Murasaki’s voice was barely a whisper.
Within the endless labyrinth of genjutsu, the Fourth Tsuchikage, Murasaki, looked utterly spent—his face gaunt, eyes faded to a lifeless gray. Gone was the youthful fire he’d once shown in battle against Jinghang. Beside him crouched the mighty, towering figure of Son Gokū.
"Don’t rush me. I’ll find a way out of this illusion. Just give me a little more time..."
Son Gokū’s eyes were wide and wild, scanning every inch of the vast maze, desperate to spot a flaw.
"Son, don’t waste your strength. We’ve tried everything we can think of. And now... we’re out of time."
Murasaki gave a bitter smile.
"This illusion must be multi-layered—"
"With each layer, the space multiplies exponentially—"
"If we’re stuck between layers—"
"Will you quit interrupting me? I’m trying to figure this out!"
Son Gokū exploded in frustration, his roar echoing like a beast on the brink.
"Son, thank you. But there’s no more time..."
Murasaki’s smile was helpless.
Son Gokū panted, forcing himself to calm down.
"You heard what’s happening outside. The puppet master behind this is about to start another war—using my name. Who knows how many Iwagakure sons will die meaninglessly on the battlefield? Our village, which finally caught its breath, will be plunged back into chaos. I can’t let that happen! As Tsuchikage, I have to stop it... Help me, Son!"
Murasaki’s face was etched with sorrow, his voice nearly pleading.
Son Gokū slowly quieted, struggling to contain his emotions. His massive shoulders trembled, like a child mourning stolen candy, his sobs barely audible.
More than twenty years together had forged a bond deeper than words. To ask a tailed beast to kill his closest friend—how could he possibly do it?
"Son, help me. I’m done living like a walking corpse. And help yourself, too. You deserve real freedom. The soaring peaks and deep valleys, the ancient forests and hidden gorges—that’s where you truly belong."
Homura Mitokado was in high spirits. On his second diplomatic mission to Iwagakure, he’d arrived just in time for the army’s grand mobilization rally—saving him a mountain of trouble persuading or threatening anyone. The moment he revealed his identity, Kitsuchi’s men ushered him straight to the VIP viewing platform.
It was a perfect day—clear blue skies, not a cloud in sight, the breeze just strong enough to set Iwagakure’s banners snapping, making the ten-thousand-strong army look even more imposing.
The rarely-seen Fourth Tsuchikage, Murasaki, wasn’t in his usual robes or hat today. Instead, he wore full shinobi battle gear and armor, standing proud atop the newly built rally platform. With his eyes narrowed and hands on his hips, he radiated an effortless, overwhelming presence.
"Since when did the Fourth Tsuchikage have such a murderous aura?"
Homura Mitokado couldn’t help but wonder.
But there was no time to dwell on it—Murasaki had already begun his speech.
"Seven years ago, we fought Sunagakure on the Cockcrow Plains. We lost.
Since then, Iwagakure has been shackled.
Our wealth was plundered. Our mines were seized. And worst of all—endless humiliation!"
His words—each one a reminder of the village’s shame—quickly set the crowd ablaze. The Iwagakure shinobi below flushed red with rage, their eyes wild, each man on the verge of exploding.
Homura nodded in approval. Yes, that’s it! Stoke the flames!
"Today, we take back everything we lost! We will crush Sunagakure!"
Murasaki thrust his right arm skyward, a living torch igniting the crowd’s fury.
The rally erupted, the roar shaking the heavens. The atmosphere was so charged, you’d believe they’d strap explosive tags to themselves and charge the enemy right now.
"Take back what’s ours!"
As the speech reached its climax, Murasaki fanned the flames even higher.
"Make Sunagakure kneel at our feet!"
The Iwagakure shinobi went wild—screaming, pounding their weapons, whipped into a frenzy.
"Heh! All this fire... Time to cool things down a bit."
High above, hidden in a distant tower, Hidan licked his lips, watching the chaos below with wicked delight.
He opened a nearby box, packed full of ice, cold mist swirling out.
Hidan rummaged inside.
He pulled out a tiny crimson vial.
On the platform, Murasaki sliced the air with a commanding gesture, his momentum unstoppable.
Below, the army surged, a tidal wave of noise.
Suddenly, Murasaki’s face twisted in agony, as if some invisible force had clamped around his throat.
He clawed desperately at his neck, trying to tear away phantom hands.
His face turned a sickly purple, veins bulging, his body writhing like a fish out of water. Only strangled, hissing gasps escaped his lips.
The crowd froze in shock, staring in confusion. It took a long moment before several ANBU leapt onto the stage to check on him.
"Huh? That’s weird—I haven’t even made my move yet..."
Hidan stared at the stun device in his hand, baffled. The black-and-white stripes on his body faded, his skin returning to normal.
He craned his neck, utterly lost.
Pandemonium broke out on the platform. All the killing intent that had built up was instantly deflated by this sudden disaster.
"Quick, get the Tsuchikage down!"
Homura Mitokado shouted, still hoping to salvage the situation—not so much for Murasaki, but for the hard-won morale.
But fate had other plans. The fallen Murasaki suddenly erupted with a wild, monstrous surge of chakra, a tornado blasting every shinobi off the platform.
The energy kept building, swelling larger and larger, until it threatened to burst. Crimson chakra enveloped Murasaki’s body, slowly lifting him into the air.
"Not good! It’s the Four-Tails, Son Gokū! Sealing team, get up here—now!"
Kitsuchi’s face drained of color as he barked orders.
But the elite of the sealing team had already been slaughtered by Jinghang. The few who remained were clearly unprepared for a crisis of this scale.
Everything happened in a flash. In less than a dozen breaths, the chakra swelled to the size of a mountain, then began to take shape.
A massive, red-furred ape stood atop the platform—none other than the Four-Tails, Son Gokū!
Son Gokū beat his chest, unleashing a thunderous roar filled with boundless grief.
"Hah! Now this is a show worth watching!"
From his high perch, Hidan cracked open a handful of sunflower seeds, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Son Gokū surveyed the crowd below, eyes blazing with fury. Suddenly, his gaze locked onto Kitsuchi.
He thrust a finger at Kitsuchi, bellowing with rage:
"Kitsuchi, you brat—come meet your death!"
The story isn’t over...
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