Published at 9th of November 2024 8:22 am

Chapter 173 Roots of the Leaf, Part 1

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

The village was quiet, bathed in the early light of dawn. Hashirama Senju, known to his people as the First Hokage, stood on a high rock overlooking the budding settlement of Konohagakure. He watched as the morning mist drifted across the roofs of small wooden houses, cloaking them in a silvery glow. A sense of pride swelled within him, tempered only by the weight of responsibility that came with his vision.

Hashirama had fought countless battles and lost dear friends to the bitter wars of the past, wars that tore apart clans and left only suffering in their wake. Konohagakure was supposed to be an end to that cycle, a place where shinobi from all walks of life could set aside old grudges and live under a single banner. But creating peace was proving to be as difficult as fighting for it.

As he stood, pondering the future, Hashirama heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Madara,” he greeted, his voice warm but cautious.

Madara Uchiha, his old friend and rival, approached with an unreadable expression. He, too, cast his gaze across the village, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Madara's presence was like a storm contained within a single man—a fierce, unpredictable energy that could inspire as much as it could destroy. And while Hashirama had once dreamed of standing side by side with Madara as co-founders of the village, their alliance was still delicate, fragile like glass.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Madara said, his voice barely a murmur. “This village we’ve built… It almost doesn’t feel real.”

Hashirama chuckled. “Maybe because we’ve only known war for so long. But this village, this peace—it’s as real as we make it, Madara.”

Madara didn’t reply. Instead, he folded his arms, his eyes narrowing as he focused on a group of children running through the streets below, laughing as they played. Hashirama watched him carefully, sensing the tension that never seemed to leave his friend.

“I can see it in your eyes,” Hashirama said quietly. “You’re still uncertain.”

Madara turned to him, his face darkening. “Do you not understand, Hashirama? This village may be a sanctuary for now, but what happens when another clan decides to attack? What happens when old grudges resurface? Peace is a fragile thing, easily shattered.”

Hashirama met Madara’s gaze, his expression determined. “That’s why we’re here. To protect this dream. Together, we can show them that there’s another way.”

Madara’s gaze softened for a moment, the old brotherhood between them flickering back to life. Yet, a shadow passed over his face, a deep-seated worry that not even their bond could erase.

“Even so,” Madara said, his voice tinged with regret. “I fear the cost of this peace may be more than either of us realizes.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a distant shout from the village square. Both men turned to see a young shinobi running towards them, his face pale with urgency. Hashirama and Madara exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them before they descended the rock to meet the messenger.

“Lord Hokage!” the shinobi panted as he reached them, bowing deeply. “There’s… there’s been a disturbance at the eastern border. Bandits have attacked one of the outlying farms.”

Hashirama’s face hardened, and he nodded. “Gather a small squadron. I’ll go myself.”

Madara stepped forward. “I’ll join you.”

They moved quickly through the village, gathering a few experienced shinobi before setting out towards the eastern border. The air was tense, and Hashirama could feel the silent apprehension of his squad as they followed him. The threat of bandit attacks was nothing new, but the frequency of these incidents had been growing. There was a restlessness among the people of the Land of Fire, a sense that something was stirring just beneath the surface.

When they arrived at the farm, the sight that greeted them was grim. Fields lay trampled, and the barn stood in flames, smoke billowing into the sky. Hashirama clenched his fists, his heart aching at the devastation. This was the very violence he had hoped to end, the very fear he wanted to banish from his people’s lives.

Without hesitation, he raised his hands, summoning his chakra. Massive roots erupted from the ground, twisting and coiling as they sought out the source of the fire. With a few swift movements, he directed the roots to douse the flames, smothering them until only embers remained.

“Search the area,” Hashirama ordered, his voice steady but tense. “See if you can find any trace of the attackers.”

The squad fanned out, moving through the scorched fields in search of clues. Hashirama stood with Madara, his eyes scanning the horizon.

“This is no ordinary bandit attack,” Madara muttered, his voice low. “Look at the precision of the destruction. Whoever did this wanted to send a message.”

Hashirama nodded, his gaze sharpening. “I noticed. But what kind of message?”

As if in answer, a young girl emerged from behind a broken fence, her face streaked with tears and dirt. Hashirama knelt down to her level, his expression softening.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You’re safe now. Can you tell us what happened?”

The girl sniffled, her voice barely a whisper. “They… they wore strange masks. They said they would come back for the village.”

Hashirama’s stomach clenched. Masked attackers—this was no simple raid. There was something more organized, more sinister at work. He exchanged a look with Madara, who nodded, his eyes narrowing.

“We need to get her back to the village,” Hashirama said, gently lifting the girl into his arms. “And we need to prepare. Whoever these attackers are, they’re not finished.”

The journey back to Konohagakure was silent, tension thick in the air. Hashirama’s mind raced, analyzing the situation from every angle. They had expected resistance to the village’s creation, but this felt different. Whoever these masked attackers were, they had resources, organization, and a vendetta against the village. This was a threat that could not be ignored.

When they arrived at the gates of the village, Hashirama felt a pang of relief as the villagers came out to greet them. The girl’s family rushed forward, thanking him profusely as they took her into their arms. Hashirama gave them a reassuring nod, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

After a brief council meeting, Hashirama retreated to his quarters. He found himself standing before a small shrine in the corner of his room, where the symbol of his clan, the Senju crest, was carved into the wood. The dream he had worked so hard to build was under threat, and the weight of it felt almost unbearable.

Madara entered without knocking, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You can’t shoulder this alone, Hashirama. If there’s a threat, we face it together.”

Hashirama looked at him, seeing the old fire in his friend’s eyes. “Madara… do you ever wonder if we’re fighting a losing battle?”

Madara’s gaze softened, and he placed a hand on Hashirama’s shoulder. “We fight because we believe in something greater than ourselves. You taught me that.”

The two men stood in silence, bound by their shared vision and the unspoken understanding that the road ahead would be difficult. Konohagakure had taken root, but to protect it, they would need to confront enemies both outside and within.

And so, they prepared for the trials to come, two warriors bound by a dream, ready to defend the fragile peace they had built. Little did they know, however, that this was only the beginning of a much larger struggle—one that would test their friendship, their resolve, and the very foundation of the village they had sworn to protect.

Share