Senju Hashirama had no idea Konoha was already rotting from the inside by the time he stepped beyond the Fire Country border.
He was focused on one thing: preventing the world from sliding back into the Warring States—but he didn't know the Warring States had come home without him.
The Land of Iron stretched out in clean silver plains. Snow. Steel. Stillness.
A country of samurai, not shinobi.
Neutral by choice. Untouchable by long-standing agreement.
Perfect for a summit where every hidden village came with a blade behind its back.
Koizumi Tarō, the Iron Country's Marshal and the man samurai whispered about in the same breath as Kage, personally oversaw preparations. He stood at the entrance of the Samurai Assembly Hall when the first delegation arrived.
Five figures approached.
One man in a turquoise regal coat pressed ahead.
His stride looked slow.
His arrival? Instant.
First Kazekage.
Reto of the Wind.
Behind him trudged an enormous bald man covered in head tattoos who looked like he ate kunai for breakfast but spoke with the politeness of a temple monk.
"We come from the Land of Wind," the tattooed giant announced. "This is Lord First Kazekage. Please inform Koizumi-dono."
The samurai messenger froze.
"F… First Kazekage?!"
The Five Kage weren't just village leaders. They were myth-minted warlords who ended centuries of slaughter.
Meeting one was like meeting a walking earthquake.
The poor samurai went pale, bowed three times in the span of one breath, and sprinted off.
Moments later, Koizumi Tarō strode into view—tall, weathered, and radiating an aura that could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with any Kage.
"Lord First Kazekage," Koizumi boomed with a respectful smile, "your presence brings honor to my Iron Country. Please, come in—"
He didn't finish.
A voice cut across the courtyard like a thrown kunai.
"Oh? The great First Kazekage arrives with such a large entourage. Afraid we'd stab you here and leave your bones in the snow?"
The jab came with zero decorum.
Reto didn't flinch.
He smiled.
"Lord First Mizukage still hasn't died? What a disappointment."
A burst of blue robes.
An elderly man walked out, beard long, face slashed with an old scar, grinning wide enough to show shark-like teeth.
The pressure around them spiked.
Right behind him stood a young man with long black hair, an icy face, and eyes that didn't blink unless something was worth killing.
"My lord," the black-haired man murmured, "he just cursed you to death."
"Who told you to talk?"
The First Mizukage snapped, face flushing, kicking at him like a grandpa punting a misbehaving cat.
The young man dodged on instinct. He'd clearly done this before.
Reto and his party exchanged a collective sweat-drop expression.
They had expected hostility.
Instead, they got… theater.
The Mizukage dusted off his robe and muttered, "I'm not dying soon. I'll outlive all you brats. Even that Amamiya Raizen kid died before me."
"My lord…"
the black-haired man whispered, "First Hokage isn't confirmed dead. He's just—"
Thud.
A fist bonked his skull mid-sentence.
He shut up instantly.
Before Reto could comment, another presence drifted into view—literally.
A short, floating man wrapped in bandages drifted down from above, eerily silent.
The First Tsuchikage.
Libra Jirō.
The Mizukage narrowed his eyes.
"Still sneaking behind people, old man? Want me to punch you into the snow?"
Jirō sneered.
"If sneaking bothers you, try not losing next time. How's that scar doing? Still stings?"
The Mizukage's jaw twitched.
"You survived walking after the last fight? I'm shocked your spine didn't snap."
The long-haired guard behind Mizukage immediately locked onto Jirō's bandaged attendant, eyes bright with battle lust.
Clearly these two villages fought often—and hard.
Koizumi Tarō massaged his temples.
He had seen battlefield demons, but these two were something else.
"Enough," Koizumi said, voice cutting through their bickering. "You are here for diplomacy. Follow me inside."
The Kage glared at each other…but obeyed.
Three groups entered the hall.
Their footsteps echoed off steel walls.
Kazekage Reto watched the others with an assessing eye. Misukage and Tsuchikage already had a history—deep, bloody, and not entirely resolved.
He didn't know their true strength yet.
But he knew one thing:
The moment Hashirama arrived, the wolf den would become even more crowded.
And someone would try to leave with teeth missing.