Naruto: The Savior of the Shinobi World is a Liar?

The cacophony of raindrops from the outside world was abruptly cut off.

Upon entering this space, an eerie silence enveloped him.

It wasn't complete silence, but rather a sensation akin to sinking into a thick, viscous liquid, where the passage of time grew blurry and indistinct, filled with a primal, indescribable aura.

What made Nagato feel most anxious was the pervasive sense of "being watched."

He could distinctly feel that every inch of this space was drenched with a cold, ancient, and intensely malevolent will.

The shadowy contours within the mist seemed to resemble eyes, cold and indifferent, observing this uninvited guest. Yet upon scrutiny, they revealed themselves to be nothingness.

"Who are you?"

Nagato's voice echoed out, targeting the void, yet it appeared never-ending, as if the space extended infinitely.

He frowned and took a step forward, selecting a direction to walk.

The closer he got, the more it felt like walking deeper into the sea from the shore, an overwhelming pressure gradually rising to his chest, inducing feelings of unease and suffocation.

At that moment.

滴答.

A drop of blood fell to the ground beneath his feet, creating ripples as though it had struck the surface of the water, the crimson stain gradually overtaking his vision.

He finally saw the sea of blood beneath his feet, where everything was consumed by shades of black and red.

In the midst of these hues, countless pale bones lay piled before him, forming a Hill of Corpses that loomed ominously.

Atop that throne crafted from white bones sat a figure, casually resting one hand atop a stark-white skull while the other languidly propped up his chin.

He hadn't even fully opened his eyes; his eyelids were half-closed, with thick eyelashes casting shadows across his face.

"You…"

Nagato raised his head to look at the figure on the Hill of Corpses, subconsciously parting his lips at the sight of that face.

Yet, the figure merely lifted his gaze, looking down at Nagato.

"…"

Silence—a deathly silence hung in the air, carrying more intimidation than any spoken word could convey.

That gaze was not merely "seeing"; Nagato felt as if his very soul and essence were being dissected and scrutinized piece by piece, instilling a soul-deep dread.

Since mastering the Rinnegan long ago, he hadn't felt this way in a long time.

The last time was when Yahiko died before his eyes, a visceral sense of helpless weakness.

Yet at this moment, under that lofty stare, Nagato reexperienced that feeling anew, finally grasping a reality.

"Within Hanzō resides an existence that cannot be touched."

Under that threat and discomfort, stemming from the depths of his soul, Nagato instinctively averted his gaze and lowered his head, yet this act filled him with a genuine humiliation and resentment.

He was "Pain," a "God"—he should not be so timid.

Who in the world was this person?!

To Nagato, that untouchable existence undoubtedly referred to Hyūga Kumo, who resided within Hanzō's soul. This scenario did not surprise him.

With Nagato's psyche nearly overwhelmed by the Gedo Statue and his Rinnegan, even when resurrected through Kabuto's Edo Tensei, he still appeared as feeble and fragile.

Now, in his domain, he was merely fish on the chopping board.

Here, he was the ultimate arbiter and the sole law of this space.

Hyūga Kumo shifted his gaze away as if observing a slightly curious antique, only to find it a shabby piece after all, rendering him silent and disinterested.

"Whether you die or he does, it matters not."

He lowered his eyes, speaking slowly and in a gravelly tone, as if scratching metal, "For the sake of those eyes, I shall spare you this time, but there will be no next."

Nagato, jolted from his fear, abruptly raised his head, his expression darkening as he glared at the figure atop the Hill of Corpses. "Why in the name of those eyes instead of me!"

Those Rinnegan were clearly his; he was the one born to bring peace to the world as "God." He would nurture peace amid suffering.

Yet almost as soon as he finished speaking, he saw the curve of the figure's lips turn upward slightly.

It wasn't a smile, but an exceedingly subtle, scornful annoyance.

"Hmph."

Just a single syllable.

There was no substantive content, yet it was a thousand times more terrifying than any words.

Hyūga Kumo finally looked up, his deep blue eyes swirling like a whirlpool beneath a calm sea, draining Nagato of all courage.

Once again, Hyūga Kumo simulated and manifested the full powers of the Tenseigan.

Under those graced eyes, Nagato felt a primal, unfamiliar sense of insignificance rise from his soul, causing even his soul to ache.

This was not merely the gaze of a human upon another human, nor the indifference of a "God" viewing those he considered "mortal," but rather the look of someone viewing an "object."

Hyūga Kumo's gaze transcended mere examination; it was an unwavering fixation.

Nagato felt that everything—his form, his soul, his thoughts, even his very existence—was being transparently seen, pinned to the ground by that stare.

"Who do you think you are?"

Hyūga Kumo's voice was cold and heavy, laced with a cruel impatience, piercing through everything, "You are simply a base vessel for those eyes."

"If you didn't possess those eyes that do not belong to you, you would merely be a frail ant."

As those words fell, Hyūga Kumo raised his arm, extending a finger. Nagato's soul froze and solidified, and that finger, pointed directly at him, glided softly.

Puchi!! A silent, formless death descended; his right arm suddenly detached from his shoulder as if disassembled like child's blocks.

But it wasn't over.

Hyūga Kumo waved his hand again.

Puchi!

His left leg separated from his torso.

Puchi! Puchi! Puchi!! Scores of fissures appeared on Nagato's spiritual form, as his limbs and torso disintegrated, eerily suspended in mid-air, resembling a disassembled puppet.

Translucent luminous particles drifted from the severed limbs.

"Ah!!"

The soul-derived pain was horrific; every facet—muscle, skin, bone, and brain—felt as if being ground to dust, prompting a heart-wrenching shriek from Nagato.

Perhaps due to the mournful symphony of wails and fear created by Nagato, a hoarse voice in the darkness hinted at a glimmer of delight.

"Treasure the remaining days of your life." He said softly, "To step on ants without crushing them requires precise control."

"Remember, upon entering this realm again, regardless of who you are a pawn for, you will be crushed by me."

As those words echoed, the entire space seemed to come alive, no longer the prior quiet stillness, shadows in the fog roiling with malevolent winds, and the sea of blood began to surge and writhe.

Nagato's disintegrating soul was violently kneaded by a powerful force, as several invisible chains wrapped tightly around him, pulling him forth forcibly.

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