It was not as though they had never tried.
After the Heavenly Curtain revealed the relevant information, Tsunade, acting in her capacity as the Fifth Hokage, had used certain channels in an attempt to contact Uchiha Itachi.
However, every message had vanished like a stone sinking into the sea. That man had completely severed all overt contact with Konoha.
Who would have thought that he had been lurking around the village all this time, watching silently—and perhaps even dealing with threats targeting Sasuke from the shadows?
If Hikari's appearance today had not forced him to reveal himself, Konoha might never have known he was there.
"His resentment toward the village still runs too deep," Tsunade sighed softly, her expression complicated.
She understood where that estrangement came from.
The darkness of Root, the compromises of Konoha's leadership, the Uchiha tragedy...
One after another, those events had largely taken place during the Third Hokage's administration, yet they were also the bitter fruit borne by Konoha's entire system.
Now, that heavy burden had fallen onto her shoulders. Rebuilding what had been broken and restoring trust was difficult every step of the way.
"At least... judging by what we saw today, he really is protecting Sasuke." Jiraiya placed a hand on her shoulder. His voice was comforting, yet tinged with heaviness. "As for the rest, we can only leave it to time... and to them."
The images on the Heavenly Curtain shifted, slowly unfolding an ancient chapter of history.
Indra stood before the Sage of Six Paths, his posture straight, though an unshakable gloom and detachment lingered between his brows. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice low and resolute.
"Father, I've decided to leave the Ninshū for a while. I need to... see the true nature of this world with my own eyes."
The Sage of Six Paths gazed at his eldest son. Unspoken emotions churned within his Rinnegan—regret, concern, and perhaps even a trace of sorrow born from having foreseen what was to come.
After a long silence, he slowly said, "Go, Indra. This vast world is something you should experience for yourself."
He paused slightly, his gaze growing deep and solemn, as though piercing through time itself.
"But I hope you will always remember this: what this world truly needs has never been... a dictator who stands above all others."
"A dictator..." Indra lowered his eyes and nodded respectfully, concealing the flash of pain and coldness that passed through them.
The moment he turned to leave, his straight back seemed to grow even more rigid.
When he finally stepped beyond the boundaries of the Ninshū—a place that symbolized peace and understanding—and stood at the border between desolation and life, he could not help but look back.
The buildings of the Ninshū were faintly visible in the distance. That was where his father preached of "love" and "connection."
Yet those words now felt like red-hot brands seared into his heart.
"A dictator?" he murmured. His voice faded into the vast wilderness, yet the question echoed louder and louder within his heart.
"In your eyes, Father, does the path I have devoted my life to—the pursuit of strength and order—lead only to the word 'dictatorship'?"
A fire of resentment, wounded pride, and rebellion quietly rose within him.
"If pursuing strength and control is a sin, then what does that make you? You are the strongest being of this age. With your own hands, you founded the Ninshū and determined how its teachings would be passed down."
That hateful, seductive whisper seemed to echo beside his ear once more.
"Father... you betrayed Grandmother. Using the power you gained yesterday, you built your own reputation as a 'savior'..."
A cold and mad thought wrapped itself around his heart like a vine.
His father had accomplished such a monumental deed—even sealing away his own mother—to establish his path and authority...
Then why couldn't he, as the inheritor of his blood and power, do the same?
With that growing resolve and obsession fermenting within him, Indra truly stepped into the vast and unforgiving shinobi world.
Yet what he witnessed during his travels was far more shocking than anything he had heard within the Ninshū.
The land was scarred by enormous ravines and craters, wounds left behind by battles between godlike beings that had yet to heal. Rivers had changed course. Fertile soil had been reduced to scorched rock. Once-prosperous settlements were now nothing more than crumbling ruins, while those fortunate enough to survive struggled amid poverty and fear.
The land was devastated, its people scattered and suffering, and any true recovery remained far beyond the horizon.
He crossed wastelands littered with the suffering of the displaced and passed through villages where bloody conflicts erupted over what few resources remained. In the depths of desperation, he witnessed humanity's greed, selfishness, betrayal, and brutality laid bare.
The vision his father had painted—of people understanding one another and moving forward hand in hand—seemed so pale before this cruel reality. It even seemed... naïve.
The farther he traveled and the more he witnessed, the less his convictions wavered. Instead, they were tempered by the furnace of suffering until they became harder and colder than ever.
He became utterly convinced that he had never been wrong.
The darkness within human nature clung like a festering disease; it could never be eradicated by something as simple as "love" and "understanding."
Absolute kindness existed in only a precious few hearts. Only absolute order and strength could restrain chaos and guide all people—even by force, if necessary—toward what he believed to be the right path.
His father's ideal was nothing more than a dream built upon a sandcastle, too fragile to withstand the slightest storm.
Strength is truth!
Order stands above understanding!
After witnessing the scars of the shinobi world firsthand, this was the final, unquestionable conclusion Indra reached regarding his own path.
The lonely road that ran contrary to his father's teachings was now clearly laid out before him.
His heart surging and his resolve firm, Indra hesitated no longer and turned toward the path back to the Ninshū.
He needed to face his father. He needed to use the "truth" he had witnessed with his own eyes to question—and perhaps even challenge—the ideal that now seemed so outdated to him.
Night gradually deepened, and moonlight cast mottled shadows across the forest path.
As he hurried through the woods, something suddenly caught his attention from the corner of his eye—a solitary figure walking beneath the shadows of the trees, one that was strangely familiar.
That small, slightly hunched frame, along with that distinctive aura that seemed faintly attuned to nature...
"So late at night... what are you doing here?" Indra stopped instinctively and called out.
He recognized the figure immediately. It was Gamamaru, the Great Toad Sage of Mount Myōboku—his father, the Sage of Six Paths' close friend and guide.
Among the few warm memories of his childhood, this wise and gentle elder had once shown him kindness and offered him guidance. Indra had once held him in deep respect.
"Ah... Indra." Gamamaru slowly raised his head and looked at him.
Under the moonlight, the old toad's eyes, usually filled with wisdom and serenity, were clouded by a rare darkness and exhaustion. Even his voice carried an unmistakable weakness and the weight of old age.
"Lord Gamamaru, what's wrong...?" Indra frowned deeply, immediately sensing that something was amiss. He stepped closer, his sharp gaze sweeping over the Great Toad Sage. "You're injured? Who could possibly have hurt you?"
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