Chapter 231: The Path to Power, The Ghost of a Brother
A leaden sky hung over Konoha, the dark clouds a fitting shroud for the village's grief. A low rumble of thunder echoed, a mournful drumroll that gave way to a relentless, pouring rain. It was as if the heavens themselves were weeping, the downpour washing over the shattered village, attempting to cleanse the blood from its streets but only succeeding in deepening the chill of loss.
Miraculously, through the concerted effort of every able-bodied shinobi and citizen, the two symbols of Konoha's spirit had already been restored. The Hokage Tower stood once more, and the scarred faces on the Hokage Rock had been meticulously repaired. They were beacons of defiance, but the hollow feeling in the village's heart remained.
On the roof of the new tower, the shinobi of Konoha stood assembled, a sea of black funeral attire. The rain soaked them to the bone, but no one moved, no one sought shelter. Their stillness was a tribute, a shared penance for having survived.
At the forefront stood the new pillars of Konoha: the acting Hokage, Hatake Kakashi, and the strategic mind behind the recovery, Nara Shikaku. Shikaku's voice, somber and steady, carried over the drumming rain, eulogizing the fallen. Before them, on a high altar, were rows of photographs. The faces of Jiraiya, Koharu, and Mitokado stared out from the most prominent positions, their images a stark reminder of the leadership that had been ripped away.
In the crowd, Naruto stood rigid, his body swathed in bandages, his face pale. He had defied the medics to be here. The cold rain on his face felt like a mockery of the hot tears he refused to shed. He stared at Jiraiya's grinning photo, the memory of their training, the old pervert's final, proud smile flashing behind his eyes. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The pain was a physical thing, a raw, open wound, but within it, a new resolve was crystallizing. I will not let this be in vain.
As Shikaku's final words faded, the assembly moved forward, one by one, to lay white chrysanthemums upon the altar. The funeral was efficient, pared down by necessity. A village in ruins could not afford prolonged ceremony.
The following day, Kakashi's new regime began its work. Orders were issued, reconstruction crews mobilized, and perimeter defenses reinforced. Messengers were dispatched to recall every Konoha shinobi on a mission abroad. The great machine of the village was lurching back to life, its movements frantic, its purpose singular: survival.
***
Far from the rain-swept grief of Konoha, in the quiet stronghold of the Land of Iron, the atmosphere was tense for a different reason.
Within the confines of the headquarters, Ren stood over a trembling Sasuke. The younger Uchiha was sweating, his breathing ragged, his hands pressed against his aching eyes.
"My eyes… they burn," Sasuke gritted out, his voice strained. "Is it…?"
"You already know the answer," Ren stated, his tone devoid of comfort. "It is the curse that comes with our power. The Mangekyo Sharingan exacts its price. I have stabilized the degradation for now, but every time you call upon its deepest techniques, you steal light from your own future. Continue, and you will plunge yourself into eternal darkness."
Though he had suspected it, the confirmation struck Sasuke with the force of a physical blow. A tremor of pure panic ran through him. The power he had sacrificed everything for—the power to kill his brother, to confront Ren—was now the very thing that would cripple him. The thought of being rendered blind, helpless, was a fate worse than death.
"Damn it… is there truly no other way?" Sasuke whispered, his voice thick with desperation. His head snapped up, his dimming eyes fixing on Ren with a frantic hope. "You! Your eyes were awakened long before mine! You use the Mangekyō without restraint! How are you unaffected? You must know a way! Tell me!"
Ren met his gaze, his own crimson eyes calm and impenetrable. "There is no 'remedy,' Sasuke. This is the fate of every Uchiha who walks this path. No one is exempt." He paused, letting the despair sink in before delivering a sliver of twisted hope. "Except for one. Uchiha Madara."
"Madara… the Eternal Mangekyō…" Sasuke breathed, the legendary power feeling like a myth, a distant, unattainable dream. "So that is the only path? To find a way to achieve that? Or… or to never use my power again?" The latter option was unthinkable. It would mean giving up his very reason for being.
"I know you will not choose a life of impotence," Ren said, his voice dropping lower, taking on a conspiratorial tone. He looked at Sasuke with a complex, almost pitying expression. "Your ambition burns too brightly for that. So, if you wish to walk the only other path available to you… there is but one course of action."
Sasuke leaned forward, every fiber of his being focused on Ren's words. "What is it?"
Ren's answer was simple, yet it echoed in the room with the weight of a world-shattering revelation.
"We go find… Itachi."
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