The intelligence network's information was accurate.
Yuan brought no Anbu guards. He rearranged the clan compound's defenses, told Shikaku to take good care of Mihui, then set out alone, facing the dawn wind as he rushed toward the border of the Land of Fire.
In a desolate forest, the autumn wind swept up withered yellow leaves.
Itachi Uchiha sat on a moss-covered boulder. He was still wearing that black robe with red clouds, but his face was as pale as a dead man's. He kept coughing, and every cough brought up specks of glaring black blood.
Those three-tomoe Mangekyō Sharingan, known as the eyes of gods, had already been overused by him to their limit. Coupled with that unknown terminal illness, his life was like a guttering candle in the wind, ready to go out at any moment.
Yuan slowly walked out from the shadows of the forest. His right hand was still wrapped in bandages, the mark left behind by the backlash from "Annihilation."
The two stared at each other from ten meters apart. No blades were drawn, and there was no drawn-sword killing intent. It was an extremely eerie calm.
"Six years. You're still alive, living like some ghost on the verge of death." Yuan looked at Itachi's deathly pale face, his voice cold without the slightest trace of warmth.
Itachi stopped coughing. He slowly raised his head. In those once unfathomable eyes, only deep exhaustion remained now. He did not defend himself, nor did he ask why Yuan had slaughtered the Five Kage.
"My body has already reached its limit. Even if you don't do anything, I won't live past this month." Itachi's voice was hoarse and hollow. He rose to his feet, and as the wind blew through his wide robe, it made his body seem