Main World.
Winter, Konoha Year Twenty-Two.
Planet No. 1, Mechanical God Cult base.
The snow had stopped, but the wind was still blowing. Fine grains of snow blew off the rooftops, spiraled through the air, and fell to the ground, mingling with the accumulated snow. On the base's perimeter walls, runes glowed faintly in the reflected snowlight, like the eyes of a god watching over this increasingly bustling land.
The base had expanded again. The perimeter walls had been extended outward three times, the houses had grown from a few dozen to over a hundred, and the watchtowers had increased from seven to more than a dozen. The farmland had doubled in area. Although crops could not be grown in winter, the grain in the granaries was enough to feed everyone in the base for two winters. More and more tribes came to join them. The initial few hundred people had now grown to several thousand. When there was no more room inside the base, they pitched tents outside. The tents stretched together like a small town.
Nagato stood on the top floor of the Main Tower, his dark red hair stirring in the cold wind. His Eternal Mangekyō Sharingan was already active. Within his scarlet pupils, the spiral pattern in his left eye and the Triangular Blade Pattern in his right slowly rotated. His gaze fell on the tent district outside the base-several thousand people were there, all of whom had come from various tribes to join them. They wore thick padded coats issued by the Empire, ate grain issued by the Empire, and lived in tents issued by the Empire. There was fear and confusion on their faces, but above all, anticipation.
Sasori stood before the Control Console, holding a report, his Golden Serpent Eyes flickering faintly behind