Chapter Twenty-Nine: Uchiha Madara (Part Two)

Jue was a byproduct of Madara Uchiha’s recent research into the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path.

Among this group was a figure with half his body pure black and the other half pure white—the original body. The black half was Black Zetsu, the white half White Zetsu. Black Zetsu attached himself to the body of White Zetsu.

Black Zetsu had come into existence half a year ago, when Madara awakened the Rinnegan. It was an unexpected fusion of his own consciousness—a manifestation, an extension of his will.

The other figures, pure white, were all White Zetsu. Each White Zetsu clone was a physical amalgamation of the White Zetsu body, Hashirama cells, and the ancient human remains absorbed inside the Demonic Statue.

Madara had now awakened the Rinnegan, but the price had been steep. Thirty years of agonizing waiting, and his body was nearly spent. The life energy he’d obtained from biting into Hashirama’s cells during the battle at the Valley of the End was far from sufficient.

To awaken the Rinnegan, he’d had to overdraw his own life force. Otherwise, with Madara’s original power, even in his seventies, he should have been vigorous and formidable. In reality, Madara was now so frail that, aside from his eyes, he bore none of the aura of the fearsome mastermind of the shinobi world. He was an old man at death’s door, the yellow earth nearly up to his neck, and from the look of his body, he was not far from dying.

His subsequent plans required manpower, servants to handle menial tasks. Since Black Zetsu—an extension of his own consciousness—had arisen by accident during the awakening of the Rinnegan, he’d taken the opportunity to create more White Zetsu as disposable helpers.

Most White Zetsu clones had limited intelligence, only able to follow simple commands, but that made them perfect for odd jobs.

Seven or eight White Zetsu, under the direction of Black and White Zetsu, split up: some supporting Madara as he walked to the experimental table beside the Demonic Statue, others drawing six tubes from the statue’s body.

A few White Zetsu clones handled the tubes, busily working at Madara’s back.

Madara lay on his side on the experimental table, enduring the rough and clumsy handiwork of the White Zetsu, who were jabbing the tubes into his back.

One particularly slow-witted clone, unsure whether his angle was wrong or the sensation off, repeatedly inserted and withdrew the tube at Madara’s back...

After several awkward attempts, Madara was left extremely uncomfortable.

“Idiot, be careful—you’re hurting me, damn it...” Madara cursed outright.

To distract himself, Madara asked Black and White Zetsu, “How is that three-year-old Uzumaki child in the Hidden Rain Village? If I recall, his name is Nagato, isn’t it? Make sure nothing happens to him. That child is crucial to my plan. One major reason we moved to this damp, detestable country was because of him...”

“Damn fool, haven’t you finished yet? Can’t you manage even a simple task?” The same White Zetsu clone repeated his previous blunder, infuriating Madara to the point of a furious outburst.

“Bastard! Put down the tube, you idiot! Get out of the way—look what you’ve done to Lord Madara. His body is already frail and aged, and yet you keep poking and pulling, making it worse...” White Zetsu—the left half of Black and White Zetsu—scolded his clone mercilessly.

Black Zetsu, the right half, glanced at Madara, who was grimacing in pain, and, unable to watch any longer, snatched the tube from the offending clone and kicked him aside.

He deftly removed the tube and, aligning it correctly, inserted it again...

Madara: “...”

Black Zetsu’s actions were far more efficient. While working at Madara’s back, he answered respectfully, “Lord Madara, I’ve already assigned reliable personnel to watch over the Uzumaki child. I picked a few sharp White Zetsu clones to watch him day and night. There will be no mistakes.”

“Lord Madara, I’ve dealt with that idiot, and the preparations are complete. Please bear with us for just a moment longer... This is our first time conducting this procedure on you—once we’ve practiced a few times, we’ll be more skilled. After all, this won’t be the last time...” White Zetsu added.

Madara: “...Be sure to keep a close watch on the Uzumaki child. He... ah... ah... damn you idiots!”

As Madara spoke, the White Zetsu at his back, seeing the preparations were done, activated the mechanism.

In an instant, Madara felt an immense surge of life force flooding from the Demonic Statue into his body—a wave of vibrant energy, exactly what he needed now.

But along with this life energy came a far more violent force, bringing excruciating pain to Madara.

He uttered a barely audible groan, then steeled himself for the long ordeal ahead.

Pain, agony—endless, overwhelming pain. Who could have imagined that Madara, now a living skeleton, could sweat so much? The perspiration soaked his pallid hair.

As Madara endured this torment and the life energy from the statue continued to pour in, he seemed to hear, from somewhere behind him, the Demonic Statue letting out a faint, pained wail.

After a time, when the agony had dulled his senses, Madara’s body began to regain some of its youthful vitality at a pace visible to the naked eye, eventually stabilizing at the appearance of a man in his fifties.

“Huff... huff...” He took several deep breaths.

“Lord Madara, how are you feeling? Let me help you up...” White Zetsu offered solicitously.

“Youth is wasted on the young. Unfortunately, this is no true return to youth—the side effects are too great...” Now rejuvenated, Madara briskly removed the tubes from his back himself.

His wounds, suffused with the life energy, healed instantly. As he spoke, he casually slapped the troublesome White Zetsu clone into a pulp.

This method was only a temporary fix—a way to restore Madara’s power for a limited time. His body remained in that unnatural, hollow state; once the Demonic Statue’s life energy was depleted, he would become even more aged and feeble.

Previous test subjects had ultimately become dependent on the life energy from the statue, unable to survive without the tubes attached. For the sake of his plan, and with only Black and White Zetsu being even remotely capable, while the rest were useless, Madara had no choice but to take the risk himself.

“Black Zetsu, how are our contacts in the Hidden Sand Village? That man who manipulates iron sand is not one to remain subordinate for long... And then in the Hidden Mist Village...”

...

As a former kingpin of the shinobi world, Madara was not one to simply hide for thirty years, foolishly waiting for the Rinnegan to awaken. He had prepared contingency after contingency; if the Rinnegan had never awakened, he had other cards to play.

Thanks again to the Uchiha clan’s ancestral stone tablet.

For thirty years, aside from lurking in the shadows, Madara had never ceased to stir up unrest in the shinobi world. Many events bore his hidden hand. The First Great Shinobi War and the subsequent international conflicts—Madara had fanned the flames behind the scenes to varying degrees.

Now, peace had lasted a long time since the First Great Shinobi War. The calm had persisted so long, one wondered if people had begun to forget the true nature of the shinobi world.

...

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