Chapter 135

"I'm back in control."

A sudden voice echoed in his mind. Orochimaru halted abruptly, his awareness snapping back into focus—but one foot had already stepped into the river.

Surrounded by the intoxicating scent of flowers, Orochimaru steadied himself and asked, startled, "What just happened?"

"It's likely an illusion," the Djinn said, emerging briefly from Orochimaru's body before retreating again.

"There are no red flowers across the river. You can only see and smell them from this side."

"An illusion?" Orochimaru licked his lips, clearly unsettled.

He didn't think this was a trap laid specifically by the Sage of the Six Paths. More likely, every spirit entering this place encountered the same illusion. But the scale and potency of it—it was terrifying.

Sensing Orochimaru's tension, the Djinn glanced at him. "Don't overthink it. Your resistance to genjutsu isn't exactly impressive. And don't forget—you're currently just a spirit. No physical body to anchor your will."

A spirit form is immune to most physical or chakra-based attacks, but without a body, it's also far more vulnerable to illusions—more likely to drift, to be influenced, even warped.

"Still," the Djinn added, pointing to the river, "the Sage of the Six Paths has left a path. Look. Some have managed to resist using only their willpower."

Orochimaru turned to look and, for the first time, noticed them—other spirits, scattered along the riverbank.

Some sat motionless. Others drifted back and forth, caught in a daze, their eyes flickering between clarity and confusion.

As time passed, the pull of the fragrant illusions across the river only grew stronger.

"They're probably spirits clinging to powerful obsessions," the Djinn mused.

"Look over there. You'll recognize someone."

Orochimaru followed his gaze and blinked. "Sakumo?"

There, by the water, sat a white-haired man. Hollow cheeks, stubble on a gaunt face, head bowed. His eyes flickered open slightly under Orochimaru's gaze, a brief moment of clarity flashing through them—but it faded just as quickly.

He wasn't the person Sakumo was waiting for.

"Still hung up on that failure..." Orochimaru murmured, a faint trace of guilt in his voice. But he hadn't come here to comfort the dead.

With a nudge from the Djinn, Orochimaru turned and stepped directly into the Sanzu River.

Splash...

Even as a spirit, immersed in this illusory current, he felt like a fish cutting through water—effortless, fluid, strangely euphoric.

His body swayed gently as his thoughts grew lighter. The struggles of mortal life felt distant and meaningless now. Even his lifelong obsession with omniscience and immortality—what did it matter anymore?

A peaceful smile spread across his face. For the first time in memory, Orochimaru looked truly content.

The scent thickened as he drifted deeper. His thoughts blurred again.

"As expected, your resistance really is low," the Djinn muttered, unimpressed.

"No wonder the Sharingan always gave you so much trouble."

Without hesitation, the Djinn forced a bizarre, chaotic melody—something like the screech of ghostly beasts—into Orochimaru's mind on repeat.

The unnatural music jolted Orochimaru back. His spirit form trembled violently.

"Turn that off!" he snapped. "I'm awake now."

"Are you sure?" the Djinn replied, unconvinced.

"Can you really guarantee the illusion won't grip you again? The deeper we go, the stronger it gets."

Even someone like Uchiha Madara couldn't stay fully conscious in this Pure Land—let alone Orochimaru, whose spirit body was already worn and fragile.

Orochimaru frowned slightly, but recalling his earlier experience, he couldn't argue. He simply endured the maddening sound echoing in his head and continued swimming forward along the river.

Around him floated countless other spirit bodies, all intoxicated by the sweet scent of flowers from the opposite shore. As they drifted forward, their expressions grew increasingly dazed, their facial features blurring. Eventually, their forms dissolved into glowing, tadpole-shaped blue clusters—no longer even vaguely human.

"Tsk, tsk…" the Djinn observed, a mysterious smile curling at his lips. Whatever crossed his mind, he didn't share it.

Orochimaru, however, had no such leisure. He used the haunting melody in his mind to resist the seductive pull of the floral fragrance. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the others slowly drifting downward. His eyes narrowed. "Where are they going?"

"The Sanzu River," the Djinn answered.

"Everyone who enters it follows a different path."

"Don't follow them," he added with a grin. "There's nothing you want down there."

Orochimaru gave a silent nod and tried to fight off the instinctive urge to sink. Even though he wasn't entirely trapped by the illusion, his spiritual body was still damaged—it took effort just to stay afloat.

The current surged around him, dragging him up and down, but Orochimaru endured and continued forward.

Eventually, the river opened into a wide, gray expanse filled with drifting mist and rings of soft, glowing light.

He looked up—and saw a sky that was breathtaking. It was a pale blue, dreamlike, filled with distant stars that shimmered far closer than expected.

Compelled, Orochimaru floated upward toward one of the nearer "stars"—and found a familiar face.

It was the Third Kazekage.

His eyes were closed, as if lost in a deep dream. Dust-like gray matter drifted off his spirit body, and his aura seemed to grow heavier, more solid.

Orochimaru eyed the substance separating from the Kazekage's soul and felt a visceral revulsion. "What is that?"

"Impurities," the Djinn replied with a shrug.

"Well... that's not entirely accurate. Let's just say it's everything in the human chakra-soul body that differs from the Otsutsuki."

"Different?" Orochimaru echoed, glancing at the other 'stars' above.

Then he remembered the Shinigami he had once encountered. His eyes gleamed with understanding.

This… this was a forging process.

The Sage of the Six Paths was creating soldiers—remolding souls into something more akin to the Otsutsuki bloodline.

Just like his own Curse Mark, the Pure Land was subtly reshaping these souls.

And the reason? Obvious.

Orochimaru wasn't the only one who knew of the Otsutsuki. The Sage knew even more—and understood the threat far better. Of course he would prepare.

To the Sage of the Six Paths, it seemed, the power of the Otsutsuki was more trustworthy than that of any ninja.

Orochimaru gazed at the Third Kazekage's changing form and licked his lips unconsciously. "If too much of those 'impurities' are stripped away… what happens?"

"Didn't you see it already?" the Djinn replied, spreading his hands.

"The soul disintegrates—refined into pure spirit energy. That's the real reason we're here."

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