Chapter 323: No Greater Sorrow Than a Dead Heart
Izuna's pupils contracted violently. The way he looked at his brother filled with disbelief—as though something precious was shattering piece by piece.
"Brother... you lied to me?"
In his fury, Izuna couldn't even bring himself to say "big brother" anymore.
That subtle change in address stabbed deeper than any accusation ever could.
"Don't listen to his nonsense, Izuna..."
Madara glared at Yasushi, instinctively raising his fist to beat this troublemaking bastard to death.
But the moment his fist rose, Yasushi altered his hand seal. Madara froze again.
Invisible shackles tightened once more. Even his anger became manipulated strings on a puppet. The burning rage was forcibly compressed into futile struggling.
Every tensed muscle, every chakra surge—all merely proved his current helplessness and subjugation. Bringing ultimate humiliation and unwillingness.
"Damn it!"
Madara's hair bristled with fury. Veins bulged along his neck. He wanted to tear Yasushi apart and devour the pieces.
His blood-red Sharingan spun madly, reflecting Yasushi's hateful smiling face—as though burning that image into his soul's depths, transforming it into an undying curse.
But the angrier Madara became, the happier Yasushi grew. Like someone feeding off chaos, he laughed beside Izuna while shouting loudly—filled with malicious delight at tormenting his prey.
"Hahahaha..."
"That's right! There's only one truth—"
"Your brother Uchiha Madara simply wanted reconciling with Senju Hashirama!"
"The Uchiha clan's grudges, the pain of fallen brothers—none of it mattered compared to Senju Hashirama's cheerful smile!"
"That's not true, Izuna..." Seeing disappointment and pain flooding his brother's eyes, Madara grew frantic. He hastily explained: "Initially my plan was unifying all shinobi together, creating a world without war."
"But after Konoha Village was founded, other ninja clans followed our example. They banded together for warmth, establishing new villages too."
"I wanted conquering all these villages, but Hashirama disagreed."
"He believed that once ninja clans merged into villages, they'd already achieved peace. Continuing unification wars would only bring more casualties and hatred."
"I couldn't win the argument against him, so I agreed. That's why so many small villages exist."
"This was purely accidental—I wasn't deceiving you."
However, Madara's explanation failed to convince Izuna. Instead, it made him even more furious.
"I knew it!" Izuna roared.
"The Senju are all shameless liars! They used so-called 'peace' as an excuse to trick you into reconciliation, then immediately discarded that peace facade!"
"They obviously deceived you, brother!"
"How could you believe their words?"
"I..." Madara stumbled over his response. Knowing his brother's hatred for the Senju ran too deep to dissolve, he still tried explaining on Hashirama's behalf: "Actually... Hashirama wasn't deceiving me. He's just too kindhearted, and his thinking proved rather naive..."
He carefully chose his words, trying to find fragile balance between his brother's fury and defending his friend. His tone came dry and powerless.
"You're still defending him?" Izuna's eyes reddened further. He felt like his own brother had been stolen away.
Madara's careful deliberation sounded less like clarification to Izuna's ears—more like proof his brother remained hopelessly trapped in delusion.
What churned in his chest wasn't merely hatred for the Senju. A burning pain came from feeling betrayed by his closest person.
"Then let me ask you—did the peace you so desperately wanted actually arrive?" Izuna stared intently at his brother, voice rising in accusation.
"...It didn't." Madara lowered his head in dejection. "The shinobi world order Hashirama established was wrong. The villages' existence actually made wars larger in scale. More people died."
Madara's low voice carried profound exhaustion and the darkness following shattered ideals.
This self-negating statement proved more defeating than any enemy's attack.
"Exactly!" Izuna slapped his thigh, wearing an "I knew it" expression.
"I told you those Senju bastards would never accomplish anything good!"
"Especially that Senju Tobirama—the most sinister and vicious one. Brother, you're too pure. You could never outsmart that Tobirama bastard!"
Izuna ground out that name through clenched teeth, as though it were a filthy curse.
In his eyes, all his brother's "deception" and "mistakes" stemmed from the Senju brothers—especially that deep-scheming, cold-handed Senju Tobirama.
"Ah..." Madara sighed heavily, seemingly exhaling decades of accumulated dust and exhaustion from his chest.
He didn't want to continue explaining.
Now even Hashirama was dead. His plans had been proven complete frauds. The shinobi world had no future. What was the point of more explanations?
"Izuna, these are all matters of the past. No need discussing them further."
He gazed at distant, chaotic mountain ranges—as though viewing his own shattered ambitions.
Those jagged peaks resembled his life's turbulent trajectory that ultimately returned to nothingness.
High peaks and deep valleys, struggle and silence—all had become this static, meaningless landscape before him.
"We're both already dead. From now on, we'll only sleep eternally in the Pure Land."
"Grudges, shinobi world peace—such matters no longer concern us."
Madara's voice overflowed with dejection and exhaustion. His young face couldn't hide his soul's aging—his brow carved with twilight deeper than any wrinkles.
He turned his face away, unable to meet his brother's clear eyes.
They would reflect his wretchedness and incompetence.
He barely dared speaking to his brother anymore, fearing continued conversation would reveal all the foolish things he'd done these years.
That face sharing his bloodline had become the mirror he most feared—more terrifying than any enemy.
No greater sorrow exists than a dead heart. Once the heart dies, the person dies too.
The once-invincible Uchiha Madara now lacked even the courage to lift his head.
The steel spine that once stood straight as pine had bent into a monument about to topple.
Once his lifelong pride and obsession were stripped away, this powerful shell contained only hollow exhaustion.
All grievances and enmities, all shinobi world peace—let them scatter with the Pure Land's winds.
He was tired. Truly tired.
This fatigue emanated from his soul's deepest depths—the ultimate weariness of finding all existence meaningless.
This exhaustion prevented him from even generating the emotion of "unwillingness."