Madara Uchiha was struck speechless. The courtyard, occupied only by the two brothers, fell utterly silent; even the sound of the wind seemed to vanish.
Indra and Asura, the illustrious sons of the Sage of Six Paths, should have enjoyed supreme glory and power. Instead, a lump of black sludge had played them for fools, setting them against each other for a thousand years.
And almost every successive reincarnation of Indra and Asura had become that black sludge's pawn and puppet.
The Uchiha Clan and the Senju Clan, true descendants of the Sage, should have inherited their ancestor's will and glory. Instead, they had been dragged into war, serving as cannon fodder for a thousand years and fighting their own kin for just as long.
Noble descendants of a god, the two clans had battered each other bloody over a few scraps tossed their way by the aristocracy, hating each other for a thousand years.
Watching Izuna, whose eyes were stretched wide with fury, Madara instinctively wanted to argue, only to realize he had nothing to say-
If that wasn't a joke, then what in this world was?
Madara's heart felt unbearably heavy, as though a boulder were crushing it. Precisely because he understood how absurd and hopeless it all was, he had wanted to conceal that entire filthy past.
But now, faced with the endless rage and despair in Izuna's heart, he could find no words to comfort him or explain.
Never had Madara hated his lack of eloquence as much as he did now. All he could do was hold his brother tight, letting a thousand words churn in his throat until they finally became a sigh and a soft call:
"Izuna, it's all right. Your big brother's here..."
Izuna's face was deathly pale. His hair lay disheveled