The Aftermath of Kikyo Castle

The fires of war had long since died down, yet the scent of blood and scorched earth still lingered in the air. Kikyō Castle stood battered and broken, a graveyard for thousands of shinobi.

Konoha had won—but at what cost?

Nearly 3,000 shinobi lay dead. More than 2,000 were incapacitated, their bodies maimed or crippled beyond recovery. Those who survived carried wounds, both physical and mental, that would never fully heal.

Yet, Sunagakure had suffered greatly as well. Over a third of their forces had been annihilated. Their Kazekage, Shamon, barely escaped, his body torn by grievous wounds. His survival meant the war would not end here—but it had bought Konoha time.

Tetsuma exhaled slowly, his hands tightening into fists. He still remembered the chaos.

At the height of battle, Ebizo—the feared Suna Anbu Commander—had fought with ruthless precision. Danzo, overconfident, had engaged him in a direct fight.

A mistake.

With one clean strike, Ebizo had severed Danzo's arm before the man could react. His blade had grazed Danzo's eye, nearly blinding him.

If not for another Uchiha's intervention, Danzo would have died that day.

Tetsuma wasn't sure if that would have been for the better.

But the true nightmare had been the One-Tailed Beast.

The moment Shukaku was unleashed, the battlefield had turned into a slaughterhouse.

The Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama, had stepped forward himself—the only one capable of standing against such devastation.

He had fought the rampaging bijū alone.

His Water Release had clashed against Shukaku's sand, a battle of unrelenting force and unbreakable will.

Tetsuma and the rest of the elite forces had been forced to retreat, protecting the wounded as they fell back. He had wanted to stay. He had wanted to fight alongside his master, to aid him in the impossible.

But Tobirama had ordered them away.

And so, they left.

By the time the battle ended, the Second Hokage stood victorious—but wounded.

Even for someone of his caliber, facing a Tailed Beast alone had taken its toll.

The war was not over.

And as Tetsuma sat in his quiet home, sake in hand, he knew this was only the beginning.

The war had not only claimed the lives of shinobi on the battlefield—it had erased an entire generation of power-hungry elders.

The remnants of the Warring States Period, those who had survived countless conflicts and held deep-seated ambitions, had finally met their end at Kikyō Castle.

They had fought, believing themselves untouchable. Legends of an old era, men who once dictated the fates of their clans and villages.

But war did not respect the old.

The ambitious clan elders of Konoha, the ones who constantly schemed and sought to manipulate the power balance of the village, had been the first to throw themselves into battle.

And one by one, they had fallen.

Some had been incinerated by Shukaku's sand-fueled fury. Others had been cut down by Sunagakure's elite forces, their arrogance finally catching up to them.

Few survived.

Those who did no longer had the influence they once wielded.

Now, they hid in the shadows, afraid of what would come next.

Tetsuma could only scoff at their cowardice.

They had once spoken so boldly, proclaiming their strength, pushing for war, urging the younger generations to sacrifice themselves for Konoha.

Yet, when death came knocking, they scrambled to save their own skins.

The village had no need for relics who only knew how to whisper behind closed doors.

The world was changing.

And if those few elders still clinging to power refused to adapt—

They would be swept away, just like the rest.