Pitch-black. No up or down, no left or right, no east, west, south, or north. For the most part, it lacked any sensory input whatsoever.
Fortunately, as his continuous soul training progressed, Diarmuid's own soul was now capable of emitting a dim, eerie luminescence within this Pure Land, glowing much like a lonely firefly.
He couldn't even recall how many times he had visited the Pure Land by now.
At this point, he was incredibly well-acquainted with the entire process. Back during his first few entries, he used to feel suffocated and claustrophobic within this dark space that stripped away almost all five senses.
But now, it was just a matter of habit.
Aside from the entry ticket to the Pure Land being somewhat hard on human lives, there weren't any major issues.
Right now, the spiritual energy of Diarmuid's soul was continuously "burning," steadily amplifying the innate, eerie light of his soul to illuminate a fraction of this boundless darkness.
He wasn't doing this to burn himself out just to light up the Pure Land, of course.
He didn't possess that kind of monolithic power anyway; even if he burned his entire soul to ash, it would be fundamentally impossible to illuminate the entire Pure Land.
At the moment, he only needed to light up a small perimeter so he wouldn't lose track of his target.
That's right, a target.
During his previous entries into the Pure Land, the souls acting as his "guides" would always drift rapidly toward a specific direction. However, due to the total deprivation of his five senses amidst the absolute blackness, Diarmuid would invariably lose track of them.
He had always been left to grope around blindly in the dark on his own.
This time, however, he was actively tracking the soul that served as his guide. He wanted to see exactly where these deceased individuals ultimately ended up within the depths of the Pure Land.
The soul drifting ahead was completely dazed, still locked in a mindless, unconscious state. It was merely being drawn forward naturally toward a specific vector by some sort of cosmic attraction.
Diarmuid trailed quietly behind it, maintaining a steady pace without rushing.
Could it be that they are heading toward reincarnation? Diarmuid mused to himself, clicking his tongue.
But very quickly, he dismissed the notion.
In the shinobi world, the boundary separating life and death was exceptionally fragile and blurred, frequently broken by people time and again. Furthermore, the Pure Land completely lacked the structural, comprehensive laws of cycle one would typically expect from a proper underworld.
Granted, there were prevalent rumors in the living world regarding the Six Paths of Reincarnation or Buddhist rebirth concepts.
Yet, after entering the Pure Land so many times, Diarmuid had never once witnessed such a phenomenon.
By the same token, techniques like the Reanimation Jutsu could forcefully drag people who had been dead for decades straight out of the Pure Land.
From this alone, it was obvious that the Pure Land did not possess the systemic function to automatically process souls for reincarnation.
Otherwise, if everyone was supposed to reincarnate, why would they just stay lingering in the Pure Land?
Were they waiting in a queue?
Based on his previous sensory experiences within the Pure Land, the space seemed to subtly and imperceptibly cause an individual's conscious thought processes to completely stall. An active, living interloper like himself could perhaps consciously register this unnatural sensation.
However, the deceased who drifted in while already completely dazed probably couldn't perceive it at all. Therefore, it was highly likely that their active consciousness remained permanently frozen at the exact microsecond of their death, even if decades had already elapsed in the living world.
Once their cognitive processes ground to a total halt, their souls would simply drift aimlessly across the infinite expanse of the Pure Land. What their ultimate fate would be remained a mystery.
At the very least, drifting around for decades or even centuries didn't seem to cause any structural issue.
I wonder exactly how massive the Pure Land truly is to have avoided being completely bursting at the seams from the influx of deceased souls over thousands of years... Diarmuid thought to himself.
While he was lost in these thoughts, a flash of white suddenly flickered across his vision.
It was incredibly abrupt. One moment, everything within his line of sight was absolute, total blackness.
Yet, in the very next microsecond, he suddenly stepped right into an illuminated space, catching him completely off guard.
Instinctively raising a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, Diarmuid knit his brows. It took him a solid second or two to fully acclimate to this sudden transition into the light.
Once he did, a wave of genuine excitement welled up within his heart.
As expected, his hypothesis was correct. The Pure Land wasn't just a monotonous expanse of perpetual blackness!
At this moment, he had successfully transitioned from the infinite darkness into a completely white world.
However, unlike the absolute deprivation of his five senses in the dark zone, his vision wasn't entirely blanked out by the white. Rather, this whiteness carried an overwhelmingly pale, pallid quality.
Even though many objects clearly possessed distinct hues, the visual spectrum still left one with the overarching concept of absolute "paleness."
Simultaneously, Diarmuid spotted a vast multitude of "people," or more accurately, soul forms.
Scanning the area carefully, he didn't recognize a single face.
Ah, wait, that wasn't entirely true. The anonymous death-row convict he had been tracking was present. Upon entering this pale world, the convict's conscious mind seemed to experience a fleeting microsecond of clarity. He promptly sat down on the ground, and a small campfire abruptly materialized before him.
Following that, the soul simply stared blankly into the fire, his eyes turning completely hollow. Unsurprisingly, his cognitive processes had ground to a halt once more.
This visual dynamic gave off the distinct impression that he was waiting for someone.
And looking around the perimeter, a vast number of the surrounding souls were locked in this exact identical state.
They sat completely motionless, looking precisely like stone sculptures.
Diarmuid took a few strides forward, stopping directly in front of one of the soul forms. He extended his hand and waved his fingers right before the figure's eyes.
"Hey!" Diarmuid called out.
Yet, the soul form remained utterly unresponsive. Under normal circumstances, even as a baseline reflex, the individual should have blinked or flinched, but there was absolutely nothing. Diarmuid's fingers were practically poking the man's eyeballs, and yet he didn't twitch a single muscle.
Needless to say, this particular atmosphere felt vastly more unsettling than the boundless darkness from before... or rather, it made one's scalp tingle slightly.
In a completely silent world, he was the sole entity capable of independent movement, while everyone else's personal time appeared to be permanently frozen at a specific moment.
This sensation... wait…
Diarmuid's eyebrows suddenly twitched. Huh? If I shift my perspective and look at this from a different angle... holy crap, it immediately stops being terrifying altogether!
Time stop!?
Diarmuid stroked his chin, his gaze darting across the massive crowd of souls as he actively searched for something. Very quickly, his eyes locked onto an exceptionally beautiful young lady.
There was no telling how many years she had been dead, but her soul form still perfectly preserved her appearance from her youth.
He carefully inspected her garments...
Don't misunderstand; he merely wanted to ascertain her historical identity. Sure enough, right on the sleeve area of her clothing, there was a stylized crest that resembled a series of interlocking rings.
This was a clan crest.
Diarmuid scrutinized the crest intently. It looked highly unfamiliar, yet a faint, distant memory slowly drifted to the surface.
This was entirely thanks to the massive volumes of historical notes and journals left behind by Tobirama, which contained detailed records and descriptions of various ancient clans.
After a lengthy period of mental deduction, Diarmuid's eyes suddenly lit up. "The Hagoromo clan!"
The Hagoromo clan, judging by the nomenclature alone, there was a ninety percent chance they shared a direct ancestral lineage with Ōtsutsuki Kaguya's bloodline.
As for what specific powers they had inherited from Kaguya's lineage, that remained entirely unknown.
However, by the tail end of the Warring States Period, the Hagoromo clan, once a monolithic, elite powerhouse lineage. had already been completely driven to extinction.
In the current era, the Hagoromo clan had long ceased to exist.
Which meant...
This beautiful kunoichi standing before his eyes had actually been dead for at least sixty or seventy years.
"Sixty or seventy years... and she has just been sitting here the entire time? The Pure Land truly is a deeply melancholic place. I suppose... everyone sitting here is waiting for someone, aren't they?" Diarmuid stood up, his gaze sweeping across the vast, pale expanse of the world.
So, were there truly this many souls left lingering here, eternally waiting for the ones they cherished?
He just didn't understand why, despite the passage of so many decades, the people they yearned for had still not arrived.
This poignant visual also instantly brought to mind Hatake Sakumo, Kakashi's father. He, too, was probably sitting in some forgotten corner of this boundless ocean of souls, wasn't he?
Eternally waiting for his son, Kakashi.
The only saving grace for Sakumo was that he would eventually get to greet Kakashi.
But for a vast majority of the people gathered here, they would likely continue to wait for decades, or even centuries, without ever receiving a single response.
The sole comforting factor in all of this was that their frozen cognitive processes spared them from experiencing the crushing, agonizing loneliness of endless time.
Otherwise, they would undoubtedly spiral into absolute madness, wouldn't they?
Could this perhaps be the final, lingering mercy of the Pure Land?
"If they are subjected to a certain threshold of external stimulus, would they snap out of it?" Diarmuid thought, stroking his chin as his gaze drifted back onto the beautiful young lady.
"Ahem... don't misinterpret my intentions. This is strictly a bold hypothesis coupled with cautious experimentation. Everything I am doing is solely geared toward deciphering the mysteries of this enigmatic Pure Land. I harbor absolutely zero untoward thoughts. I, Diarmuid, am a man of impeccable moral integrity. I would absolutely never utilize a time-stop scenario to... to... cough cough. Anyway, I definitely won't..." Diarmuid stated with immense, righteous conviction.
Within this boundless, desolate Pure Land, it was anyone's guess who exactly he was delivering this grand speech to.
Having concluded his speech, Diarmuid's face adopted an expression of supreme, noble scientific devotion, as if he were a pioneering martyr of academic progression. He carefully extended his hand forward.
In the next microsecond—SMACK!—Diarmuid delivered a resounding slap straight across the face of a greasy middle-aged man standing right next to the young lady.
He had already clearly stated he was a man of impeccable moral integrity, so how could he possibly commit a dishonorable act like taking advantage of a helpless girl?
Furthermore... every soul gathered here carried a deep, profound yearning for someone. Standing amidst them, Diarmuid could palpably register that raw, unadulterated emotional frequency.
Consequently, he harbored absolutely zero desire to defile something so pure.
Following the heavy slap, the middle-aged man remained completely anchored and motionless. If it weren't for the fact that the man's soul form flickered and destabilized slightly from the impact, Diarmuid would have assumed his physical palm had simply phased straight through him.
However, within moments, the incredibly rich spirit particles permeating the atmosphere of the Pure Land automatically surged forward, rapidly stabilizing the man's slightly fractured soul form back into a solid state.
Despite absorbing a full-force slap to the face, the man still didn't display the slightest hint of animation.
"It appears that this tier of physical stimulus is entirely incapable of awakening them," Diarmuid concluded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
At the same time, he made a secondary discovery: the spirit particles, which were already exceptionally dense throughout the Pure Land, seemed to be vastly more concentrated and highly volatile within this specific pale zone.
Which meant that if an individual chose to undergo soul training within this perimeter, their progression speed would likely be drastically accelerated.
However, now was not the optimal time to obsess over training mechanics; Diarmuid was far more invested in unearthing the deeper architectural secrets of the Pure Land.
Standing amidst the silent, frozen crowd of soul forms, Diarmuid ultimately let out a soft sigh. He brought his palms together in front of his chest, murmuring quietly, "Attain enlightenment."
It didn't trigger any cosmic effect, nor did Diarmuid realistically expect it to; it was merely a sincere, parting blessing. Following that, he turned on his heel and strode deeper into the dense sea of people.
Perhaps if he continued marching inward, he would eventually encounter a radically different landscape.
Meanwhile, within the Land of Lightning, deep inside a range of jagged valleys.
Kakuzu and Jūzō were currently making their way through a mountain pass completely blanketed by thick, swirling clouds and mist.
"Hey, I've heard rumors that Kumogakure is the single hardest village to infiltrate because they have the fewest foreign spies. Is that actually true or just a myth?" Jūzō asked, the massive Executioner's Blade strapped firmly to his back as he kept pace alongside Kakuzu.
While he was recognized globally as one of the elite Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist, his personal skill set wasn't particularly geared toward intelligence gathering, nor were the Seven Swordsmen structured as an espionage asset.
In stark contrast, Kakuzu was a definitive jack-of-all-trades. Having roamed the shinobi world for an untold number of decades, it was virtually impossible to encounter a subject matter he wasn't intimately knowledgeable about.
"It is true," Kakuzu confirmed with absolute composure, nodding slightly.
"Why is that?" Jūzō pursued.
"Because..." A highly peculiar expression surfaced on Kakuzu's masked face before he explained, "Because their physical skin tone is highly distinct. The vast majority of Kumogakure's population lives on the high peaks of their mountain ranges. Consequently, they are subjected to incredibly intense ultraviolet radiation, leaving them with distinctly dark skin tones... Simply by cross-referencing skin color, their internal security forces can easily filter out and eliminate a massive percentage of foreign spies right at the border."
"Well, damn..." Jūzō raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise, temporarily left at a total loss for words.
Recognizing the reality, Jūzō intelligently dropped the subject and pivoted to a different point of concern. "I've also heard that Kumogakure's Jinchūriki are absurdly powerful... supposedly operating at the level of perfect Jinchūriki..."
This rumor was entirely factual. Whether it was Yugito or Killer B, both functioned as textbook examples of perfect Jinchūriki. They possessed a flawless, harmonious synergy with their respective Tailed Beasts, allowing them to freely channel and manipulate the full spectrum of their beasts' catastrophic power at will. Their baseline combat proficiency was terrifying.
It was honestly just a stroke of bad luck that Yugito later ran into a fatal blind spot. Due to a total lack of prior intelligence regarding her opponents' abilities, coupled with her own aggressively dominant combat style, she ended up walking straight into the jaws of Kakuzu and Hidan... ultimately causing her own undoing.
"Why are you obsessing over their combat metrics?" Kakuzu countered, cutting Jūzō a sharp, sideways glance. "Our operational parameters for this deployment have absolutely nothing to do with capturing a Tailed Beast. Once we locate a viable window to secure the operational data for the Heavenly Transfer Technique, we are executing an immediate extraction."
"Hey, I'm just looking out. I'd rather not accidentally bump straight into a Jinchūriki while we're poking around inside Kumogakure's backyard," Jūzō remarked, clicking his tongue.