The Uchiha warriors trudged back through the forest, their once-proud march now a weary, somber retreat. The battle had been brutal, and though they had succeeded in ravaging a significant part of the Senju territory, the cost had been steep. Among those limping back was Tajima Uchiha, the clan leader, his wounds severe. Despite their victory, the toll was clear—many of their comrades had fallen, and the survivors carried injuries both visible and unseen.
Asura moved with the rest, his left eye blazing with a new power. The three tomoe of his Sharingan spun slowly, a testament to the evolution of his bloodline, but his right eye was tightly shut, covered with a makeshift bandage. He had fought fiercely, harder than he ever had, and had paid a price for it. Yet, he kept pace, his body numb to the pain, his mind focused on returning home.
Two nights passed, filled with restless sleep under the cover of trees. The Uchiha continued their march, stopping only briefly to rest and tend to their wounds. Finally, on the third night, the dark silhouette of the Uchiha village emerged in the distance. As they entered, a sense of relief washed over them, but it was tinged with the grief of their losses.
The injured, including Tajima, were quickly taken to seek treatment. Healers worked tirelessly, tending to wounds and trying to save those who could still be saved. Asura joined the line of those seeking medical attention, waiting silently as the healer examined his injuries.
"Your right eye," the healer said softly, her hands moving with practiced ease, "will have a scar. And… I'm afraid it's completely unusable now."
Asura didn't react, his expression as stoic as ever. "Okay," he replied simply. There was no sadness, no anger—just acceptance. The healer nodded, her eyes sympathetic, but Asura had already turned to leave. He made his way back to his home, his movements slow, almost mechanical, and collapsed onto his bed, allowing himself to finally rest.
The next morning, Asura awoke to the familiar routine of getting ready, but the pain in his eye was a constant reminder of the battle he had just survived. After gathering himself, he walked to the main office to hand in his report, detailing everything he had seen and done on the battlefield. Once the report was submitted, he left without another word, the weight of the recent battle still lingering.
Later that day, a knock echoed through his small home. Asura opened the door to find the same tall Uchiha who had visited him before, holding another envelope. Without a word, the man handed it over and left, his expression unreadable. Asura watched him go, then closed the door and tore open the envelope.
Inside was a letter detailing his new contribution points. For awakening the three tomoe in his Sharingan and for his performance on the battlefield, including the many Senju he had killed and assisted in killing, he had earned a total of 2,580 points. Asura's lips twitched into a small smile, not of joy, but of satisfaction. Every victory, every step forward, made him stronger.
With a clear goal in mind, Asura set out to the trade center. This time, he headed straight to a blacksmith's shop. The clang of metal and the hiss of steam filled the air, and the scent of molten steel lingered. Asura approached the blacksmith, a sturdy man with arms thick from years of hammering blades.
"I need a new sword," Asura said, his voice firm.
The blacksmith nodded, studying the chipped blade that Asura handed him. "This one's seen better days," he muttered before showing Asura a selection of new swords. After examining them, Asura chose a sleek, sharp blade that felt well-balanced in his grip. It was worth 2,000 points, and without hesitation, he handed over the amount.
Next, Asura found himself at a nearby stall that sold clothing. He picked out a new cloak, one that was dark and sturdy, designed for both stealth and durability. It cost 500 points, leaving him with 800 points left. He wrapped the cloak around his shoulders, feeling the weight of it settle, a protective barrier against the world.
With his new sword and cloak in hand, Asura returned home. He placed the blade carefully against the wall, then pulled out the scrolls he had been studying. First, he went through the Fireball Jutsu scroll, practicing the hand seals and molding his chakra. It was a basic Uchiha technique, but one that required precision. He breathed deeply, channeling his energy, and exhaled a small but controlled burst of flame. Satisfied with his progress, he moved on to the genjutsu scrolls, though he knew that without a target, his practice would be limited.
The hours passed as Asura trained, his mind completely focused. He moved from practicing jutsu to meditating, seeking to sharpen his control over his chakra. His left eye, the one still functional, continued to burn with the power of his Sharingan, and he could feel the three tomoe spinning lazily, even as he meditated.
Finally, exhaustion crept over him. He cleaned up, extinguished the lights, and lay down, staring up at the ceiling. The battle had left its mark, not just on his body but on his mind. But he had survived, and he had come out stronger. Asura closed his eyes, letting sleep take him, knowing that the next battle, the next challenge, was never far away.