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My senses, dulled by this infant body, had sharpened just enough over the past week to allow me moments like this—lucid, focused. I pushed my chakra outward in thin, invisible waves, testing the limits of my control.
The wood of the cradle vibrated faintly under my influence.
"Better," I muttered internally. "Still very slow."
Even with natural affinity, I couldn't ignore the bottleneck of baby muscles and undeveloped chakra pathways. But I wasn't trying to win battles yet—I was laying the groundwork. I had time. Not much, but some.
I turned my focus inward again.
If I could refine chakra like a sage, reduce waste, create efficiency from infancy—then by the time I walked, I'd already be untouchable.
A flicker.
My chakra surged, and for a heartbeat, I could see it. Not with my eyes—but with my mind.
A red spark. Burning deep within my tenketsu.
"…Senju vitality," I whispered to myself. "This body is built for war."
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Senju Battlefront Command Tent
The interior of the Senju command tent pulsed with tension, lit by flickering lanterns and shrouded in the musky scent of rain-drenched earth. A roughly drawn map of the warfront dominated the center, pinned with chakra-infused kunai to hold it flat in the wind. The clan's senior members—grim-faced elders with battle-worn expressions—stood in a semi-circle around Butsuma Senju, the clan leader.
"We've lost six months' worth of supplies," boomed Elder Hiraku, striking the wooden table with a clenched fist. "Six months, Butsuma! Our frontline fighters are starving while the Uchiha grow bolder."
Another elder, thinner but no less severe, chimed in. "The enemy anticipated our routes. That reconnaissance squad they sent—eliminated, yes, but at what cost? We lost good shinobi. The Uchiha must have learned of our supply lines."
Butsuma's gaze was steely, his voice calm but resolute. "It wasn't a coincidence. They're testing us. But we won't break."
A younger idealist, Kenshiro Senju, raised his hand hesitantly. "With respect, Lord Butsuma… should we not focus on reinforcing the supply chain and finding diplomatic ties with neutral clans? These continued losses—"
"We're at war, Kenshiro," interrupted Elder Hiraku. "There is no diplomacy when the Uchiha are involved. Every kindness is seen as weakness. This is survival."
"But if we become like them—"
"Enough," Butsuma barked, silencing the room. He turned toward the map, pointing toward a cluster of smaller symbols—territories held by neutral or subjugated clans. "We take what we need. The Takeda clan to the east has food. It's not much, but enough to resupply our front lines."
Another elder raised an eyebrow. "And if they resist?"
Butsuma didn't blink. "Then we show them our strength. But don't wipe them out. We need labor—slave workers to build fortifications and transport supplies."
Uneasy glances passed between the elders, but no one opposed him outright. Such measures, though harsh, were not uncommon in this age of endless bloodshed.
"And also form an elite squad," Butsuma ordered. "Pick our fastest and deadliest. Move before dawn. The longer we wait, the more we suffer."
A guard stood at the perimeter, posture straight, eyes dull—until, for a fleeting moment, those dull eyes ignited into the crimson hue of a three-tomoe Sharingan.
The transformation was so brief, so subtle, that not even the other watchmen noticed. The guard did not blink, did not move. But within the stillness, the world around him bent slightly, as if refracted through glass. No one saw the shadow of Genjutsu woven over his mind.
Later, when the council had dispersed and the camp settled into uneasy quiet, a small crow fluttered down through the trees. It landed delicately on the Sharingan-guard's shoulder.
From beneath his flak jacket, the guard withdrew a tightly bound scroll. Without a word, he tied it to the crow's leg. A single hand sign later—poof—the crow vanished in a burst of chakra and feathers.
The guard blinked. His eyes returned to their natural black. He shook his head slightly, unaware that he had ever done anything out of the ordinary.
He resumed patrolling, nodding politely to fellow guards as the night deepened around him.
Uchiha Battlefront Encampment
Within a rocky stronghold nestled between sheer cliffs, the Uchiha camp simmered with rage. Inside a stone hall lit by dim torches and chakra lanterns, the clan's elders gathered for a crisis meeting. Tajima Uchiha, clan head and father of Madara, stood with arms crossed, flanked by senior warriors and battle-scarred strategists.
"The loss of our reconnaissance unit was a calculated attack," said Elder Roku. "Those shinobi were among our best. This wasn't luck—it was intent."
One of the radicals, a fierce young Uchiha named Kaien, smirked. "But we made them bleed for it. They lost as many men as we did. Their supply line is shattered. This is our opening."
Another elder, an idealist named Yakura, frowned. "An opening perhaps, but at what cost? Those shinobi we lost—Kota, Nashi, Irin—they were veterans. We can't replace them overnight. And if they cut our line next, we'll suffer the same."
"The Senju are desperate," Kaien countered. "Desperation breeds mistakes. We should strike now, press our advantage. Push forward while they're still reeling."
Tajima raised a hand, silencing both sides. His voice was measured, deep with command. "We do not act on emotion. Not yet. Let them think we retreat. Let them grow overconfident."
Kaien clenched his jaw but said nothing. Yakura gave a slight nod of agreement.
The room fell quiet.
"Yagami," Tajima said. "Stay behind."
As the rest of the clan members filtered out, murmuring amongst themselves, Yagami Uchiha stepped forward. His dark armor was adorned with raven-feather patterns, and his Sharingan flickered faintly beneath his hood.
When they were alone, Tajima turned to him. "What did the crow bring?"
Yagami's voice was quiet, but every word carried weight. "The Senju plan to raid the Takeda clan for food. They intend to use force, but not annihilation. Butsuma wants slave labor."
Tajima's eyes narrowed. "They're growing ruthless."
"They've formed an elite unit. Moving at dawn."
Tajima considered this, then turned toward the map spread across a stone slab. "What else?"
"They're weak right now. Desperate. But not broken. Their idealists still talk of peace."
"Then we shatter that illusion."
Yagami tilted his head. "How should we respond?"
"Intercept the elite squad. But don't just kill them. Send a message. Let the Senju know that every step forward costs them ten more backward. And send word to the Takeda."
"To warn them?"
"To bind them. We offer protection in exchange for loyalty. We'll send food if needed. We must ensure they don't join the Senju out of fear."
Yagami bowed. "As you wish, my lord."
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