At the border of the Land of Rain, along a hidden route leading to the Land of Wind, windblown sand gradually replaced the unending rain, and dry, scorching air rushed against their faces.
Toyotomi Yinglang walked ahead, his moon-white Kariginu spotless amid the blowing sand. His steps were unhurried, like those of a traveler on a spring outing.
Behind him followed three youths, their steps somewhat stiff and their expressions complicated.
Nagato kept his head lowered, his short, dark red hair stirring in the hot wind. He had gained rudimentary control over activating and deactivating his newly formed Three-Tomoe Sharingan. At the moment, his eyes were merely an ordinary violet, but deep within them, an unshakable heaviness mingled with a resolve that had only just begun to sprout.
Yahiko stayed close beside him, his short orange hair somewhat disheveled and his brow faintly furrowed. He seemed to be digesting the enormous onslaught of information from the past several days, but his gaze was much firmer than before.
Konan remained cool and silent, but the occasional glance she cast at Toyotomi Yinglang's back now held an indescribable complexity: wariness, dependence, and perhaps a trace of uncertainty about the unknown road ahead.
They had just undergone a "baptism" that overturned their understanding, from the truth of the Rinnegan to the evils of the shinobi system, and finally to that cruel "Pure Land Pasture."
Their worldview had collapsed and been rebuilt, and their future was murky. The only clear things were the road beneath their feet and the mysterious man ahead, who had led them out of despair only to guide them toward an even more unfathomable abyss.
After they crossed a stretch of barren desert dotted with weathered stone pillars, the scene ahead abruptly changed.
Instead of desolate dunes, there was an