"A shinobi forehead protector, but uniforms from all Five Great Nations. Is this the alliance's new army?"
Madara Uchiha stood atop a high dune, his crimson Sharingan sweeping slowly over the densely packed Allied Shinobi Forces below.
His tone was flat, his gaze that of a man inspecting a hastily assembled rabble from above.
"After all, this war is aimed at the two of us."
Yakushi Kabuto, controlling the Third Raikage beside him, spoke in a hoarse, steady voice.
Madara did not answer at once. He lowered his eyes slightly, as though digesting the news.
A moment later, he spoke softly.
"Never mind. That man did it, so he must have his reasons. I'd guess his plan isn't going well."
His brow furrowed faintly, and a trace of displeasure flashed through his Sharingan.
"To think he'd bring me back through Impure World Reincarnation."
"I merely got ahead of him."
Kabuto replied calmly through the Third Raikage, his tone composed and deferential.
Madara turned to glance at the figure beside him. After a moment's silence, he asked,
"What's your real name?"
"Kabuto. Yakushi Kabuto." His introduction was brief and faintly self-assured, like someone finally given the chance to announce himself onstage.
The corner of Madara's mouth twitched with undisguised mockery.
"How shady."
Below, the shinobi of the Fourth Division looked up almost as one.
Even from hundreds of meters away, the figure atop the dune radiated suffocating pressure.
Those Sharingan in particular glowed crimson beneath the setting sun, like two lanterns suspended high in the air. No one dared meet his gaze.
Ōnoki hovered at the front of the formation, rare fear spreading across his aged face.
He knew that man. Even after all these years, he knew those eyes.
"Madara Uchiha?!"
His voice shook despite himself, as though the name