Along the border of the Land of Fire, small-scale conflicts had escalated into a continuous war of attrition.
The Land of Fire Daimyo's face had become haggard over these seventeen months. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of countless sleepless nights.
In the Land of Fire Daimyo's palace council chamber, the air was even more oppressive than the trenches at the border.
The Daimyo sat on a throne draped with white tiger fur, his face, once full and rosy seventeen months ago, now only sagged with loose skin and sunken eye sockets. He clutched a freshly delivered battle report in his hand, the edges of the paper creased from his grip.
The messenger's voice trembled slightly, not daring to meet the Daimyo's eyes. "The National Ninja Army's Third Brigade was ambushed by Iwagakure yesterday in Stone Gorge. Captains Sarutobi Matsuoka and Shimura Yosuke were killed on the spot, and the rest of the squad was annihilated."
The Daimyo's body stiffened abruptly, and the battle report in his hand fluttered to the ground.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but it felt as if he had inhaled a ball of scorching ashes, burning from his throat to his lungs.
For seventeen months, such news had been repeated daily. Every name had once been a guest at his banquets, but now they were merely cold ink on a casualty list.
"Prepare the carriage, we're going to the research institute."
After a long while, he opened his eyes, his voice hoarse as if abraded by sandpaper.
Night deepened over a hidden valley in the heartland of the Land of Fire.
On the surface, there was only a dense bamboo forest, but underground, a secret research institute spanning several thousand square meters was concealed.
Inside the mountain cave, heavy gates slowly opened, and the Daimyo's motorcade drove in, the wheels rumbling dully as they rolled over the marble floor.
Inside the research institute, staff members were bustling about non-stop.
Countless fluorescent tubes were embedded in the cold walls, emitting a faint blue, cold light. Various precision instruments continuously emitted subtle whirring sounds.
In the center of the laboratory, a cylindrical cultivation tank, five meters high and four meters in diameter, was particularly striking. A sixteen or seventeen-year-old boy floated in pale green nutrient solution, his body covered with green nutrient tubes. The other ends of the tubes were connected to complex instruments, and dense data streams flickered across the screens, recording the boy's vital signs.
The Daimyo paced anxiously, the hem of his luxurious silk robe sweeping across the cold floor, leaving a fleeting trace.
His authoritative voice broke the silence of the laboratory. "How much longer until it succeeds?"
Kazuma, the head of the laboratory, immediately bowed, fine beads of sweat seeping from his forehead, sliding down his cheeks, and dripping onto the floor.
"Reporting to Your Excellency, Subject 'Sora' has been alive for 133 days. The Fusion of the Seven-Tails Chakra has shown no rejection, and the body's compatibility has reached 87%. However, there are still issues with Chakra control. During the last simulated activation, it almost burst the cultivation tank and is prone to losing control."
The Daimyo suddenly turned, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Kazuma, like an enraged lion. "I don't want to hear that! I'm asking you, how much more time until it can be deployed on the battlefield?"
Kazuma's body trembled, his voice growing softer and softer. "According to the current progress, it might still take over a year. We need to repeatedly debug the neural connection device to ensure 'Sora' can fully control Seven-Tails's power."
"Useless!"
The Daimyo suddenly exploded in rage, sharply raising the precious, jewel-encrusted staff in his hand and striking Kazuma's arm forcefully.
A loud "crack" echoed.
Kazuma grunted, not daring to dodge, enduring the blow directly.
"Initially, you beat your chest and declared that you could create a weapon comparable to a Tailed Beast Jinchuriki in just 6 months. It's been 17 months now and you still haven't succeeded. Do you know how much we've sacrificed for this plan?"
The Daimyo's voice reverberated through the empty laboratory, filled with hysterical despair. "The National Ninja Army has lost over 8,000 people. Over 100,000 border villagers have been displaced. I've invested over 100 billion ryo in total. And you're telling me I have to wait another year?"
In the shadows, an old man in dark battle armor stood silently, it was Hiruzen, the Chief Instructor of the National Ninja Army. His gaze was cold, his killing intent almost solidifying.
If not for the Daimyo's authority, he would have already torn Kazuma to shreds.
For this absurd plan, the Daimyo had forced him to personally lead a team to infiltrate Takigakure and steal the Seven-Tails Jinchuriki, Fü.
This action enraged the three great Ninja Villages: Iwagakure, Kumogakure, and Sunagakure. They swiftly deployed troops to the border, and the initial small-scale conflicts escalated into a full-blown war of attrition.
What pained Hiruzen even more was that, to appease the Daimyo, he had no choice but to send the elites of the Sarutobi, Shimura, Utatane, and Mitokado clans to the front lines of the border. To date, over two thousand people from these four clans have died in battle, and thick casualty lists arrive on his desk every single day. The other three clan heads held significant grievances against him.
Hiruzen looked at the unconscious boy in the cultivation tank, a strong wave of disgust rising within him. This so-called "Pseudo-Seven-Tails Jinchuriki" was merely a live experiment conducted by Kazuma using his own son's body.
Such a thing, violating humanity, was simply unworthy of becoming the hope of the Land of Fire.
Kazuma clutched his injured arm, cold sweat streaming down his forehead as he tried to explain, "Your Excellency, please give us a little more time. Just give us another half a year—no, three months. We will definitely solve the control issue."
But under the Daimyo's terrifying gaze, his voice gradually weakened, finally disappearing into the air.
The Daimyo stared at the boy in the cultivation tank, his eyes complex, filled with urgency, unwillingness, and a hint of deep weariness. He took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, his back even hunching a bit.
"There's no time left. Tomorrow, I will convene a Five Kage Summit and announce the return of the Seven-Tails Jinchuriki, Fū."
Kazuma suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with disbelief. "Your Excellency! You cannot do this. Our research has reached its final moment. If we just persist a little longer, we will succeed, we will be able to create countless pseudo-Jinchuriki weapons. At that time, the entire Ninja World will be yours."
The Land of Fire Daimyo struck the ground heavily with his staff, making "thud… thud" sounds.
His voice carried an unprecedented resolve. "Enough! The country can no longer sustain this. It cannot bleed any more for your obsession."
With that, the Daimyo no longer spared Kazuma a glance, turning and striding out of the laboratory.
Kazuma, the head of the research institute, stood rooted to the spot, his face ashen.