The business with Orochimaru was over for now. Ling felt as though a crushing weight had been lifted from his shoulders, yet also as though he had lost his anchor-being used as bait had been hard to endure, but at least he had had a clear goal. Now he felt hollow, with only the Beacon deep in his soul still faintly burning, reminding him that his troubles were far from over.
Allied Forces headquarters was like a hornets' nest someone had jabbed. On the surface, everything still ran according to routine, but the anxiety beneath it could not be contained. The patrolling shinobi watched more warily, their footsteps carrying a new edge of aggression. Documents piled high enough to bury someone covered Tsunade's desk. She rubbed her temples and occasionally looked out the window, her gaze heavy with worry. Even Kakashi had shed some of his trademark languor, the glint of calculation flashing more often in his exposed eye.
The pseudo-tailed beasts on the offshore islands were like thorns embedded in flesh. Rather than being fully removed, they showed signs of festering. The latest fragments of intelligence pieced together a disturbing picture: those purple-black monsters no longer seemed content to defend passively. They had begun launching organized assaults on the blockade established by the Allied Forces, and had even... displayed a degree of "coordination." No one in their right mind would believe there was no higher will directing them.
The name "Sacred Lord" weighed on everyone's hearts like an ever-heavier stone.
Ling's days were hardly any easier. Tobirama tossed him several scrolls supposedly "traded" from Orochimaru, containing research on the patterns governing energy activation in the God Tree Remnant. The scrawled handwriting, dangerous conjectures, and unverified formulas made his scalp prickle. This was less a body of knowledge than a