiha reinforcements unexpectedly arrived, turning the tide against the Senju and leaving Itama with only the desperation of a trapped beast. Now, under the Uchiha’s encirclement, their only hope lay in Kōji defeating Fūka and coming to their aid.