The plains of the Land of Grass had become a hellscape stained with blood.
Nearly ten thousand shinobi from Konoha and Iwagakure collided across the entire front. There was no pause, no calm before the storm.
The bloodiest and grandest battle since the Second Shinobi World War began had opened.
Ninjutsu lit the horizon so brightly that day and night blurred together. Three slight figures huddled in the bushes, watching the hellish battlefield from afar.
"This is war. Chaos born from the human heart."
Yahiko stared hard at the battlefield. There was no fear in his eyes, only a weight far beyond his years.
He still remembered the first night after they became Lord Kamizuki's servants. As they sat around the campfire talking, Nagato had thought of his family and started to cry.
Lord Jiraiya had comforted him. The war might not be over yet, but by the time they grew up, an age when nations understood one another would surely come. Then they could live in peace.
Yahiko had been about to object.
"Jiraiya, how many languages do you think there are in the Shinobi World?"
Lord Kamizuki had asked the question out of nowhere.
Jiraiya thought for a moment. "Counting some secret shinobi codes, around seven hundred."
"You're wrong."
"Huh? How could I be? I may not look it, but my grades in academic classes were—"
Kamizuki gazed into the campfire. His voice was calm. "There are as many languages in the world as there are people."
"Everyone speaks their own language, and words often fail to convey what they mean. That's why misunderstandings arise. That's why people fail to understand one another."
Kamizuki looked at Jiraiya.
"No matter how well you know what Yahiko and the others have suffered, all you can do is feel sorry