A cold, murderous silence filled the forest the instant the two groups laid eyes on each other. Chakra flared unconsciously, thickening the air until it pressed against the skin like wet stone. Birds scattered. The trembling shadows beneath the trees stilled.
Noon sunlight filtered through the canopy, scattering mottled light across six figures in Konoha jōnin vests. Black shinobi uniforms beneath, pouches at their hips, metal forehead protectors glinting—each of them taut with tension as they gazed at the youth before them.
A handsome young man dressed more like a noble than a warrior, one hand resting lazily on the hilt of his katana.
Uchiha Soren.
To them, he was the "little Uchiha fiend" their teacher—Second Hokage Tobirama Senju—could never stop mentioning, a name that grated like sandpaper on their nerves. Soren's rise had been built on mountains of corpses. Rivers of blood and the flash of steel had earned him the grim title:
"The Butcher."
Rank, age, gender—none had ever saved an enemy from his blade.
By contrast, the six escort members were fledglings raised beneath Tobirama's wing. They had seen battle, yes— but mostly they wielded their cruelty behind the shield of Konoha's authority. The Senju's reputation alone overshadowed their personal strength. The world knew:
Konoha stood upon the shoulders of the Senju and Uchiha.
The Hyūga followed as a distant third.
The rest of the clans merely cheered from behind.
To control the Uchiha, Tobirama had created the Konoha Military Police Force—powerful enough to police the village, yet ultimately a leash. Never let the Uchiha taste true loss; never let them feel desperate helplessness. Without such trauma, the glamorous yet terrible Mangekyō Sharingan would never bloom again.
Thus, when the First Shinobi War ignited between Konoha and Kumogakure, the Senju stood at the front. Glory for the clan—yes—but at a cost few could stomach. Soren sneered even now at Tobirama's alleged wisdom. In chasing grand strategy, Tobirama had ignored an ancient truth:
Save the land but lose the people, and all is lost.
Save the people but lose the land, and people remain.
Juno's gossip—spread from the ninja-cat clan to the Uchiha, then to Konoha—eventually reached Tobirama himself. The existence of a young Uchiha capable of cutting down the Senju line chilled him to the core.
If his heirs died at this summit, who could keep the Uchiha in check?
Fear drove Tobirama to divert more troops. The war between Konoha and the Cloud accelerated toward negotiation—only for the parley to explode when the Cloud's own "bandit kings," Gold and Silver, erupted into rebellion.
Blessed by the power of the Nine-Tails' chakra, armed with relics of legend, the brothers were forces no lesser than any Kage.
Tobirama took the lead, intending to serve as bait and draw their pursuit so his team could flee. He named Hiruzen Sarutobi as successor beforehand—an appointment that stung Danzō Shimura deeply. His envy fermented into something poisonous.
So when he saw Soren, the target of countless warnings, Danzō's restraint shattered.
"Let me see if your Uchiha 'Butcher' name is deserved!"
Danzō roared, rage smothering fear as he charged.
The others moved to restrain him—but ambition had unhinged Danzō. He lunged like a man desperate to prove his worth, kunai flashing.
Soren kept Juno tucked in his arms—partly so the chatter-prone cat wouldn't flee, partly because he would have preferred a cute girl instead. But life rarely gave what one wanted.
He watched Danzō with boredom, even pity.
To Soren, this jōnin from a minor-side family ranked no higher than a flopping salted fish—annoying, but hardly a threat.
"Die, arrogant Uchiha!" Danzō spat as he leapt. His kunai gleamed with murderous zeal; every movement screamed intent to butcher, not merely to kill.
The remaining five escort members hesitated, then charged. Brotherhood over caution. Even so, they knew a terrible truth:
"One-on-one against an Uchiha—turn and run."
Kagami Uchiha alone had shown them why.
And time pressed on them—the Cloud rebels were close. They needed a swift execution to escape.
But their plan ended before it began.
Danzō reached Soren—and suddenly stopped.
He did not stop himself.
His movement was halted by the unseen will of a predator.
A blade flickered.
Left hand—gone.
Right hand—gone.
Left leg—gone.
Right leg—gone.
Each severed with flawless, surgical precision.
Danzō's scream pierced the forest—
—and was abruptly silenced as a chunk of his tongue tore free.
The remaining five froze in terror.
Soren strolled forward calmly, stepping onto a thick branch as Danzō—bleeding like a ruptured water skin—gurgled his final breaths.
The sight was an insult so savage it carved itself into memory.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, Danzō's lifelong comrade, felt his chest cave with grief and fury. A part of him wanted to tear Soren apart with his bare hands.
But shinobi are forged to swallow emotions.
Hiruzen—future Third Hokage—knew he couldn't let Danzō's death be meaningless. They needed to understand what technique Soren had used to reduce a top-ranking jōnin to an unmoving husk.
Forcing composure onto his features, he stepped forward.
"Soren-san… Danzō acted rashly. Could you spare him?"
His voice was level.
"If his limbs can be reattached, a medical-nin may save him. If not… he'll find another path."
Soren looked at him, smiling pleasantly.
Surrounded by faces twisted with determination, fury, humiliation, helplessness, fear—he let his blade fall.
A shout—Kagami's voice—echoed through the canopy.
The head rolled.
And the darkness that would one day corrupt the shinobi world took its first nourishment.
The system devoured the soul—
no reanimation,
no forbidden resurrection.
Danzō Shimura was served his box lunch.