"Sizzle--Sizzle--"
The dial tone from the radio pierced the deathly silence, like a rusty saw blade tugging at the eardrum.
Tsuchikage's office.
Ōnoki slumped into the leather chair. The fabric on his back was soaked with sweat. Cold sweat clung his clothes to his skin, making him shiver.
In front of the large desk, the Intelligence Division knelt on the floor tiles, holding up a freshly developed black and white photograph.
The photographic paper was trembling, its edges sizzling. The pungent smell of developing chemicals filled the room.
Ōnoki didn't reach out to take it.
His old eyes were fixed, staring intently at the huge, deep crater in the photograph that had been completely smoothed out.
The sea level sank. Ancient trees that would take several people to encircle turned to ash. The island was gone.
His fingers dug into the hardwood handrail. Splinters pierced his fingernails, and beads of blood seeped out. He felt no pain.
The echoes of Shu Shiraishi's declaration, "The era of great centralization has arrived," still reverberated on the rooftop from the radio.
"Ambush..." Ōnoki uttered two words.
His voice sounded like he'd swallowed a handful of coarse sand—dry and strained.
He recalled the raid plan he had made with Kumogakure an hour earlier.
Five hundred elite troops were sent to bomb the supply line.
Compared to that mushroom cloud ten thousand meters high, five hundred ninjas who knew Earth Release were nothing more than dust used to fill a crater.
Their decades-long tactical infiltration, assassination, and infiltration skills, under the extreme heat and shockwaves, became a pile of waste paper too stiff even to wipe one's bottom with.
"Cancel." Ōnoki released his grip. Blood dripped onto his trouser leg.
"Withdraw all the people from the border of the Land of Hot Water. Flee overnight, and don't take any supplies."
The Intelligence Division was stunned. He looked up, mouth agape, his face covered in cold sweat.
Ōnoki grabbed the Duan inkstone from the table and smashed it hard.
The inkstone smashed against the door frame, splattering black ink all over the wall.
"Go now! Do you want to blow Iwagakure to smithereens?!" Ōnoki roared, his voice cracking. A gurgling sound came from his aged lungs.
Land of Lightning. Kumogakure.
Dai Raikage slumped down on the Dodai in front of the window.
The radio on the table hissed and emitted a wisp of blue smoke. The fragile electronic components were burnt out.
There were more than a dozen urgent documents scattered around him.
All the telegrams were sent back by the frontline Anbu at the risk of their lives. They were written in black and white, and all contained the same sentence: The East China Sea has been vaporized.
Dodai covered his head with both hands, dug his fingers deep into his hair, and pulled hard.
My scalp tingled. My legs felt like limp mud.
The Land of Lightning reveres martial prowess. Tens of thousands of muscular men have spent their entire lives training in Lightning Release Taijutsu on the snowy mountains.
Today, faith has crumbled.
No matter how strong one's physical body is, or how thick Lightning Release Armor, can it withstand the 100 million degree Celsius temperature of nuclear fission?
" Konoha..." Dodai's teeth chattered, making a soft, clattering sound as his upper and lower teeth clashed together.
He scrambled to his feet, clinging to the windowsill. His left knee slammed against the wooden floor with a dull thud.
He looked towards the western direction of the Land of Fire.
The cold mountain wind blew on his face, but he couldn't feel the chill.
They secretly coordinated and united in resistance.
These words now sound like a ridiculous joke made up by an idiot. They were all crushed to dust by that bomb.
Konoha.
South District No. 3 Heavy Industry Base.
The deafening roar of the mixer stopped. Thousands of ninjas who had been shoveling mortar and bricks stood frozen in place.
The sky overhead was tinged with a sickly purplish-red. That was the aftershock of the explosion in the East China Sea.
The cold, detached broadcast from Shu Shiraishi had just ended. The loudspeaker was filled with static.
Hyūga Tensō stood under the scaffolding.
He was carrying a half-full bucket of heavy cement, the mud splattered onto his tattered underwear.
He looked up at the illuminated sky.
He swayed, and the iron bucket crashed into the muddy ground, splashing mud and water onto his bare feet. He didn't dodge.
"God..." Tensō's chapped lips trembled.
He bent his knees and knelt heavily in the muddy puddle.
His forehead was covered in cold mud.
Previously, he harbored resentment, feeling that Shu Shiraishi was a tyrant who had usurped power and destroyed the Hyūga's Caged Bird Seal and foundation.
Now, all resentment has evaporated. Not a trace remains.
All that remains is the most primal sense of awe.
People may envy geniuses who are better than themselves, but they would never dare to envy a god who holds the sun in his hands.
beside.
Hiruzen Sarutobi dragged himself in iron shackles, the chains rattling loudly.
He leaned against the mixer, his hands gripping the rusty metal funnel tightly.
My ten fingers were sore from scratching that they turned white.
He looked at the night sky, tears mingling with coal dust streaming down his face, leaving two dark lines.
"You can't beat them. You'll never beat them."
Hiruzen muttered to himself, biting his tongue until it bled, the taste of blood spreading in his mouth.
He resigned himself to his fate.
The Will of Fire and his family heritage, which he treasured so dearly, were nothing but shards of broken glass before that world-destroying bomb.
He let go of her hand and turned around.
He mechanically picked up the shovel from the ground and continued shoveling sand into the funnel.
All that remains is numb obedience.
Inside a tent at the former site of the Nara clan settlement, east of the village.
Nara Rokumei threw down the engineering blueprints he was holding.
He's a smart man. He knows better than anyone what that mushroom cloud represents.
The era of ninjas has ended.
He Gate of Opening, faced the direction of the Hokage Building, and bowed deeply.
He bent over at a ninety-degree angle and remained standing for a long time.
Those conservatives who still had reservations about Shu Shiraishi have had their backbones broken today. They've knelt down in complete submission.
Hokage Building, third-floor office.
The window was already shattered.
The night wind blew in relentlessly, making the parchment scrolls on the table rustle loudly.
The wind carried a strong smell of Yakumi and ozone.
Shu Shiraishi sat in a mahogany chair.
A black trench coat was draped over his shoulders, the hem billowing in the wind.
He crossed his legs, his military boots resting on the edge of the desk, a bit of red paint chipped off the soles.
He was holding a brass lighter in his hand.
Click.
The grinding wheel rubs against the flint, and flames leap up.
It illuminated his hard, cold jawline.
He didn't light a cigarette, letting the flame flicker violently in the night wind.
My gaze passed over the broken window frame and looked towards the back mountain of Konoha.
The rocky mountain that was blasted open.
The electromagnetic railgun, stretching over 100 meters, lay like a well-fed steel behemoth in the darkness.
On the thick, pure copper rails, faint blue electric arcs still lingered, hissing softly.
The cannon barrel points diagonally towards the sky.
The white smoke from the liquid nitrogen cooling spray enveloped half the mountain.
Shu Shiraishi released his thumb. "Snap." The lighter cap closed. The flame went out.
He sat there. He didn't Hand Seals. He didn't charge.
But millions of people across the entire Shinobi World are now trembling beneath his feet.
Who dares to disagree?
The railgun's muzzle rotates constantly. Within its range, everything is scorched earth.
The village's heavy industry machinery has resumed operation.
Huge gears meshed. The chimney spewed out orange-red flames tens of meters high.
Tens of thousands of workers and ninjas were stuck to this war machine.
There was no background noise.
Konoha became a true god-level empire.
Absolute power. No one dares to look Konoha in the eye.
Orochimaru pushed the metal food cart in.
The wheels weren't lubricated. They were making a creaking sound.
There was a freshly opened bottle of red wine and two glasses in the car.
His white lab coat was stained with engine oil, and his hair was a mess, like a bird's nest.
Orochimaru's smile stretched all the way to his ears.
He poured half a glass of wine. The wine was bright red.
Holding the cup with both hands, I handed it over.
Cheers to the new era!
Shu Shiraishi took the glass.
I didn't drink it. I held the bottom of the glass with my fingers and swirled it gently. Red wine clung to the glass.
He looked out the window.
"There are still a few nuclear bombs left in the ammunition depot."
Orochimaru stood by the table, swallowing hard.
" The Chakra of the Four-Tails and Five-Tails has been completely drained. There's only one left."
He rubbed his hands together.
"However, the liquid Chakra battery is being expedited for production. At most, another one can be produced in half a month."
Shu Shiraishi let out a cold laugh.
"Half a month?"
He placed the glass on the table with a crisp "clink".
"It's not needed."
"Those village chiefs didn't have the guts to hold out for another two weeks."
Extremely hurried footsteps could be heard outside the corridor.
"Tap tap tap tap."
The military boots pounded on the wooden floor, the running sound heavy and chaotic.
The person outside didn't knock.
"Bang!"
The heavy mahogany door was pushed open with force.
The door slammed against the wall and bounced back with a loud bang. A piece of plaster fell off the wall.
A member of the Anbu Ninja staggered into the office.
He was running too fast. His left foot tripped over his right heel.
His body suddenly lunged forward.
He frantically grabbed the edge of the desk, smearing a stack of documents from the corner of the desk all over the carpet.
The Anbu didn't have time to pick up the documents.
He knelt on one knee, his chest heaving violently like a broken bellows.
He was panting heavily.
Sweat dripped in a continuous stream from the chin of the mask, splattering onto the carpet.
"Xiu... Lord Shu!"
The sound from the Anbu cracked. It was severely distorted, with a shrill, altered tone in the throat.
He suddenly raised his head.
His hands gripped the bulletproof vest tightly against his knees, his knuckles turning white.
"The Daimyo of the Land of Lightning and the Land of Earth!"
The operatives in the Anbu shouted at the top of their lungs, spitting into the air.
"A special envoy was dispatched overnight!"
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.
"We've just reached the village entrance! The horses all died halfway there! The two special envoys practically walked in!"
"They knelt outside the big iron gate at the village entrance! Their knees were all scraped and bleeding!"
"A letter of surrender has been delivered!"
The members of the Anbu trembled with excitement. The armor plates rattled loudly.
They asked...
He gasped for breath, his voice trembling like leaves in the cold wind.
They asked... if they could avoid being bombed!
Shu Shiraishi stood by the window.
The night wind blew through his short black hair.
He turned around, his back to the industrial Kakkō flickering outside the window.
His gaze fell on the trembling Anbu kneeling on the ground.
A cruel, cold smile stretched across his face.
The smile didn't reach his eyes; instead, it conveyed a chilling, condescending aura.
"Want to surrender?"
Shu Shiraishi's voice was deep and calm, without the slightest fluctuation.
He walked to the table and tapped his fingers on the surface.
"Can."
He bent down and placed his hands on the edge of the table.
Looking at the Anbu.
"Tell them."
"Trade the sovereignty of the entire country for it."