Uchiha Madara's cold voice cut across the training field like a blade.
"Trash."
A moment of stunned silence—and then the field erupted.
"Damn it! Uchiha Madara really dares to belittle us like this!"
Anger flared across several faces. A young shinobi turned to his companion.
"Sosuke… isn't this a bit too much? Even if he's a legendary powerhouse, this is over the line!"
His companion rose slowly, gaze steady.
"Insulting? Maybe. But he isn't wrong."
"What—Sosuke, how can you say that!? If you look down on yourself, how are you supposed to become strong? Even if the opponent is a legendary shinobi, you need the courage to draw your sword!"
He spoke with the seriousness of someone reciting a creed.
"Lord Shisui once said: a swordsman must be unyielding, with an indomitable spirit. One day, I'll become a blade-master like him."
Sosuke glanced at him and replied calmly:
"Morita… I am standing."
Morita froze.
"…"
Across the field, Madara's single sentence had already provoked widespread hostility. Even Uchiha Itachi felt a twinge of helplessness—was their ancestor always this flamboyant?
Senju Hashirama chuckled quietly.
"Madara hasn't changed at all."
Madara had succeeded in provoking them, but no one dared to step forward.
Everyone knew Uchiha Madara's overwhelming strength. In front of him, how many could genuinely claim they weren't "trash"?
Sosuke understood: a shinobi should only speak to the limit of their power. Madara's words meant nothing to him. Strength was what mattered. Strength was the only language he respected.
And he was already standing—so what did the actions of those still sitting have to do with him?
Morita hesitated, then stood as well.
…Sosuke's logic was strangely convincing.
Madara took a single step forward, and the air froze.
"From this moment on, I am in charge of you. Under my hand, you may die at any time."
A suffocating killing intent erupted from Madara—heavy, ancient, like a sea of blood pressing onto their chests.
Hashirama frowned.
Madara wasn't exaggerating. Anyone who treated this training lightly would die.
"Madara—"
"Hashirama. Don't speak. I am the one in charge."
Madara's cold interruption silenced him completely.
He scanned the intimidated crowd, a cruel glint flashing in his eyes.
"My training method is simple: actual combat. The strongest training in the shinobi world. From now on, your schedule is straightforward—one day of battle, one day of recovery, training, and reflection."
"I will continuously push your limits. If anyone fails to grow stronger… don't blame me for your death."
"The shinobi world needs iron-blooded warriors, not children playing house."
His voice chilled everyone to the bone. A few swallowed nervously.
Madara raised his hand.
"Then let's begin. Show me what you have."
He walked toward the spacious clearing, clearly intending to fight them all at once.
When he reached the center, he curled his finger disdainfully.
A gesture that said: Come.
"Charge! Let him see how strong we are!"
A robust shinobi rushed forward first, and several followed. Others watched with mixed expressions—were these men brave or simply reckless?
Since the assembled shinobi came from different backgrounds and had been reorganized into mixed units, the first charge came from the hot-blooded types.
The first attacker lunged with a kunai—only to strike empty air.
Madara had already moved.
He blurred into the group, fists and legs flowing with terrifying precision. Every strike was concise, efficient, overwhelming.
Bodies flew. Screams followed.
At the same time, Madara activated the life-force forging method he had learned from Naruto—stirring blood and chakra to temper the body mid-combat. His Taijutsu was sharp and fluid, backed by a century of battle instinct.
He suppressed the entire field with pure hand-to-hand combat.
"Charge! Martial Arts—Burst Step: Wild Dance!"
Several martial-type shinobi shouted as they unleashed their techniques, rushing Madara again.
Those who were knocked back realized something—Madara wasn't using full killing intent. He was restraining his power just enough to avoid crippling them.
A top-tier sparring opportunity like this… was something most shinobi could only dream of.
Once they understood this, their fear turned to fervor.
They roared—and charged again.
However, plenty of shinobi were sent flying by Madara's strikes. Several spat blood the moment they hit the ground, unable to continue and forced to withdraw.
"Lord Hashirama… is Madara really alright doing this?"
Uchiha Itachi finally voiced his concern.
Hashirama sighed, but his gaze remained steady.
"Madara is willful, yes—but this is precisely why he can draw out their potential. Harsh as it is, our enemies won't show mercy either."
When it came to matters of training, Hashirama was unexpectedly firm and reliable.
"For the next few days, you will handle the ninjutsu instruction," Hashirama continued. "Teach them team coordination and proper battle formations."
And with that, Hashirama spun around and left—so quickly that Itachi suspected he'd heard news of another "fun game" at the casino.
"…I suppose I should have expected this," Itachi muttered helplessly.
The Days That Followed…
The training grounds grew increasingly brutal.
Madara's hits became heavier. His pace became faster. His pressure became suffocating. Many realized with dread that if this continued, the speed at which they improved could not keep up with the speed at which Madara was escalating.
So they adapted.
They leaned into teamwork.
They studied formations Itachi taught.
They drilled until late night, then limped away to heal before the next day's beating.
And the results were undeniable.
Their ninjutsu grew sharper.
Their coordination became smoother.
Their combat instincts strengthened.
Every morning, bruised faces and bandaged limbs charged at Uchiha Madara again—roaring like madmen.
The warriors' physiques hardened.
The shinobi's ninjutsu grew more refined.
Their battle experience multiplied.
But not everyone could withstand Madara's torment.
One after another, weaker-willed shinobi chose to withdraw.
Inside the Planning Hall
In a bright room overlooking the developing plans for the new shinobi world, Naruto sifted through scrolls and reports.
Shisui stood nearby, hesitant.
"Naruto-kun… aren't Madara's methods a bit too harsh?"
Naruto didn't even look up.
"Someone asked you to intercede for them, didn't they?"
Shisui smiled awkwardly.
Naruto set his paperwork aside and finally met his eyes.
"There's no such thing as a free lunch in this world. No one gets stronger without paying a price."
"And frankly," Naruto continued, "only Madara would dare to train them like this. Look at the results—it's working."
"If this continues, within a month they'll be completely reborn. Their combat power will triple at minimum."
Naruto leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.
"Besides… Madara's using them to help him cultivate. It's smart."
"And I've been refining some ideas for my own cultivation technique. Next, I'll temper their willpower first."
Shisui lowered his head in understanding.
He and the older generation had suffered far worse growing up.
As for the pampered clan heirs who had joined hoping to 'gain experience'…
It was time they learned that polishing gold came with fire—and Madara's fire was merciless.