The shattered Bloodline Altar!

The instant the notification ended, the wheel slowly faded, like ripples on water smoothed away by a breeze.

Something new appeared in his inventory.

It was the image of half a stone platform, shrouded in a faint haze of ancient dust. Cracks densely covered its surface, some so deep they looked ready to split it apart.

The edges of the platform were badly damaged, with pieces missing, but the remaining surface was covered in obscure, incomprehensible runes.

Some of the markings had worn away and flaked off, yet traces of an indescribable, ancient aura still seeped through the cracks.

Zongyan stared at the item in his inventory, frozen in place, his heart giving a violent thump in his chest.

"...Holy crap. A gold legendary?"

While the wheel was spinning, he had been frantically praying that it wouldn't land in the pile of white-rarity trash. Instead, it had thrown him a gold outright.

Exhilaration shot up his spine to the crown of his head like an electric current, heating the blood throughout his body.

The enclosed room was utterly quiet. His body remained seated cross-legged, motionless, but his consciousness felt as though it had been fired from a catapult, his mind swimming in an adrenaline-induced haze.

It took a good while for that initial rush to slowly subside.

Zongyan drew a deep breath, forcibly tamped down his surging thoughts, and focused on his inventory again, reading through the item's detailed description one entry at a time.

[Shattered · Bloodline Altar]

[Quality: Gold]

[Description: A fragment of a damaged altar left behind by an ancient world.]

[Effect 1: When left in place over a long period, it can subtly nourish living beings within a hundred-meter radius, slowly purifying their bloodline origins.]

[Effect 2: By consuming sufficient minerals, the altar fragment can be activated to awaken a bloodline ability once per month without side effects. The more awakenings the same person undergoes, the more resources are consumed.]

[Note: The altar is severely damaged and can be repaired using specific minerals.]

Zongyan read those lines over and over.

With every reading, his heart beat a little faster. After several, he felt so excited he might take flight on the spot.

"Purify bloodlines? Awaken the Sharingan without anyone dying?"

He knew all too well what the Uchiha Clan's most fatal problem was.

In the original story, the village had been able to smear the Uchiha relentlessly and brand them an "evil clan" largely because the way the Sharingan awakened was so sinister-

They had to witness the death of a loved one and suffer agonizing psychological trauma. Only in the space between grief and hatred was there a chance of awakening those eyes.

Blood and tears were the threshold the Uchiha of the old era had to cross to awaken their bloodline ability. So many never managed it in their entire lives and could only remain ordinary shinobi forever.

And now this altar had simply torn that threshold down.

No side effects, no deaths, no loved ones collapsing before their eyes. All they needed to do was stand beside the altar and pour in resources, and they could undergo an awakening every month.

Zongyan's mind was already racing with excitement.

There were hundreds of people in the Uchiha Clan Compound. If he placed the altar at the heart of the compound, let it nourish them year-round, and activated it every so often, allowing everyone to awaken their eyes...

"Wouldn't that mean hundreds of Genin with their own Sharingan? If I invested more resources and focused on developing a few key individuals..."

The more he thought about it, the more excited he became, blood rushing to his head:

"If I obtained even more resources and invested them in specific people, wouldn't a world with Rinnegan everywhere be within sight?"

"...Heh heh heh."

Unable to hold back, he let out a series of strange cackles in the empty room that were thoroughly inappropriate for a six-year-old.

After laughing, he himself froze for a moment and silently added, ...What kind of noise did I just make?

Why did I sound so much like a villain...

But that thought was soon drowned out by an even greater flood of imagination.

As long as they were strong enough, would the village's suspicions and ostracism still be a problem?

The Anbu could watch all they wanted, and Danzo could scheme all he pleased. Once every last member of the Uchiha Clan had a pair of Sharingan, there was no telling who would wipe out whom.

"...A clan massacre? Let's see who wipes out whose clan in the future."

He muttered the words, his eyes shining with a frightening intensity.

But elated as he was, his brain hadn't burned out completely. As his thoughts shifted, new concerns surfaced.

The altar was shattered. The resources consumed to awaken one person would increase with each awakening, and slowly purifying bloodlines would take considerable time as well.

And most crucially-not a whisper of this thing could get out.

Once word spread, never mind Konoha High Command; the entire Shinobi World would have its eyes on the Uchiha.

A six-year-old like him couldn't do much with something like this anyway. The real problem was that he had neither money nor resources.

This treasure needs resources to work. I'm too young right now. In the end, I'll need someone's support!

Zongyan mentally went through the suitable candidates and soon settled on one.

His father.

Uchiha Fugaku.

Although, as clan leader in the original story, he had ultimately failed to lead the Uchiha out of their dead end, he was still a very capable father;

As clan leader, he could at least provide what Zongyan lacked most right now-resources, authority, and the ability to back up a six-year-old.

System, materialize it.

He gave the command in his mind.

With a faint flash, a fragment of black stone platform about half a meter tall landed soundlessly on the wooden floor before him.

Mottled cracks covered its entire surface. Its edges were rough, as though something had forcibly snapped it apart, and its black surface bore an exceedingly ancient sheen, as if it had been dragged here from somewhere unimaginably distant.

Zongyan reached out, carefully touching his fingertips to the cold surface of the platform.

The instant they made contact, an extremely, extremely faint warm current flowed through his fingertips and into his entire body.

The Uchiha bloodline within him seemed to be lightly stirred by something, giving off a barely perceptible warmth, as though responding.

"...Just touching it has an effect?"

He withdrew his hand and repeatedly examined the crooked runes on the stone platform. The longer he looked, the more he felt that the thing had an indescribably sinister quality.

But he liked it.

Sinister or not, it didn't matter as long as it worked.

He was pondering which minerals he should gather next to activate the altar when Mikoto's call suddenly came from outside, carrying through the wooden door:

"Zongyan! Come out and eat! You don't even help look after your little brother. Who knows what you're so busy doing in there!"

Zongyan jolted and quickly came back to his senses.

He swiftly took out a Summoning Scroll, formed a few hand seals to store the stone platform, then checked the room from top to bottom.

Only after confirming that the altar hadn't smashed a hole in the room did he get up, reassured.

Then he straightened his clothes, opened the door, and headed for the front hall.

By the time he reached the front hall, the lights had been lit, spreading a warm yellow glow across the floor.

Dinner covered the table. Fugaku sat at its head, the lingering fatigue of clan affairs still weighing on his brow.

Mikoto was holding Sasuke and trying to fit him into his high chair. The little fellow kicked his legs in the air, calling, "Big brother! Big brother!"

Uchiha Itachi's seat was empty. There had been more Anbu work lately, leaving him no time to come home for dinner for now.

Zongyan sat in his own seat, accepted the bowl and chopsticks Mikoto handed him, and lowered his head to tuck into his meal.

The table was silent, in full observance of the habit of not speaking while eating or going to bed.

But as his chopsticks stirred the rice in his bowl, he was still considering what excuse to make up to broach the subject with his father.