You want to dance too?!

After Mu's clone dispersed, Madara stood alone at the edge of the rock wall. Pale sunlight filtered through the dust and fell across his gray-white skin. Explosions from the distant battlefield rolled in wave after wave like muffled thunder, each blast kicking up fresh clouds of dust and staining the sky a murky yellow-gray. The air was thick with the mingled stench of gunpowder, scorched earth, and blood, so strong it tightened the throat. Yet Madara drew in a deep breath—an Impure World Reincarnation body did not need to breathe, but he liked the scent of war.

Madara did not move immediately.

He stood high above, looking down at the dense mass of figures advancing from the horizon—the Shinobi Allied Forces Fourth Division, more than twenty thousand strong, moving in his direction. The flashes unleashed by their ninjutsu flickered through the dust like a surging sea. Countless bursts of Chakra shimmered amid the haze: the crimson of Fire Style, the bright white of Lightning Style, the deep blue of Water Style, woven into a chaotic yet magnificent tableau. Distant battle cries, the sounds of hand seals, and explosions blended together like a deafening war song.

"Twenty thousand... or thirty thousand?"

Madara's voice was so soft that only he could hear it. The cracks of the Impure World Reincarnation tugged faintly at the corners of his mouth. It was not tension, nor vigilance—it was excitement. Those black pupils reflected the countless figures in the distance as though he were looking upon a field of wheat waiting to be harvested. His fingers lightly tapped the belt of his armor, slow and composed, like a musician tuning his strings before stepping onto the stage.

"That should be enough for a warm-up."

He leaped from the rock wall.

His red armor carved a dark