Chapter 66: The Heroes of War
Flowers bloomed like brocade, flames roared like oil poured on fire.
Upon returning to the village, Ren and Minato rode tall warhorses, passing through the main gates surrounded by cheering crowds. Their faces were painted with markings symbolizing conquest and victory, while boys and girls offered them garlands.
After every major victory, Konoha held such ceremonies. The purpose was simple—boost morale, reassure the people, and remind them: Konoha is winning every battle. Under the leadership of the Third Hokage, we are invincible.
Minato used to enjoy these parades. But now, he found little meaning in them.
"Did we really win?" he asked softly, glancing at Ren.
At that moment, Ren was surrounded by a dozen young women, each trying to kiss him in what they called a kiss of victory.
Minato looked away, embarrassed. He too was a war hero. So why weren't there crowds of girls lining up to kiss him? The answer was obvious—Ren was simply better looking.
Konoha people… so realistic.
"Victory is a matter of perception," Ren replied, his cheek brushing against another enthusiastic admirer. "It's subjective, not objective."
Minato blinked in surprise. No matter the question, Ren always seemed to have a refreshing, thought-provoking answer.
"So you're saying… if we believe we've won, then even a loss could still count as victory?"
"No." Ren smiled, shaking his head. "We've never lost. That word shouldn't even exist in our dictionary. At most, we've had small wins."
Minato couldn't hold back a bitter laugh. "The dam was blown up… and you call that a small win?"
"Hanegawa is dead, White Fang will soon have no choice but to take sides, and now we're celebrated as war heroes. For us, it's a big win. For Konoha as a whole? Maybe just a small one."
Minato fell silent, pondering his words—until a Konoha Tiger-class tank came rumbling out of nowhere and yanked him straight off his horse.
"Aaaaaah! Lord Minato, I love you!!!"
"Ren, save me!"
Ren only waved casually and muttered, "That's your problem. Handle it."
---
From atop the Hokage Tower, Sarutobi Hiruzen watched the triumphant return, Ren and Minato bathed in flowers and applause. A long sigh escaped his lips.
He had worked tirelessly to keep the peace—offering benefits to both Ren and Minato, giving Danzō his share as well—hoping they would restrain themselves for the sake of the village and avoid tearing Konoha apart.
"I just hope," he murmured to himself, "those two brats understand the weight on this old man's shoulders. Being Hokage is… no easy task."
---
Shimura Danzō did not go to greet the returning "war heroes."
Nor did he follow behind Hiruzen, whispering his usual warnings of "You'll regret this."
Instead, he sat in his Root base, listening to the reports from his returning operatives.
When he heard that White Fang had executed Hanegawa, his composure snapped—he kicked the Root ninja in front of him across the floor.
"Ren! White Fang! Namikaze Minato!"
"Good… very good!"
"So you all want to oppose me? Every one of you wants to climb over me to the top! If even loyal shinobi like Hanegawa can be discarded so easily, then what's to stop others from doing the same?"
His fury twisted into disbelief. By his judgment, Hanegawa could never betray him. The man had followed him for half a lifetime. No one knew Hanegawa better than Shimura Danzō.
This wasn't betrayal. It was a trap.
White Fang had staged it. Together with Ren and Minato, they colluded, framed Hanegawa, and killed him.
The battered Root ninja, struggling to kneel upright, could barely breathe. Only Danzō's hoarse voice filled the chamber.
After a long silence, Danzō calmed, though the cross-shaped scar on his chin burned red with suppressed rage.
"You said earlier… it was White Fang who pursued the Six-Tails' Jinchūriki. Yet the beast escaped, and not only that, it unleashed a Tailed Beast Bomb to blow up the Mokuning Dam. Is that correct?"
"…Yes."
"Good. Then here's what you'll do—"
In the depths of Root, his orders faded into a whisper, swallowed by the shadows.
Meanwhile...
The Rinnegan once again rested in Uchiha Madara's eye sockets.
Truth be told, the eyes of the shinobi world had a certain "hot-swappable charm"—pluck them out, they wouldn't rot; plug them back in, they'd work just fine. Don't ask how. The answer was always the same: mystical chakra.
Yet the same pair of eyes could feel vastly different depending on whose gaze they belonged to.
In Nagato's hands, they were little more than a machine for repulsion and attraction.
But in Madara's? They were nothing less than a weapon of mass destruction—an arsenal capable of sweeping across the entire ninja world.
At that moment, Madara stood with one foot already in the grave, his frail body connected by countless tubes. Behind him, the colossal Demonic Statue of the Outer Path loomed, blotting out the moonlight. Its immense shadow swallowed the trembling White Zetsu whole.
To White Zetsu, the difference between a Madara without eyes and one with eyes was the difference between a corpse and a god.
"You're saying Uzumaki Nagato is dead," Madara said quietly, "and the Eye of the Moon Plan needs a new candidate?"
"Yes."
"And Kakuzu betrayed us mid-battle. Why?"
Madara's tone was calm as still water, but to White Zetsu it carried nothing but rage.
"Minamoto Ren promised him more money," White Zetsu blurted. "Eighty million. Kakuzu lives for wealth—he accepted without hesitation!"
"Minamoto Ren…" Madara rolled the name slowly over his tongue.
"It's him—the prodigy from Konoha who killed the Seven Ninja Swordsmen."
"How did he know Kakuzu's weakness? Did he ever take missions from the black market?" Madara's perception cut like a blade.
"I—I don't know, Lord Madara."
"You're supposed to be the shadow of this world. What don't you know? Why did I create you if you're useless?"
The ripples of violet spread from Madara's Rinnegan, drowning White Zetsu in terror.
"I'll investigate!" White Zetsu stammered. "I'll send more clones—I'll uncover everything about Ren!"
Madara gave no reply, only a long, suffocating silence. Then, at last:
"Where's Black Zetsu?"
This question, White Zetsu could answer. "He went to look for another candidate. He said relying on a single vessel for the Rinnegan is too risky—we need a second anchor."
Madara nodded. Black Zetsu was far more useful. Black Zetsu had a brain.
"Go. Don't disappoint me again."
Those were Madara's final words before his heavy eyelids slid shut. Even for him, keeping the Rinnegan open was a burden now. He was too old. Too close to death.
White Zetsu cast a cautious glance at him. Once he confirmed Madara had fallen asleep, he wasted no time activating his mayfly technique, fleeing into the earth's roots and veins.
Cold sweat drenched his body.
Damn it. Damn that Ren. He nearly got me killed just now.
Madara, aged and unstable, was growing more erratic with every step closer to death. He had already laid out multiple safeguards for this Konoha–Rain battle… yet Nagato still died.
So be it. Nagato was gone. But what of the Eye of the Moon Plan?
Who else still harbored naïve, unrealistic dreams of peace?
Who else could devote themselves entirely to Madara's ideal, and one day, with the Rinnegan, perform the Rinne Rebirth?
Yahiko, perhaps?
He was weak, powerless to avenge himself, consumed by hatred for Konoha yet yearning for peace. Flawed, yes—lacking the Uzumaki bloodline. But as a vessel, he wasn't entirely unworthy.
White Zetsu paused, then shifted his direction, tunneling toward Amegakure.
He'll do for the list. Whether to use him or not—Madara can decide.
---