CHAPTER 233: CHAPTER 233: OLD RIVALS MEET!

Bang!

With a thunderous boom, the resurrected Uchiha Madara suddenly stood upright.

Beside him, the legendary God of Shinobi, the First Hokage—Hashirama Senju—also rose slowly.

"I... what’s going on?"

"How could I be brought back in this form?"

Madara’s sharp gaze flickered with suspicion. The moment his feet touched the earth once more, he sensed something wrong.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

The same confusion surfaced in Hashirama’s eyes—deep and dark, filled with questions.

Madara had been resurrected once before through Edo Tensei. He remembered the sensation well. But this—this was different. The chakra flowing through his body was heavier, richer, closer to his peak.

It felt... real.

He could feel power pulsing through his veins like it had during his final years of life, before his first death.

Something had changed.

That alone was enough to make him wary.

Because if someone could bring him back with this level of precision and force, then they were no ordinary shinobi.

Last time, the one who revived him wanted him to attack the Hidden Leaf, to destroy the Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen.

This time?

He had no idea what they wanted.

But unlike last time, he wasn’t concerned.

No—this time, he could feel the strength within him. Strength enough to shatter the very bonds of Edo Tensei and escape its control entirely.

Yet he didn’t.

Not yet.

Because if he wanted answers, he had to play along.

The moment they discovered he was uncontrollable, they’d simply release the technique, and he’d vanish again.

That didn’t serve his interests—for now.

"...Madara."

The masked man’s voice called out, calm and firm.

Madara turned his head slowly.

There they were.

The masked man—Tobi—and Orochimaru, standing side by side.

Madara narrowed his eyes. His voice came out cold, commanding.

"This isn’t what we planned."

"According to the original plan, Nagato was supposed to revive me fully with the Outer Path: Samsara of Heavenly Life Technique."

"What happened?"

The masked man hesitated, then said slowly, "There was an unexpected development... Nagato is dead."

"What?"

Madara’s voice deepened, touched with genuine surprise.

Nagato, wielder of the Rinnegan—a shinobi of monstrous ability.

Killed?

Inconceivable.

Madara could hardly believe it. Even if Nagato wasn’t invincible, someone capable of defeating and killing him had to be a truly terrifying force.

The masked man nodded grimly.

He wouldn’t have believed it either, had he not seen it with his own eyes.

Just like before Nagato’s battle with Uchiha Haru—how could anyone have expected a single shinobi to overwhelm the Rinnegan bearer?

Madara’s eyes narrowed. His tone turned frigid. "Who?"

"Uchiha Haru," the masked man said slowly, enunciating every syllable.

"Uchiha...?"

Madara’s expression shifted—first shock, then amusement.

Then he laughed.

He laughed long and deep.

"I didn’t expect that."

"A descendant of our clan... capable of such a feat."

The anger that had initially risen at hearing of Nagato’s death began to fade.

After all, if his plan had to be disrupted, there was no greater satisfaction than knowing it was one of his own bloodline who had done it.

The masked man stepped forward slightly, his voice serious. "Don’t underestimate Uchiha Haru. He’s strong—stronger than even I imagined."

"So what?" Madara responded with utter indifference.

In his eyes, there was only one shinobi worthy of his respect—his eternal rival, Senju Hashirama.

Everyone else? Insects.

Even if Uchiha Haru had defeated Nagato, so what?

That didn’t mean he had reached Madara’s level.

"Is that the reason you brought me back?"

Madara’s lips curled into a smirk, his voice amused and mocking.

He looked the masked man up and down, his Rinnegan flickering with intelligence that cut deeper than any blade.

The masked man remained silent.

But before the silence could stretch too far, Hashirama finally spoke, his deep voice echoing with confusion and disappointment.

"What’s going on?" he asked, turning to face them. "Why did you resurrect me again?"

"I don’t belong in this world."

He turned his head and looked at Uchiha Madara. A faint, warm smile crossed his face as he said, "Madara, let’s go back. This isn’t our world anymore."

But Uchiha Madara only sneered. "It may not be your world, Hashirama," he said coldly, "but it is my world."

"I’ve been preparing for this step for decades."

The moment those words left Madara’s lips, a sense of unease swept through Hashirama. His brows furrowed, and his expression grew grave. Deep in his heart, a terrible premonition began to take root.

Who in this world could possibly understand Uchiha Madara better than him?

Madara wasn’t just a powerhouse. His true terror lay not in his strength—but in his mind. A man like him, who had silently prepared and plotted for decades... the scale of his ambition was unimaginable.

And now, he had returned.

"Heh."

Just as the oppressive atmosphere thickened around them, Orochimaru stepped forward with a grin plastered on his face, his voice soaked in arrogance and self-satisfaction.

He glanced between Uchiha Madara and the First Hokage, savoring the sight of these two legendary shinobi brought back from death itself. Their chakra—so immense, ancient, and oppressive—rolled off them in waves that seemed to shake the very air.

It was frightening. Awe-inspiring.

But Orochimaru wasn’t afraid. Not completely.

Because these legendary figures were resurrected through his technique—his Impure World Reincarnation. As long as that held, they were bound to his will.

"Are the two of you celebrating a little too early?" he said with a grin, stepping into their line of sight. "I brought you back, so it’s only natural you obey my orders... don’t you agree?"

He looked at them smugly, like a puppeteer watching his marionettes.

Uchiha Madara, however, burst into laughter.

"Obey your orders? It’s been a long time since anyone in this world dared to say something like that to me," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You really think you can control me?"

Orochimaru’s eyes narrowed sharply. He didn’t respond with words—he moved. Swiftly forming hand signs, he activated the special sealing method used to assert control over the revived through the Impure World Reincarnation.

But Madara was faster.

His hands blurred into seals. "Release."

In that instant, his body underwent a dramatic change. The gray, lifeless tone of Edo Tensei skin faded, replaced by the healthy, living flesh of a normal human. His eyes, previously dull with death, gleamed with crimson life and terrifying clarity.

Orochimaru gasped. He tried again to reestablish the binding seal—but nothing happened.

The connection had been severed.

He could no longer sense Madara at all.

Panic struck him like a cold slap.

And then he remembered what he’d said—what arrogance he had dared to show in front of Uchiha Madara.

He wasn’t just playing with fire. He was dancing on the edge of death.

As that thought crossed his mind, Madara appeared before him in a blur, one hand shooting out and wrapping around Orochimaru’s throat like a steel vice. He lifted the pale snake of a man into the air effortlessly—like a hawk plucking up a mouse.

"What was that you just said?" Madara asked coldly, his eyes narrowing.

"I—"

Orochimaru’s words choked off as Madara’s grip tightened. His face flushed red, his tongue flicked helplessly from his lips. Deep regret surged through him.

He should never have taunted Madara. Not this man. Not him.

Orochimaru had faced Kage-level opponents. He himself was counted among the most powerful shinobi of the age. But now, suspended helplessly in Madara’s grip, he felt utterly powerless—like a child in the hands of a god.

He had only felt this crushing helplessness once before—when he stood before Uchiha Haru.

And now, it was happening again.

But even as his vision began to blur, he forced himself to think, to speak.

"You... can’t kill me!" Orochimaru rasped, his voice a low gurgle. "If you kill me, no one else will know how to properly use the Impure World Reincarnation technique."

"If I die, those undead shinobi will remain bound to this world... and they’ll see you as the one who severed their anchor..."

"They’ll hunt you. Forever."

Madara’s eyes remained unreadable. His grip didn’t loosen.

"Are you threatening me?"

It wasn’t anger that tinged Madara’s voice—it was amusement. Cold, deadly amusement.

Threats? If there was one thing in this world that Uchiha Madara had never feared—it was threats.

Who could threaten him?

Whether living ninja or those dragged back from death, whether gods or demons—none could move him. None could deter him.

Orochimaru saw his own death in those eyes. Still, he pressed on.

He had no choice now but to gamble.

"You might not care about most of them," he hissed, blood now leaking from his lips, "but... what about him?"

Madara’s eyes flickered, just briefly.

Orochimaru’s voice strengthened, desperation giving him clarity. "Senju Hashirama."

He turned his gaze to the man standing silently nearby—the one called the God of Shinobi. "If I die, he will be bound by the Edo Tensei command seals. He’ll see you as the enemy... and he’ll attack you endlessly."

"You may not care about the others... but can you really say the same about him?"

"Can you so easily defeat Senju Hashirama?"

The name alone was like a spark in a powder keg.

The Valley of the End—where their fabled battle had shaken the earth and scarred the land. Uchiha Madara versus the First Hokage. The final clash of ideals, brothers turned enemies.

Though the world still whispered tales of that duel, few truly understood the depth of the bond—and the bitterness—that had defined them.

Hashirama had won that day.

Madara had fallen.

Even now, resurrected and near his prime, that wound had not faded.

And Hashirama... for all his kindness, was perhaps the one man Madara still recognized. Still cared about, in some twisted way.

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