This time, the war involved two Hidden Villages.
Before becoming the head monk of the Fire Temple, Jiriku had served among the Guardian Twelve Ninja. So, the moment he heard that war was about to erupt again, he immediately summoned every shinobi monk in the temple, ready to assist Senju Haruto in meeting the enemy head-on.
Haruto hadn't expected the Fire Temple to want to intervene in this conflict.
In his mind, monks from the Fire Temple were detached from worldly affairs, devoted to the principle that all things are empty, uninterested in the struggles beyond their gates.
So Jiriku's sudden offer of manpower came as a surprise.
"No matter what you may think, the Fire Temple is the throat of the Land of Fire," Jiriku said gravely. "If the Mist ninja want to attack Konoha, this place is their only way through.
"And when I served among the Guardian Twelve, I learned a great deal about the Mist. Their shinobi are masters of assassination."
He hesitated for a moment, his voice softening as if recalling something from long ago. "There's also… a personal reason."
"Personal?" Haruto looked him over, curious at the sudden turn.
"Yes."
Though it was an old story, it wasn't exactly a secret.
The Fire Temple might be on the Land of Fire's outer edge, but it wasn't blind to the world's events. Jiriku knew enough about what was happening in Konoha to understand the stakes — and he understood well the bitter history between Konoha and the Mist.
And Haruto… was here to protect the village. Their interests aligned.
Jiriku's "personal reason" wasn't complicated: he and Sarutobi Asuma were close friends, comrades in the Guardian Twelve who had once protected the Land of Fire's daimyō together.
Even now, as the head monk, Jiriku had not forgotten that bond.
To him, Asuma was one of the most loyal, village-loving shinobi he had ever met.
And so, because of that friendship, Jiriku wanted to do his part in defending Konoha.
"I see," Haruto replied with a look of sudden understanding — though in truth, it was only for show.
Considering his own plans, he shook his head and chose to refuse.
"I understand how you feel, Jiriku," Haruto said evenly. "But this is no small matter. The enemy is the Mist Village. With your current strength, I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to help much.
"And I can't have my men worrying about protecting you while fighting Mist shinobi."
The words came out without hesitation — blunt, intended to make the shinobi monks realize their limitations and abandon the idea.
But instead of sobering them, Haruto's bluntness only lit a fire of resentment. They felt as though they'd been looked down on.
Jiriku's face darkened, and the monks behind him looked equally grim.
"What if I can prove it?" Jiriku met Haruto's eyes squarely. "I was once one of the Guardian Twelve, tasked with safeguarding the daimyō himself."
"So what? The daimyō rarely steps into danger. The Guardian Twelve might have an impressive name, but in the end, you're just… highly paid bodyguards.
"Frankly, I'm not even sure the Guardian Twelve could match the skill of an elite chūnin," Haruto replied, irritation creeping into his voice.
He understood Jiriku's intentions — but if he allowed the monks to join the fight, how could he manage the Uchiha? How could he carry out his plan to collect Sharingan eyes?
And beyond that, only Jiriku himself had ever borne the title of Guardian Twelve. The rest of the monks? Haruto doubted even half could match a chūnin's skill.
Even Asuma, in this period, had yet to become a full jōnin — meaning his ability was probably on par with an elite chūnin at best.
In truth, Haruto's refusal was also meant to spare them from dying needlessly.
But his "good intentions" only further provoked them.
Without a word, Jiriku shrugged off his monk's robe, stepping forward into a battle stance.
Haruto sighed inwardly, a black line forming in his mind's eye.
"If I can prove the monks' strength…?" Jiriku said again, sizing Haruto up. Judging by his appointment as captain, Haruto's strength must be formidable. But Jiriku's own skill was nothing to scoff at — and he possessed a secret art unlike anything ordinary shinobi had ever seen.
He wasn't aiming to defeat Haruto, only to prove himself.
"Raigyō: Senju Satsu!" ("Welcome Technique: Thousand-Armed Kill!")
His hands formed a rapid Buddha seal, and in an instant, chakra surged from his body. It swelled visibly, hardening into a golden light that flared brightly before shaping itself into a towering statue of the Thousand-Armed Kannon, enveloping Jiriku within.
Haruto watched the entire process, memory stirring.
Jiriku's title of Guardian Twelve wasn't his only distinction — he was also known as a Sage Prodigy. His secret art was unlike any ninjutsu Haruto had ever seen.
Haruto's gaze traveled upward. The statue loomed nearly ten meters high, its presence so imposing that even the monks behind Jiriku gasped in awe.
"The Thousand-Armed Kill…"
"They say it's the ultimate defense. No attack can break it."
"And each arm can strike independently — the power is immense. Even an elite jōnin would struggle to withstand it."
"I didn't think he'd use this technique right from the start…"
"Yeah… now that shinobi will be the one in trouble!"
Every monk present felt Haruto was about to pay for his arrogance.
Even the Uchiha behind Haruto couldn't help but be impressed.
"I've heard the monks of the Fire Temple are of the Sage Lineage," one whispered. "And Jiriku is their most gifted prodigy."
"To think such a genius was hidden away here…"
The Thousand-Armed Kannon, to their eyes, even resembled the legendary Susanoo spoken of within the Uchiha clan.
"Since you're ready," Jiriku's voice rumbled, his hands still locked in the Buddha seal, "I'll begin my attack."
He stepped forward, and the serene Kannon transformed — its face twisting into the wrathful visage of a guardian king. Countless arms clenched into fists and swung toward Haruto from every angle at once.
"Ah…"
Watching the full-force strike, Haruto could only sigh.
Wouldn't it be easier to just stay safely in the Fire Temple?
Why insist on stepping onto the battlefield? Was war supposed to be fun?
Shaking his head, Haruto locked eyes with Jiriku. His black pupils began to spin, consumed by crimson, until three tomoe swirled into place.
It happened in an instant — just as the wrathful Kannon's blows were about to land, the towering statue shattered into pieces.