Inside the shrine's main hall, every lamp burned bright.
The dim daylight had been replaced by flickering candlelight, illuminating the solemn faces of every Uchiha present—along with the anticipation in their eyes.
The clan head stood before the Uchiha crest, his aged figure steady, his gaze sharp as a hawk sweeping across the hall.
Silence reigned.
Not even a pin could be heard falling.
"After final deliberation with the Hokage…"
His voice rang out, firm and commanding.
"The Uchiha will form an independent force. We will soon depart for the eastern coast of the Land of Fire—to face Kirigakure."
The words landed—
And yet, no commotion followed.
Only a deeper, tighter silence.
Every gaze remained fixed on him, waiting.
"This battle concerns not only our honor…"
"But the future of our clan."
His voice rose, carrying a fervor that seemed to awaken something buried deep within their blood.
"Therefore—"
"I have decided to revive the traditions of our ancestors from the Warring States era."
"To restore the edge of the Uchiha—"
"The Uchiha Crimson Guard!"
The moment those words were spoken—
The eyes of many elders burned with sudden intensity.
A memory.
A glory passed down through generations.
"The Crimson Guard will be established with an initial strength of two hundred!"
His gaze swept the hall.
"Every member will be elite."
"At minimum, chūnin rank—with awakened Sharingan."
He paused briefly.
Then his gaze shifted—
Passing over several young leaders—
Before settling on one figure.
Uchiha Ren.
"Following deliberation and in accordance with wartime necessity…"
"I hereby appoint—"
"Uchiha Ren!"
His voice carried absolute authority.
"You are to serve as the commanding general of the Crimson Guard."
"You will oversee all military affairs."
"And hold full authority over life and death decisions."
Even with preparation—
Ren felt a surge within his chest.
A burning force rose—
Then settled into something heavier. Steadier.
'When Xiang Yu led eight thousand warriors into battle…'
'Did he feel this same weight?'
The responsibility pressed down upon him.
Under the gaze of his kin—
He stepped forward.
Calm.
Composed.
The candlelight flickered in his dark eyes—
Yet stirred no ripple.
In that moment—
He seemed to mature.
"Ren… accepts."
The clan head studied him closely.
"The two hundred elites of the Crimson Guard…"
"You will select them yourself."
"The future of the Uchiha—"
"From this day forward—rests in your hands."
Ren bowed slightly.
His voice was clear.
"I will not fail the clan."
Among the crowd—
Mikoto watched him.
Her gaze softened, filled with quiet emotion.
But only for a moment.
She composed herself—
Returning to her usual grace.
Yet her eyes, fixed on Ren—
Shone more warmly than before.
The clan head nodded.
Then turned.
"Uchiha Fugaku!"
Fugaku stepped forward.
Straight-backed.
Steady.
There was no trace of disappointment on his face.
Win with pride.
Lose with dignity.
Such was the bearing of an Uchiha.
"You are appointed deputy commander of the Crimson Guard."
"You will assist the general."
"Maintain discipline."
"And supervise the troops in battle."
"Fugaku… accepts."
His voice rang firm.
He glanced at Ren—
A slight nod.
Full support.
At last—
The clan head turned to the final figure.
"Uchiha Mikoto."
She stepped forward gracefully.
"You will oversee intelligence and logistics."
"Reconnaissance."
"Supply."
"Medical care."
"You are the army's eyes—and its lifeline."
"Failure is not an option."
"Mikoto accepts."
Her voice was calm.
Her gaze passed between Ren and Fugaku—
Filled with trust.
…
Elsewhere—
In a bustling town within the Land of Fire—
Inside a noisy underground gambling den.
The air was thick with smoke and sweat.
Dice rattled.
Coins clattered.
Shouts and curses filled the space.
Three ANBU operatives, disguised, moved among the crowd.
Their sharp eyes scanned every corner—
The drunkards.
The gamblers.
The whispering figures in the shadows.
But they found nothing.
No trace—
Of their target.
A woman with golden hair.
A commanding presence.
The squad leader signaled silently—
Focus on lone women. Unusual builds.
Then—
A commotion.
At a nearby table, a middle-aged woman stood on a chair, shouting hoarsely.
"Open it! Come on! I'm winning this one!"
Her hair was a mess.
Her eyes bloodshot.
Her movements frantic.
A gambler on the brink.
The ANBU glanced—
Then dismissed her.
Too ordinary.
Too far removed from the legend they sought.
"No target found."
They withdrew.
Moments later—
The woman snapped.
Kicking over a table, cursing wildly.
Under the greedy gazes of onlookers, she staggered toward the back exit.
Then—
In a hidden corner—
A faint puff of smoke.
The figure shifted.
The illusion dissolved.
Revealing—
A blonde woman in a green coat.
Tsunade.
She brushed her hair back, glancing toward where the ANBU had left.
A faint scoff escaped her lips.
"Can't stay here anymore."
"Guess I'll head south with Shizune."
She weighed the nearly empty coin pouch in her hand.
Then moved.
Gone in an instant.
Only her voice lingered in the wind—
"War…"
A quiet exhale.
Filled with mockery.
With weariness.
And with deep, unhidden hatred.
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