Chapter 229: The Ashes of Dawn
The acrid smell of smoke and ozone clung to the air as Ren approached his team. The fierce battle had left its mark on all of them, but his gaze fell specifically on Jugo, whose body was marred with deep wounds, his ragged breathing a testament to the punishment he had endured.
"Jugo," Ren's voice was a low, steady counterpoint to the distant sounds of chaos still echoing from Konoha. "Your injuries are severe. Can you continue?"
A grimace that was meant to be a smile touched Jugo's lips. "I will endure," he grunted, shifting his weight and wincing. "My body… it will heal. We are in your debt, Ren. Your timing was… fortuitous." The unspoken truth hung between them—a moment later, and the outcome could have been tragically different.
Ren gave a curt nod. Jugo's unique constitution, amplified by the specialized nutrients he consumed, would indeed accelerate his recovery. "Good. Our work here is finished. It's time to withdraw."
With a fluid motion, he raised a hand. The air around the group of five shimmered, humming with the intricate chakra patterns of the Flying Thunder God Technique. In the blink of an eye, the forest clearing they stood in was empty, leaving behind only the scarred earth and the silent dead as witnesses to their presence.
They reappeared instantaneously on a high bluff overlooking the valley where Konoha lay. From this vantage point, the scale of the destruction was laid bare. The colossal form of the Nine-Tails, a manifestation of pure hatred, was still rampaging through the village's heart. Tiny, ant-like figures—Konoha's bravest—dared to launch futile attacks against the beast. Fireballs and lightning strikes peppered its chakra form, doing little more than drawing its ire. Each swipe of a massive claw, each thunderous stomp, sent plumes of debris and dust high into the air, carving fresh wounds into the village's landscape.
Ren watched, his expression one of cold, detached contempt. "Look at it," he murmured, his voice barely louder than the wind. "Konoha… the 'will of fire' reduced to embers. They drove away their Sannin, broke the spirit of the White Fang, sacrificed the Fourth Hokage on the altar of their secrets, and orchestrated the genocide of their most loyal protectors, the Uchiha. And now, a single Tailed Beast brings them to their knees. This crumbling edifice still dares to call itself the leader of the Five Great Shinobi Villages? It is the greatest joke of all."
"We have withdrawn, Boss," Suigetsu remarked, sheathing his massive Kubikiribōchō with a final, satisfying click. "Do we just leave the fox to finish the job?"
"Our immediate objective is complete. We return to the Land of Iron to regroup and recover," Ren stated, his gaze still fixed on the distant inferno. "You've all fought hard. Rest is your reward."
Suigetsu stretched, a genuine, weary smile on his face. "Finally, something I can get behind. My arms feel like they're about to fall off."
A cruel smirk twisted Ren's lips as he looked down upon the village one last time. "Their reprieve is a matter of my whim, not their strength." He closed his eyes, concentrating. In the village below, the raging Nine-Tails, mid-roar, suddenly dissolved into a swirling vortex of crimson chakra before vanishing entirely, leaving behind an eerie, ringing silence.
"Let's go."
Without a backward glance, Ren turned and began the journey north. The members of Eagle shared a final, triumphant look at the smoldering ruin of their former home before falling into step behind their leader, their figures soon swallowed by the forest shadows.
***
Back in Konoha, the sudden disappearance of the beast was met not with cheers, but with a wary, exhausted disbelief. Shinobi stood frozen on the rubble, weapons still raised, their eyes darting across the skyline for the next threat. The silence was more unnerving than the roar of battle had been.
After long, tense minutes, it became clear the attack was over. A collective sigh of relief swept through the survivors, but it was a hollow sound, quickly replaced by the moans of the wounded and the soft sobs of those mourning the dead.
"It seems… the enemy has truly withdrawn," a jounin finally said, his voice hoarse. But his words did little to lift the pall of despair. The trauma inflicted by Uchiha Ren was a deeper wound than any the Nine-Tails had caused.
In the ranks of the surviving Root agents, a different sentiment festered. This is the consequence of showing mercy to a snake, one thought, his face a mask of cold fury. Lord Danzō's only error was not ensuring the complete eradication of the Uchiha pestilence. They saw not the tragedy of their own actions, but the failure of their genocide to be absolute.
***
The first rays of dawn crested the eastern mountains, their pale light a cruel revealer of truths the night had kindly hidden. The full moon faded, ushering in a new day that Konoha had no strength to greet.
The village was a canvas of grief. Shinobi wandered through the ruins with hollow eyes, praying this was all a terrible dream from which they would soon awaken. The streets, usually alive with the chatter of children heading to the Academy and the smell of Teuchi's ramen, were silent and broken. Every family had been touched by the night's violence; every heart carried a fresh scar.
As the sun rose fully, it illuminated the full, devastating extent of the damage. The Hokage Monument, the stone faces of the village's leaders, was scarred and partially collapsed. The central tower was a skeleton of its former self. The hopeful light of morning felt like an accusation, highlighting the vulnerability and folly of the once-great village. With the Fifth Hokage, Tsunade, missing in action, a power vacuum sucked the morale from the village, leaving it leaderless, chaotic, and drowning in its own despair.
***
For Ren, walking away from the smoldering ruin of Konoha, the chapter was closed. The three architects of the Uchiha clan's downfall—Danzō, Homura, and Koharu—were dead. His vengeance, in its purest form, was sated.
A strange, quiet melancholy settled over him as he traveled. He had achieved what he set out to do. As a man with knowledge of a future that would now never be, why did this hollow victory feel so… inevitable? If not for the memory of Mikoto's smile, the sound of Fugaku's proud voice—memories that were not truly his, yet felt more real than his own—would he have walked this path at all? The power of the system had given him the means, but it was the borrowed love for a family he never knew that had given him the reason. It was a paradox he had yet to solve: how could a heart meant to be detached learn to care so deeply?
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts. The past was ash. His eyes were now on the future, and the stronghold that awaited him in the Land of Iron.
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