Naruto Immersive Replay, The Curse of the Sharingan

Page 106

The waters of the Nanga River flowed gently, the moonlight remained cold and clear, but the boy knew—

He will never forget what happened tonight.

Chapter 88 Speech

The Land of Iron is a special neutral country. Its inhabitants are not ninjas, but samurai as the main fighting force. It adheres to strict neutrality principles and does not participate in wars between countries in the ninja world.

Therefore, the area was relatively peaceful and was not directly affected by the war.

You sit cross-legged on the tatami mat in the inn, surrounded by countless scrolls. Your fingertips are stained with ink, and your Sharingan glows crimson in the dim light. "This technique... is too verbose."

With a cold laugh, you grabbed a piece of paper and tore it in half with a "whoosh".

"Thirty-two seals? Has Zhili gotten senile?"

The pen tip dances wildly across the paper, the ink spreading like some kind of eerie incantation, and your lips curl into a wide grin that almost reaches your ears.

"Twelve is enough! No, eight! Hahahaha—"

The maniacal laughter echoed in the room, startling the crows outside the window into taking flight.

Meanwhile, in a distant cave.

Obito Uchiha stared blankly at the ceiling.

The doll was walking upside down along the rock wall on all fours, like a giant spider. Its head was strangely rotated 180 degrees, staring at Obito with its empty Sharingan eyes.

“I knew it…” Obito numbly turned over.

“Uchiha Nagi is seriously ill, and her puppet is probably not much worse.” The puppet suddenly started laughing, “click-clack,” the sound like bones grinding together.

It leaped down from the ceiling and landed lightly beside the earthen pillow.

"Little Obito~ Want to play together~"

"No!! Get away from me!"

The night in the Land of Iron grew deeper.

You finally throw down the pen, fall backward onto the tatami mat, and the still-wet ink on the scroll slips from your fingers, revealing a completely new spell—neither Izanagi nor Izanami.

Consciousness sank into that familiar darkness.

A young Madara Uchiha stands in the void, his high-collared blue robe billowing in the invisible wind, coldly looking down at you.

"Madara?"

Ban's gaze pierced your soul like a blade, his eyes churning with dark emotions. "Didn't you say you'd follow me forever? Is your promise so cheap!"

(Ah... I've been found out.)

Your kaleidoscope turned slightly, and the dolls in the cave could not be hidden from this man.

You suddenly curled your lips into a smile, and pounced on him amidst Ban's sharp gaze—

"Madara! I didn't break my promise!" You clung tightly to Madara's leg, your cheek pressed against the cold armor, your voice unusually sweet and pleading. "We'll be back soon, don't be angry~"

Ban's body visibly stiffened.

The moonlight in his dream suddenly turned deathly pale, illuminating the fleeting blush on his face. Embarrassed, he turned away, his voice lower than usual, "Let...let go!"

"No! I'll let you go if you agree!" You pressed your advantage, burying your face in his robes and smelling the familiar sandalwood scent from your memories.

Ban's patience finally ran out. He suddenly bent down, grabbed you by the back of your collar, and lifted you up.

Unexpectedly, you used the momentum to lunge forward, your legs nimbly wrapping around his waist, and you sat steadily on his lap.

The smug rebuke was silenced by soft lips, your eyelashes trembled so close, and your cold fingers ran through his black hair.

This kiss was a bloody, frenzied affair, as if it were an attempt to reclaim all the time lost over the years.

He should have pushed you away.

He should have condemned this absurd behavior.

But as your tongue licked his lower lip, those hands that once suppressed the ninja world uncontrollably gripped your waist, the armor and black robe rubbing together in an ambiguous sound.

The warmth between our lips and teeth hadn't yet dissipated when you suddenly pushed Ban away.

A hint of confusion and resentment flashed in Madara's eyes; the emotions surging in those Rinnegan eyes almost devoured you.

"Madara, I really didn't mean to leave." Your voice softened, with a hint of ingratiation, and your fingertips gently traced the corner of Ban's lips, as if soothing a wild beast with its fur standing on end.

Ban felt a strange throbbing in his chest, as if something was quietly breaking through the soil. This uncontrollable feeling made him instinctively panic.

He quickly suppressed the strange feeling, took a deep breath, and his eyes turned cold again. "When are you coming back?" His voice was deep and carried an undeniable authority.

You blinked, your voice unconsciously growing softer, "A month...?"

"Three days!" Ban interrupted you without hesitation, his tone resolute.

You pursed your lips, feeling helpless yet inexplicably experiencing a sweet sensation.

"When did Madara mark me with his dream? I had no idea?" You suddenly leaned closer, a sly glint in your eyes.

Ban's face stiffened, then he snorted coldly and turned his head away.

That mark was planted by him secretly; it was his way of ensuring you wouldn't completely disappear.

You wanted to ask more, but suddenly you felt a strong sense of weightlessness, and the scene before your eyes began to blur. Ban's figure gradually dissipated into the mist of the dream.

"Wait! Madara—"

You suddenly open your eyes. The morning light of the Land of Iron shines through the crack in the door, and the scrolls scattered on the tatami mat are still messy.

You raise your hand in a daze, your fingertips lightly touching your lips... Really, not even a goodbye. You slowly sit up, your black robe slipping off your shoulders, revealing your pale skin.

"Three days is enough time to have fun!"

The streets of the Land of Iron are bustling with people. You skillfully weave through the crowd, saying, "Excuse me."

Your voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable coldness.

Before the passerby could even see the face clearly, it was gently pushed aside by an invisible force.

Complaints arose everywhere—

"Who's still pushing? Can't you see how congested it is?"

"Which idiot stepped on my foot?"

You ignored him, your Sharingan gleaming faintly beneath your wispy hair, simply curious about what could possibly have drawn such a large group of samurai and civilians to surround you.

When you finally squeezed to the front row, your pupils contracted slightly. How could he be here?

Yahiko stood on the makeshift platform, sweat dripping from his forehead, his voice hoarse from the wind and rain, yet every word was clear.

"To all of you standing here, no matter which village you come from or what your past is like, I know that war has taught us all to hold weapons tightly, and to be suspicious and vigilant."

"But today, I am not standing here to ask you to put down your knives, but to show you the suffering that war brings."

He pointed to the outline of houses destroyed by artillery fire in the distance, where the faint sound of children crying could be heard.

"The fire of the Third World War has been burning for three months. The eaves that once sheltered us from the rain have become ruins, and the earthenware jars that could hold rice are now filled with mud and water."

“Those children huddled under rags, they couldn’t even remember what peace looked like, their toys were weapons, and their textbooks were burnt pieces of paper.”

Yahiko's voice suddenly rose, filled with suppressed anger.

"The Allied Shinobi Forces say it's for 'greater peace,' and the Daimyo draw battle lines on the map, but who asked these people shivering in the rain if they wanted to fight? Who has ever seen a seven-year-old child kneeling in the rain until dawn, holding his starving younger brother?"

"My companions and I have been rescuing people, but our hands are too limited."

"We can hold off the enemy, but we can't hold off hunger; we can heal wounds, but we can't fill our stomachs."

He pulled a crumpled piece of candy from his pocket; it was something he had found in the rubble yesterday.

“This was given to me by a child yesterday. He said, ‘Brother, you need something sweet more than I do.’”

"But he didn't know that his frostbitten feet needed a pair of shoes more than I did; and his empty stomach needed a piece of bread more than I did."

Yahiko held the sugar high, and the raindrops reflected a faint light off it.

"If you have extra bandages, leftover dry food, or a piece of cloth to keep out the rain, or even just half a compressed biscuit or a pair of old straw sandals, please give them to us."

"These things can't save this war, but they can save a child who might grow up tomorrow."

"Don't let them grow up in hatred, don't let them think the world is only filled with gunfire and rain. What you're giving them today isn't just supplies, it's a reason for them to believe that 'someone still cares.'"

"The rain will stop, and the war will end one day, but those children who died in the rain will not live to see it."

He bowed deeply and said, "I, Yahiko, on behalf of all the homeless people in the Land of Rain, earnestly request your help."

A few snickers came from the audience.

"It's those foreign ninjas again!" An old woman with a wrinkled face crossed her arms and her lips drooped. "They're always yelling about peace, aren't they annoying!"

“Exactly, easy for you to say. We didn’t start the war,” a middle-aged man missing an arm chimed in, his eyes vacant. “What do these ninjas know?”

Yahiko unconsciously clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his flesh.

He could feel the gazes of the people from the Land of Iron like countless small knives, piercing his carefully prepared speech with countless holes.

There was no hope in those eyes, only mockery and deep weariness.

In an instant, he felt an unprecedented sense of embarrassment and confusion. Everything he firmly believed in was nothing but a naive joke in the eyes of these people who had suffered so much from the war.

Just as Yahiko's throat tightened, a dark figure suddenly leaped onto the platform, his black robes billowing like raven wings. The newcomer slapped Yahiko heavily on the back, "Well said!"

A clear, crisp female voice rang in his ears, and Yahiko turned his head sharply, meeting your crimson Sharingan.

"War is not something you can just stand by and do nothing about." Your voice wasn't loud, but it pierced everyone's eardrums like a sharp kunai.

The Sharingan slowly rotated, scanning every face below the stage. "It is precisely because of this indifference that the Allied Shinobi Forces and the Daimyo can launch wars with impunity."

Some people in the crowd wanted to object, but they fell silent when they met those blood-red eyes.

“Today it’s a child who dies, then tomorrow it will be a lover, a friend, and so on. Everyone is an incomplete being,” you continued, your voice gradually rising.

"Do you think you can escape by hiding in the Land of Iron? Look around you! Refugees, orphans, wounded—war has come knocking on your door!"

The noise from the audience gradually subsided, and a young mother holding a baby began to sob softly; the man with the missing arm stared at the ground, his single arm clenched into a fist; even the old woman who had initially mocked him showed a pained expression.

Yahiko stared blankly at the girl beside him. Right now, you are like a burning black flame, scorching everyone's heart with the almost cruel truth.

"So, you're going to remain the mockers and bystanders?" Your voice suddenly lowered, yet became even more captivating.

"When things happen to you and you ask for help, everyone will belatedly realize that the ninja world is already rotten to the core, and even the last vestiges of humanity's goodwill have been extinguished. This is the ninja world you want to see!"

Your voice rises and falls, each word like a hammer blow to people's hearts, and your Sharingan eyes seem to see through the darkest corners of everyone's heart, leaving no one nowhere to hide.

After a long silence, a thin boy timidly raised his hand, "I...I can donate my textbooks..."

These words were like opening a floodgate, and soon, a chorus of responses rose from the crowd.

"I have medicinal herbs at home!"

"My son has some old toys, but I'm not sure if he'll need them?"

"I can help take care of the wounded!"

Yahiko watched in disbelief as these people, who had scoffed at his peace ideals just minutes before, now offered their help.

Until you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow, "What are you standing there for? Write down the accounts, little sun!"

The sunlight pierced through the clouds and fell on your smiling face. In that instant, Yahiko felt as if his heart had been struck by something.

The smile was so vivid and bright, completely different from the gloomy Uchiha girl in his memory.

He hurriedly looked away, pretending that the sun was shining in his eyes. "Yeah, it's lucky to meet you here," Yahiko said softly, a hint of softness in his voice that he himself didn't realize.

Your smile faded slightly as you gazed at the distant, rolling mountains. "I just... can no longer bear to watch the children die."

As the crowd gradually dispersed, you walked side by side on the dilapidated streets of the Land of Iron. The setting sun cast long shadows of you, one tall and one short, yet strangely harmonious.

“You know what? You’ve made me realize that this world is rotten to the core. Daimyo, ninja villages... they’re all using war to make a profit, while ordinary people…” You pointed to the plaza behind you, “are either numb and indifferent, or powerless to do anything about it.”

Yahiko frowned. "So, your speech just now..."

“That’s not a speech, that’s the truth.” You interrupted him, your eyes gleaming. “Your hopeful rhetoric won’t move anyone. Only by making them confront their fears can we awaken a glimmer of humanity.”

“But fear only brings temporary compromise, not true peace,” Yahiko insisted.

You suddenly stopped and turned to look Yahiko directly in the eyes. "Then tell me, Yahiko, what did your idealism get you? Before I came along, those people wouldn't even bother to look at you."

Yahiko was speechless. You're right, his ideals are so pale and powerless in the face of cruel reality.