"Hahaha… Leave it to me, Tsunade!"
Hiruzen Sarutobi threw his head back and laughed.
In that laughter was the release of a long-carried burden. Though aged, it carried boldness.
He straightened his back slightly. In his eyes, the sharp glint of the once-renowned "Professor" of the ninja world flickered back to life.
"I may be old. I may have made mistakes. But I am still Hiruzen Sarutobi—the one they once called the 'Professor'!"
He tightened his grip on his pipe.
"A shinobi has a shinobi's ending. This time… I will settle this in my own way."
For a brief moment, the shadow of the Third Hokage who once stood at the pinnacle of the shinobi world seemed to return.
He knew the odds were grim.
But this was the path he had chosen—for himself, as a shinobi… and as a teacher.
When Tsunade, Jiraiya, and Hiruzen arrived at the village gates, Kakashi, Might Guy, Asuma, and the others were already assembled.
They froze in shock.
The Third Hokage?
And judging by his attire—he was joining the battlefield?
Asuma's eyes widened immediately. He stepped forward instinctively.
"Old man, you—"
Hiruzen cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.
His gaze swept across every shinobi present before settling on his son. His voice was aged—but unwavering.
"Orochimaru's crimes… and the harm he may yet cause…"
"Today, I—the incompetent teacher—will personally put an end to it."
The words struck like a bell.
This wasn't merely a declaration of participation.
It was a vow of closure.
Asuma met his father's eyes and saw something he had not seen in a long time—clarity.
All the protests died in his throat.
He knew this look.
Once Hiruzen made such a decision, there was no turning back.
Asuma slowly stepped back, fists clenched tight, emotions churning behind his steady expression.
Perhaps… this was the most fitting ending for him.
Tsunade wasted no further time.
"Move out!"
In an instant, figures shot forward like streaks of light, carrying with them a mix of killing intent and tragic resolve as they sped toward the war-touched borderlands.
Meanwhile — The Front Lines
The fanatical experimental subjects had already surged into the Land of Fire like an unrestrained landslide.
They destroyed outposts, attacked scattered patrol squads and villages, throwing the region into chaos. Panic spread like wildfire.
Yet standing at the rear, observing everything, Karin frowned deeply.
Her small face was filled with dissatisfaction.
"What's going on…?"
"They seem… weaker."
Her senses were sharp. The explosive power they had displayed when first leaving the base had noticeably diminished.
Orochimaru's Shadow Clone, sharing perception with his original body, smiled knowingly—like a scientist who had finally uncovered a crucial data point.
"So that's it… I understand now."
His golden snake-like pupils gleamed.
"Their method of gaining power—the price—is their lifespan."
Though he had not yet unraveled the exact mechanism behind this "lifespan-for-power" exchange, he had identified the core principle.
He turned toward Karin's clone.
"Karin. Tell me—how exactly does the power granted by your 'god' consume their life force in exchange for strength?"
Karin blinked in confusion, tilting her head.
"Consume lifespan? What are you talking about?"
"Isn't it only natural for Lord Demon God to grant power?"
Her expression clearly said: What kind of stupid question is that?
That response confirmed everything.
Karin simply believed—and used—the power bestowed upon her.
Why her followers grew stronger… why they weakened…
In her mind, it was likely nothing more than insufficient faith—or a test from her "Demon God."
This state of knowing how but not why only deepened Orochimaru's wariness—and fascination.
This power source…
It operated beyond conventional logic.
Perhaps even beyond the comprehension of its own wielder.
Orochimaru's mind worked rapidly.
Their current weakening was obvious.
After entering the Land of Fire, they had faced continuous minor engagements.
Each reckless charge.
Each injury ignored.
Each desperate clash.
Every action accelerated the burning of the limited lifespan left after their "conversion."
This system of power had a flaw:
Poor sustainability.
It traded the future for a short-lived explosion.
And yet—
To Orochimaru, this did not diminish its value.
It made it even more worthy of study.
If he could grasp its principles…
Refine it…
Improve its efficiency…
He slowly extended his long tongue, licking his lips as though savoring a delicacy.
His gaze drifted toward Karin.
He had personally witnessed how, in such a short time, she created a fearless army of zealots with drastically enhanced combat strength.
"If given enough time… and enough 'materials'…"
"She could snowball this force into something capable of sweeping across the entire shinobi world."
The thought was intoxicating.
A cold, feverish smile curved his lips.
The great villages and their Kage always focused on "high-level" assets:
Elite shinobi.
Kekkei Genkai.
Tailed Beasts.
They dismissed civilians as background noise—burdens, statistics.
"Who ever truly values the common people?" Orochimaru silently scoffed.
And yet—
Those same ordinary civilians harbored the deepest wells of resentment, greed, despair, and anger.
Seeds of darkness.
Under Karin's "Demonic Whisper," those seeds bloomed instantly into fanatic devotion.
Once bewitched…
Once stripped of fear of death…
Once granted explosive power…
What village could truly withstand that tide?
Orochimaru imagined it clearly—
A wave of believers.
Countless.
Unstoppable.
A flood that devoured everything.
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