"A wish...?"
Madara Uchiha was shaken to his core, and he could not help murmuring aloud.
Had anyone else said those words to him, he would have thought them arrogant and deranged, then invited them to dance.
But facing the being before him, he could not summon even a trace of such a thought.
In fact, coming from this being's mouth, those words sounded utterly natural.
If he said he could, then there was nothing he could not do.
Nothing in the world seemed beyond his power.
"Senior... I want to bring... Izuna back to life..."
Madara Uchiha spoke first, his voice slightly hoarse.
Even with his resolve, his body could not help trembling.
As someone utterly devoted to his younger brother, his affection for him ran deep.
Ever since learning that Tobirama had killed Izuna, Madara had been consumed by guilt, even descending into madness for a time.
More than that brat from the Senju Clan, the person he truly hated was himself.
Death was all but inevitable in war, and he had killed plenty of Senju Clan members himself.
To Madara, war was a game for the strong. If he died on the battlefield someday, it would only mean he deserved it for not being strong enough!
He had never thought of resenting anyone.
The battlefield was meant to be controlled by the strong.
The weak could only have their lives trampled upon and their destinies dictated by others.
He had always understood hatred born of war with perfect clarity.
He had only ever loathed war, never hated it.
Loathing meant weariness and disgust, finding it all utterly meaningless. Hatred, however, was the impotent barking of the helpless, an emotion reserved for the weak.
Hate a powerful enemy for taking your life? Hate the cruelty of war? Hate