Naruto: Starting as the Third Hokage with Tears in His Eyes

Is Chapter 542 being opened incorrectly?

The last word, "withdraw," seemed to be abruptly blocked in his throat by a sudden gust of wind that swept through the desert.

Scorpion Sand couldn't even see the trajectory of the white figure.

He only felt a slight chill on his neck, not like a blade cutting across it, but more like a cold snowflake gently touching it.

Then, the world before his eyes began to spin.

Yellow sand, a dark moon, and the blurry figures of companions in the distance—everything was upside down and churning.

His last conscious thought was seeing the white-haired man appear several meters behind him, with his back to him, making a gesture as if to sheath his short sword.

"Click."

A soft sound, crisp as if the end of some kind of ritual.

"Feel sorry."

A soft whisper drifted on the wind, carrying a hint of self-righteous apology.

"I forgot there's one more."

Scorpion Sand's head rolled to the ground, its face frozen in terror and despair. The headless body swayed, then collapsed to its knees, the gushing hot liquid staining the yellow sand beneath its feet a deep, dark color.

Sakumo Hatake did not turn back.

He simply stood there quietly, surveying the silent slaughterhouse he had created with his own hands.

A dozen or so corpses lay scattered around in various contorted positions, the warm, pungent smell of blood mingling with the scent of dust filling the air.

He didn't like the taste.

Killing was never a source of enjoyment for him, but merely a means to solve problems. As an envoy, the moment he set foot on this land, he understood that no amount of verbal intimidation could compare to the effectiveness of a direct, thorough act of violence that would shatter any remaining hope of the other side.

The Sand Village must understand that the people sent by Konoha are not merchants to be negotiated with, but judges who can decide their fate.

The entire army was wiped out in an instant.

This was the first negotiation document he submitted.

Shuo Mao sighed softly, his voice so faint it was almost swallowed by the wind.

He looked down at his clean hands, then at the Sand Ninja who hadn't even left behind a complete corpse.

"Is it opened incorrectly...?"

He muttered to himself, a hint of barely perceptible confusion in his voice.

"I thought it was some formidable opponent, so I took it seriously. Sigh, what a waste of my passion."

The voice was so soft it was almost carried away by the desert night wind, but the obvious disappointment it contained was more hurtful than any mockery.

He was definitely serious.

When he saw the opponent set up that saturation attack formation, he thought he could finally move his rusty body and relive the exhilarating battles against strong opponents on the battlefield back then.

For this reason, he even entered a state of peak performance where he could cast aside all distractions and merge his mind and body with the sword.

result……

It's like a well-prepared farmer who has sharpened his sickle and is ready to harvest a whole field of ripe crops, only to find that these so-called crops are just a bunch of weeds that look good but are useless and will fall over at the slightest touch.

This huge psychological gap left him feeling utterly listless.

Just then, two figures silently appeared on the sand dune behind him.

Danzo Shimura stood with his arms crossed, his perpetually taut face devoid of any emotion. He wasn't looking at the corpses strewn across the ground, but rather at the almost imperceptible traces left on this battlefield.

There were no extra footprints, no signs of chakra rampage, and the wounds on each corpse were precisely severed from vital points, resulting in a clean and swift death.

This is an art that takes efficiency and precision to the extreme.

Standing beside him, Uchiha Kagami remained silent. His Sharingan, with its three tomoe, was spinning at an extremely high frequency, replaying and analyzing the brief battle that had just occurred in his mind over and over again.

In his vision, Sakumo's figure was no longer a blurry ghost, but a series of crystal-clear, textbook-perfect frame-by-frame animations.

He could see how Sakumo controlled the subtle contractions of his muscles by adjusting his breathing, how he changed his center of gravity and direction by lightly tapping his toes on the sand, and how he completed a series of perfectly fluid movements—dodge, advance, draw his sword, and sheathe his sword—in those fractions of a second.

So beautiful.

This was the only feeling in Uchiha Kagami's heart.

It wasn't the bloody beauty of killing, but a pure beauty of skill that pushed human physical abilities and weaponry to their limits.

Even the taijutsu and insight that the Uchiha clan is so proud of seem somewhat flashy in the face of such extreme simplicity and efficiency.

"snort."

Danzo let out a cold snort and stepped down from the sand dune, his footsteps making a rustling sound on the soft sand.

He walked to Sakumo's side, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the Sand Ninja who were still frozen in confusion and fear before they died.

"It's normal that these younger people haven't seen you before."

Danzo spoke in his characteristically cold and hard tone, which was less of an explanation and more of a statement tinged with sarcasm.

"Maybe they're mistaking you for that kid in your family who just started to gain some fame."

These words are less a joke and more a statement. They state a harsh truth: the Sand Village group before them, due to outdated information and their own arrogance, are treating a living legend as a fledgling star.

White Fang naturally understood Danzo's implied meaning.

Kakashi Hatake, his son who always hides his thoughts behind his mask, has already made a name for himself in the ninja world after graduating from the Ninja Academy, joining Minato Namikaze's team, and even made significant contributions in the recent great battle.

Younger geniuses are always easier to remember. But this old guy who has been behind the scenes for many years, his name may have long since faded into obscurity.

To be treated like one's own son...

This feeling is truly quite peculiar.