Ashina, meanwhile, just stayed silent.

Not because he had no answer, but because the gradual memories, before his awakening, had suddenly returned fully like a tide he couldn’t stop.

Even as a spirit, the pain still burned, heavy and suffocating.

He remembered how it ended.

The month-long siege, seals stacked upon seals, barriers bending but refusing to break.

The Land of Whirlpools was only a stretch of water from Fire Country.

Surely Konoha had seen.

Surely their allies would come.

But no one came.

One by one, his younger clansmen fell, red hair soaked with blood, their chants drowned by fire and steel.

He, their patriarch, could only watch his clan vanish.

He had been one of the strongest men of his age, his mind sharp, his spirit unbending.

But years of peace had softened him.

He had believed in unity, in friendship, in the Senju’s promises.

Hashirama’s charisma, Tobirama’s cunning, Mito’s bond, all of it had blinded him.

The Uzumaki poured their trust into Konoha.

Shared their secrets.

Sold their seals cheaply.

Even built temples on Konoha’s soil, filling them with sacred Shiki Fūjin masks to defend their “ally.”

He’d called it wisdom then.

Now he called it weakness.

What did they receive in return?

Empty words. Painted symbols.

A marriage that meant nothing when the blood began to flow.

Ashina was certain now, Konoha had known.

They had seen the attack coming and said nothing.

So the Uzumaki couldn’t have even prepared some backups and left some more survivors.

They sacrificed the Uzumaki to avoid provoking the other villages before the next war.

They even took Kushina first, under the guise of alliance, only to breed another jinchūriki before Mito’s time ended.

So they surely knew. And then they watched Uzushiogakure burn, securing their “prize” before the flames were done.

Ashina’s soul quaked. “I let it happen,” he thought. “I should have known. If the Senju could bury their own name for the sake of their ‘village,’ why wouldn’t they discard us the first chance they had?”

Hatred rose like poison.

Not only for Konoha, but for himself.

For his cousin who chose her husband over her clan.

For every decision that had led them here.

“I will never forgive them,” his spirit whispered inwardly.

“Not Konoha. Not their Hokage. Not even Mito. I curse them with what’s left of me. And I swear, I will see the Uzumaki name live again.”

“I sealed myself here for that chance. For that purpose. Even if I must crawl out of the dirt with my bare hands, I will see my clan rise once more.”

The last thought cracked through the seal like thunder.

Meanwhile, Ashina’s voice then settled into a grim calm, the bitterness still there but now sharpened into purpose.

“Then perhaps our paths align after all,” Ashina said slowly, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. “You’re talented… and sharper than most I’ve seen, even in my time. That alone makes you worth hearing out.”

He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone hardened. “My goal is simple. I want the Uzumaki name to live again. To find whatever fragments of my bloodline remain, rebuild our strength, and one day repay Konoha for what they did — tenfold.”

His words grew colder, each one like a weight dropped into still water. “I despise them more than any of the other great villages. The others were enemies — open and honest in their hatred. But Konoha…” His voice dropped to a bitter rasp. “They were family. And they sold us for peace.”

Ryusei nodded slightly. “Then we understand each other. I’m not here to offer comfort or prayers. What I want are your most advanced fuinjutsu and jutsu-shiki, the highest form of Uzumaki sealing art. With those formulas, and your guidance, I can help you achieve what you want.”

Ashina gave a low, skeptical hum. “And how does a living man intend to help a soul without a vessel? Or do you plan to find those few scattered Uzumaki yourself? Even in death, I spent years trying to design my own return, back when fragments of my mind, in the seal, still held together. Nothing worked. Without my original blood or flesh, even my descendants couldn’t have revived me. Yet that remains my wish.”

Ryusei’s eyes narrowed slightly, a small smirk forming. “That won’t be a problem. My research into souls goes far beyond anything your era ever achieved. I’ve already studied Edo Tensei, for example.”

For the first time, Ashina’s composure faltered. “You possess Tobirama’s creation?”

Ryusei’s smirk deepened. “And more. You’ll understand in time; you can observe until then,” he said evenly. “What Tobirama made was crude, a puppet’s trick, not true restoration. I can go beyond that. No chains, no rot. If I prepare the right vessel, you’ll live again as yourself.”

Ashina’s tone carried disbelief, but curiosity too. “A vessel? You also think you can find a body to house me that easily? My original cells are dust, my line scattered.”

Ryusei chuckled quietly. “I strangely already have one, in fact. Captured it a few days ago.”

He reached into a small sealing scroll at his belt and released a capsule of chakra, revealing the preserved, pale figure of a White Zetsu clone.

The strange body lay inert, its skin faintly rippling with organic chakra.

“This thing,” Ryusei said, “I plan to research it some more before also trying to make it into your new vessel. Its body is adaptable, self-repairing, and, more importantly, it can absorb genetic traits. Your soul could reshape it, overwrite it with your essence, and evolve it into something close to your prime form — maybe even stronger.”

The silence that followed was long.

Ashina’s soul pulsed faintly within the seal, its chakra rippling with restrained awe.

He didn’t know what the creature’s origin was, but something about it carried a faint echo of Hashirama’s aura. The resemblance was subtle yet unmistakable, that same deep, living energy.

Powerful, adaptable, alive in a way ordinary flesh wasn’t. It seemed that what the boy said was really true; this vessel really could suit him. So, perhaps his claim about mastering souls wasn’t a lie either.

“You would… offer this to me?”

“In exchange for knowledge, and some help,” Ryusei said simply. “You teach me every advanced sealing formula, every structural theory the Uzumaki mastered, I want to learn. In return, I’ll give you a body and a path back. From there, we move together — your clan revived, our joint enemies crushed. If Konoha comes for either of us, we stand as one.”

Ashina’s voice wavered, the weight of centuries pressing against a flicker of hope he had long forgotten.

“I have waited for so long for even a chance at that,” he murmured. “To think it would come through a Senju of all people…”

He fell quiet again, thinking deeply, before finally speaking once more, his tone solemn but resolute.

“Very well. We have an accord. You will have the knowledge of the Uzumaki, our true art, not the fragments Konoha swindled from us before. And in turn, I will take this chance you offer.”

Ryusei’s grin widened faintly. “Good. Then let’s begin.”

The spiral seal beneath his palm flared with crimson light, and for the first time in centuries, the voice of Ashina Uzumaki carried a trace of life.

Ryusei’s thoughts ran far ahead of his calm expression.

Reviving Ashina wasn’t just about curiosity or alliance; it was a deep strategy.

He still had uncertain feelings about the future.

The Hokage faction wouldn’t sit idle forever.

They were bound to try something new, something ruthless.

He was still fighting the machinery of an entire, strongest hidden village, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he could face it alone, despite all of the recent growth he had.

Ashina was both an opportunity and a necessity, a living archive of some of the greatest shinobi knowledge, and potentially a future ally powerful enough to rival any Kage at his peak. Judging by the stories, the man had once stood among the strongest of his time.

If Ryusei could find him a vessel equal to, or even surpassing, the strength of his prime, he wouldn’t just be restoring a legend, he’d be improving it.

But bringing him back wouldn’t be simple.

Ryusei knew the connection between soul and body ran deep in this world.

The soul could alter DNA, and DNA could, in turn, affect the soul’s nature.

That was what made the White Zetsu body perfect for his plan; it had barely any soul presence, almost a blank vessel. Ashina’s spirit could easily overwrite it, shaping its form to match his old self slowly.

The problem was durability. As it stood, the body wouldn’t withstand the full power of a soul like Ashina’s for long. It needed reinforcement, a further boost to its essence, to make the new ‘being’ close to Ashina’s prime.

More Hashirama cells. Fortunately, White Zetsu tissue was already very adaptable and fused with them, making it far easier to graft and somehow adapt further with precision over time.

Of course, Ryusei had no intention of taking unnecessary risks.

He would make sure to inscribe a few discreet safety seals of his own within that biological vessel, subtle, invisible to anyone but him.

If Ashina ever turned against him, those seals would act instantly.

But all that would take time.

For now, they had to move.

Together, they began preparing a temporary solution, a sealing procedure to transfer Ashina’s soul from the ruined spiral into a portable, temporary vessel.

Ryusei constructed a movable pendant engraved with layered seals, fine enough to hold a spirit without damaging it.

The old man’s chakra flared faintly as the ritual began, his essence slowly detaching from the ancient ruins.

Ryusei watched in silence, his mind running through contingencies.

“There’s no way I’m letting him anywhere near my mindscape,” he thought. “For all I know, he, and old monster, could’ve hidden a technique to hijack my body the moment he gets inside.”

As they began the transfer ritual, Ashina watched in silence from within the spiraling seal. Ryusei’s hands moved with practiced precision, tracing each formula exactly as instructed, his chakra control fine enough to thread power through microscopic lines of ink without disturbing the surrounding matrix.

Even through the fog of his spiritual state, Ashina could sense the boy’s balance, physical energy dense and steady, spiritual energy sharp and refined. The kind of equilibrium few ever achieved, even among his own clan.

“This one isn’t ordinary,” Ashina thought. “Strong body, strong spirit, and already fairly versed in such complex fuinjutsu at this age… no wonder the tether responded to him so easily.”

For the first time since their meeting, a faint note of respect entered his voice. “You learn fast, Senju. To manipulate seals of this level without hesitation… even among the Uzumaki, that talent would have stood out.”

Ryusei gave a short, quiet reply as his hands completed the final seal. “I told you. I’m not here to waste your time.”

When the transfer was complete, the pendant pulsed faintly, the air around it humming with residual power.

Ashina’s voice echoed from within, quieter now but steady.

“So this is how I will travel with you. Fitting, I suppose. I’ve slept long enough in stone.”

Ryusei slipped the pendant into an inner pocket of his flak jacket and stood.

“Good. From now on, you’ll see what the new world looks like.”

It’s not kind to relics, but if we play this right, we’ll both have our revenge.”

The ruined valley fell silent again, save for the faint wind and the low hum of the pendant.

As they finally departed after several hours, Ryusei couldn’t help his quiet judgment.

To him, Ashina wasn’t as wise as his near century of life suggested.

The man had inherited a millennium of knowledge, yet failed to grasp the simplest truth.

Konoha should have been treated like poison, not family.

Keep the island sealed. Sell your seals to everyone.

Once the hidden village system turned shinobi into mass-produced soldiers and the world into a constant arms race, the Uzumaki could have become the one resource no nation could live without.

Demand for their fuinjutsu would have been endless.

Without their alliance to Konoha acting as a common enemy, the great villages would never have united long enough to destroy them.

They would have been forced to court the Uzumaki instead, to buy favor and protection, turning the clan into a neutral ’empire’, untouchable, indispensable.

“You could’ve done what the samurai did in Iron,” Ryusei thought. “But instead of selling blades, you’d sell the most adaptable weapons in existence, seals. Fewer people, limitless leverage, no wars. A true power above nations.”

To him, that failure revealed the flaw behind Ashina’s legend.

The old man had leaned too heavily on the weight of his clan’s legacy instead of foresight.

He was powerful, no doubt, but Ryusei knew exactly who would be leading this partnership.

Age meant nothing here.

Control would rest with him. Still, he wasn’t arrogant enough to leave that to blind chance.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep