Chapter 13 – The Defeat of Hanzo and the Legacy of the Sannin

Hours had passed since the battle began. The battlefield, once a scene of intense clashes and explosions, was now littered with bodies and ruins. The sounds of combat had given way to a heavy silence, the kind only destruction could produce.

Hanzo of the Salamander, the great hero of the Village of Rain, stood alone, surveying what remained. Most of his village's elite ninjas lay scattered across the ground, defeated or gravely wounded. What was once a testament to his strength now reflected his failure. Hanzo, the ninja demigod, looked at the survivors and finally admitted what he had refused to accept: he had lost the war.

His eyes fixed on the fallen bodies of his subordinates, many of them considered the finest of Amegakure. He knew now that victory over Hiruzen's disciples—Tsunade, Orochimaru, and Jiraiya—was meaningless. Wars weren't won by a single battle. A village against one man was never a fair fight, and Hanzo now understood that harsh truth.

He had won individually, but the war—the weight of lives lost, the suffering of his village—was lost. Once hailed as a legend and a hero, Hanzo now saw himself as a failure. Perhaps a hero of Hanzo's caliber had been born in the wrong land.

The light rain falling over the battlefield seemed to mirror the sorrow weighing on his soul. Hanzo cast one final glance at Hiruzen's disciples. All three were battered and exhausted, yet still alive.

Tsunade, though wounded, tried to support Jiraiya, who was severely injured, his body failing to respond as usual. Orochimaru, despite his usual cold demeanor, lay on the ground, breathing heavily but fully aware that he was now standing before one of history's greatest losers.

Hanzo approached slowly, his footsteps heavy on the wet earth. He gazed down at the trio and, with a deep sigh, spoke:

— "You've won this battle, but you've lost far more. What remains for you now is to carry a title only survivors can bear."

The three, despite their exhaustion, listened intently. Hanzo didn't speak with disdain but rather with an air of reluctant respect. His grave voice cut through the eerie silence.

— "Tsunade, Orochimaru, Jiraiya… For what you've endured, for your strength, and for the courage you've shown, I bestow upon you the title of Sannin."

Those words echoed across the battlefield. For Hanzo, that title symbolized the recognition of his defeat. For the three shinobi, it would forever be remembered as the mark of an era's end.

Tsunade was the first to meet Hanzo's gaze. Her face was smeared with blood, but her eyes reflected a fatigue that stemmed from more than just the fight. She didn't smile, nor did she seem proud of the honor. To her, the title wasn't a victory but a bitter reminder of loss.

Orochimaru, on the other hand, felt a deep sense of disgust. Though his expression remained neutral, anyone familiar with him would recognize the subtle shift in his cold demeanor. The title of "Sannin," bestowed by a defeated man, was not an honor—it was humiliation disguised as praise. For someone who sought absolute power, this title was a brand he would carry for life, unable to rid himself of it.

Jiraiya, though still wounded, let out a tired sigh. He had never sought recognition, yet he understood the weight of Hanzo's words. He realized that while they had survived, true victory was far from something to celebrate.

— "Sannin…" Jiraiya murmured, a sad smile crossing his lips. "I never imagined that title would come from someone like you, Hanzo."

In one final act of respect, Hanzo stepped back. He had done what he believed was necessary. He had given them a title, but all that remained was the emptiness of knowing that he, the hero, the demigod, had nothing left to protect. He had lost the war, and the only thing left for him was the weight of defeat.

"The title of Sannin… They can carry it. But for me, it's nothing more than another chain binding me to what I failed to protect."

With a final glance at Tsunade, Orochimaru, and Jiraiya, Hanzo turned away, disappearing into the falling rain, leaving behind a legacy of glory tainted by tragedy.