Naruto: The Chosen Undead

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Chapter no.82 The Elder Council

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The Uchiha Coup d'État was a secret Hiruzen Sarutobi had vowed to carry with him to his grave. But secrets, no matter how deeply buried, have a way of clawing their way back into the light. And even when buried, their shadows linger. Long after the massacre, its weight never truly lifted from Konoha—or from Hiruzen. It was a constant reminder of the choices he could not undo, a legacy of what diplomacy, leadership, and even hope had failed to resolve.

The seeds of suspicion against the Uchiha were planted the night the Nine-Tails attacked. In the chaos and carnage, frightened witnesses had sworn they saw the telltale glow of the Sharingan controlling the beast. There was no evidence, only fear and desperation. But in a village reeling from destruction, fear didn't need evidence—it simply needed a target. And the Uchiha, with all their power, became that target.

Hiruzen remembered standing in the ruins of Konoha, the weight of Minato and Kushina's deaths pressing down on him like an iron vice. The cries of the injured, the smell of ash—those memories still haunted him. He knew the village would spiral if he allowed that fear to fester. The Uchiha needed to feel included, protected, trusted. The Police Force was meant to be a symbol of that trust. He had told himself it was a bridge to unity. But it wasn't. It was a cage.

Instead of bridging the divide, it deepened it. Civilians feared them, shinobi resented their authority, and minor disputes became battlegrounds of mistrust. Slowly, the Uchiha were pushed to the outskirts of the village, their clan compound becoming a symbol of exile rather than inclusion. Hiruzen had tried to repair the damage—attending festivals, speaking directly with Fugaku, showing gestures of goodwill—but goodwill meant little when wounds were allowed to fester. To them, he was a man offering bandages to hide a gaping wound that needed stitches. His efforts were seen for what they were: insufficient.

The warning came at night. Two loyal Uchiha, their faces pale with fear, had told him of secret meetings and dangerous rhetoric. He had listened as they described a plan to assassinate him and install Fugaku Uchiha as the next Hokage. His blood had run cold. A coup wasn't just treason—it was a death sentence for Konoha. He pictured streets painted in blood, neighbor against neighbor, clans tearing themselves apart, and the village falling prey to opportunistic nations.

He had tried subtlety first. Investigations, quiet discussions, small compromises. But the anger had sunk its roots too deep, and for many, a coup wasn't rebellion—it was justice. He was running out of options.

Then, Shisui had come to him. Loyal, brilliant Shisui. His Mangekyō Sharingan could do what Hiruzen could not: prevent the coup without violence. Kotoamatsukami could alter Fugaku's will, turn him toward Konoha's cause without him ever knowing he had been manipulated. It was a dangerous plan, but in that danger, Hiruzen had seen hope.

He placed his trust in Shisui. It had been his last chance to save Konoha without spilling blood.

And then everything unraveled.

Itachi had come to him, his face cold and his voice hollow. Shisui had betrayed them, he said. His loyalty to the Uchiha outweighed his loyalty to the village. Rather than using Kotoamatsukami to stop the coup, Shisui intended to use it to protect the uprising. Itachi had been forced to kill him, his closest friend. Hiruzen didn't want to believe it, but Itachi—ever loyal, ever willing to sacrifice himself for the village—had brought him Shisui's eye as proof.

With Shisui gone, all hope of a peaceful resolution had vanished. The massacre became inevitable. Hiruzen made the decision knowing it would save the village, but it did so at the cost of something greater: his soul. The scars left behind were not just on Konoha—they were on him. And he had accepted that they would remain with him until death.

Or so he thought.

"Asuma, what did you say?" His voice came out harsher than he intended, but he could feel the blood rushing to his head, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Genin Uzumaki Naruto has found the corpse of Shisui Uchiha at the bottom of a waterfall."

Hiruzen stared at him, his breath caught halfway between disbelief and dread. Asuma placed the scroll on the desk. His hand hesitated before reaching for it, as if touching it would shatter what fragile peace he had built around this memory.

"Inside this scroll," Asuma continued, "is the preserved body of Shisui Uchiha."

Preserved. Perfectly preserved. That was when it hit him—how the waterfall's cold, oxygen-deprived environment could act like nature's embalmer, slowing decay, keeping the body intact for years. The thought turned his stomach. If Shisui's body was indeed whole, then he could no longer hide behind assumptions. There would be evidence. Real evidence.

Hiruzen's fingers trembled as they hovered over the scroll. Memories of that night, of Itachi's cold, factual recounting, slammed into him like a storm. Did Itachi lie to me? He wanted to dismiss the thought as absurd, but the doubt had already sunk its teeth in. If Shisui's body could speak, what truths would it tell?

For years, he had believed Itachi's version of events. Itachi had never given him reason to doubt him, and yet—why now? Why did fate insist on unearthing this ghost at a time when he could least afford to confront it?

He exhaled slowly, forcing his shaking hand to still. No matter what truth lay within the scroll, he could not afford hesitation. He had lived too long in the shadows of the past, making decisions for the sake of the village while burying the toll it took on him. But perhaps this time, he owed it to the dead to listen. To uncover what he had spent years avoiding.

Because if Itachi lied to him—if Shisui's death was more than what he had been told—then the massacre had been built on a lie.

And that would be a weight Hiruzen Sarutobi may not be able to bear.

"This is... quite some news," Hiruzen Sarutobi managed to say, though his mind was already spinning, riddled with questions.

"Well, you should thank Naruto," Asuma replied. "He did most of the work. Found and retrieved the corpse. That boy even split the damn waterfall to get to it." He chuckled softly, like a proud uncle who couldn't believe what the kid had pulled off.

Hiruzen allowed himself a small breath of relief, one of the few he'd taken today. Naruto was growing stronger. But more importantly, he was gaining people who cared about him, people like Asuma. It was something Hiruzen had failed to give him for years. Perhaps not entirely, but enough to know he carried that guilt like a stone in his chest.

"Did Naruto ask you to bring the scroll to me?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah. He's actually still sitting by Shisui's corpse. Waiting for me to get back to him. Guess he doesn't want to meet with you."

Hiruzen closed his eyes briefly. That was fair. After everything he had done—or rather, failed to do—Naruto was justified in keeping his distance. "I understand," he said softly, the words carrying more weight than Asuma realized.

Still, Naruto deserved a reward for this. Whether or not he fully understood what he had done, the fact remained: he had uncovered something that could change everything. Hiruzen's hands itched with the enormity of the task ahead, but before that—yes, he needed to give Naruto something worthy of what he had accomplished.

Walking over to his portrait on the wall, Hiruzen slid it aside, revealing the sealing pattern hidden behind it. He bit his thumb, smearing a small drop of blood across the seal. It glowed faintly before unlocking with a satisfying click, opening the latch to reveal the Hokage's personal safe. Each Hokage had one—a place where they stored the things too valuable, or too dangerous, to be left anywhere else.

Scrolls filled the small chamber. S-rank forbidden techniques, confidential documents. His eyes lingered on the shelves for a moment before they lowered to the small stack of silvery ingots nestled at the bottom.

He pulled one free and shut the safe, its weight cold in his hands as he placed it on the desk.

"Father, that's a—"

"Chakra metal ingot," Hiruzen finished for him, as if he weren't casually handing over an item worth millions to a genin. "Give this to Naruto. It's his reward."

Asuma blinked, still processing it. "I'm sure Naruto will appreciate it," he said, and then, after a pause, he added softly, "But you know what he'd appreciate more?"

Hiruzen raised an eyebrow.

"If you treated him as Naruto first, instead of as the mystery you're always trying to solve."

The comment hit harder than Hiruzen wanted to admit. "I am doing this for Naruto," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Asuma sighed. "Are you? Or are you doing this for Konoha?" He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp, cutting through the shields Hiruzen had spent decades perfecting. "Let's say you figure out Naruto's mysteries. What then? Are you expecting Konoha to benefit from them, from him? Because if that's the case, you've forgotten something important, Father."

Asuma straightened, as if deciding how much of his next words Hiruzen could handle. "It's our job to protect the king. And the king of Konoha isn't the Hokage or its leaders. It's the children. The people. Kids like Naruto. You always knew that, but somewhere along the way..." He trailed off, but Hiruzen knew exactly where he was going. He had forgotten. Forgotten that the weight of a village wasn't carried by its leaders, but by the futures they nurtured.

Before Hiruzen could respond, Asuma gave a respectful nod and turned toward the door. "Think about it," he said as he left, leaving the office in silence.

I should've died in the Kyūbi attack.

Minato was supposed to be here. He would've handled this better. The thought had haunted Hiruzen for years, but it felt especially cruel now.

He reached for the scroll, gripping it firmly as he forced himself to stand. The past wouldn't let him rest, and he had no intention of running from it this time. He snapped his fingers as an ANBU operative appeared.

"Your command, Hokage-sama?"

"Send Shisui Uchiha's corpse to the forensic labs. I want a full autopsy report—cause of death, any traces of remaining chakra residue, everything. And..." He hesitated, the weight of the next decision nearly suffocating him. "Summon Elder Homura and Elder Koharu. We need to discuss this immediately."

The ANBU nodded and vanished in a blur of movement, leaving Hiruzen alone once again. The office, always a familiar sanctuary, suddenly felt stifling. Heavy. As if the ghosts of every decision he had made were pressing down on his shoulders. He tried to shake off the feeling, but it clung to him like a second skin.

There would be no easy answers here. There never had been. Every decision Hiruzen had ever made as Hokage had been a balancing act between protecting the village and sacrificing parts of himself. He had made peace with that—or at least, he thought he had.

But if Shisui's body held a truth he wasn't ready for? If Itachi had lied?

He wasn't sure even the title of Hokage could shield him from the consequences of that revelation.

Still, there was no turning back now. That was what it meant to wear this hat—to make decisions knowing they would haunt him long after his term ended.

And right now, his past was knocking on the door.

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The soft scrape of a brush against stone echoed through the cemetery, muffled by the rustling leaves overhead. Homura Mitokado knelt on the damp ground, methodically sweeping away moss and dirt from a gravestone. His old hands, weathered and stiff from decades of writing battle strategies and making countless decisions, still moved with practiced precision. The name carved into the stone became clearer with each stroke, and he paused to read it, adjusting his glasses to see properly.

The cemetery stretched out endlessly before him, rows of stone markers etched with names that spoke of Konoha's history. Heroes, nameless soldiers, and shinobi who had given everything for a dream. Homura let out a slow breath, his lips pressing into a familiar frown.

Tobirama-sensei... He gazed down at the grave he had just cleaned. You believed in something better. A village where all clans could unite, where we could rise above the chaos of the Warring States era. But what did we really build?

His jaw tightened. He had spent his life serving Konoha—first as a shinobi, then as head of the Jōnin Council, and finally as an elder. He had been there when the foundations of the village were laid, and he had helped shape it into what it was now. But it was hard to ignore the cracks.

Memories surfaced unbidden: council meetings where they had bartered ideals for survival, decisions that had made the village strong but left its soul fractured. The Uchiha massacre. The Chūnin Exams' deadly spectacle. The manipulation of alliances with feudal lords.

Konoha survived, he reminded himself. We did what was necessary. But the thought rang hollow, even now.

Homura's gaze shifted to a newer grave, its edges still sharp and clean. He had attended the funerals of too many of Konoha's shinobi, many of whom were far younger than him. Men and women who had bled for a village he had never fought for directly.

I've lived too long, he thought bitterly, the words unspoken. Long enough to see every flaw we've built into this place. Long enough to wonder if I'll ever earn the honor of dying for it.

"Mitokado-sama," a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Homura looked up sharply to see an ANBU operative standing a respectful distance away. The porcelain mask, painted with the faint outline of a dog, gleamed in the sunlight.

"The Hokage requests your presence," the ANBU said, bowing slightly.

Homura exhaled through his nose, rising slowly to his feet. His knees creaked in protest, but he ignored them, brushing dirt from his robes. "Hiruzen rarely calls for me these days," he muttered, though his mind was already turning. Hiruzen's summons were never trivial.

The ANBU disappeared with a blur of motion, leaving Homura standing alone in the quiet cemetery. He glanced back at the rows of gravestones, his gaze lingering for a moment.

Tobirama-sensei, I wonder what you'd think of this village now. I wonder if we've done enough—or if we've only managed to keep it standing on borrowed time.

With a sigh, he picked up his satchel and began the slow walk back to the village, his thoughts heavy.

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The library was steeped in silence, the kind that came with age and purpose. Shelves loomed tall, stacked with scrolls, books, and documents that chronicled Konoha's long and messy history. Koharu Utatane sat at a low desk in the center of the room, her back straight despite her years. Her squinted eyes, sharp as ever, scanned the letter in her hands.

The paper bore the official seal of the Wind Daimyō, its contents written in formal, flowery language. Koharu read it carefully, her fingers tracing the edge of the parchment as she deciphered the subtext behind the words.

The Daimyō wanted to increase the number of missions delegated to Konoha, citing recent dissatisfaction with Sunagakure's performance. She tilted her head slightly, the pearls in her hairpin catching the light.

More missions mean more influence, she thought. But the Daimyō's favor never comes without strings. He's testing us.

She set the letter down, her hand resting lightly on its surface. The smell of ink and parchment surrounded her, a familiar scent that grounded her. The library was her sanctuary, a place where history and knowledge were preserved. It was also a reminder of just how much of that history she had lived through.

Her mind drifted briefly, back to the days of the Warring States era. She had been just a teenager when Hashirama and Tobirama forged the alliances that created Konoha. She remembered the endless bloodshed, the fragile alliances that could break with a single misstep, and the tentative hope that came with the promise of a village. Koharu's role in the village had always been one of diplomacy and practicality. As one of Konoha's primary liaisons with the Daimyō and the feudal lords, she had spent her life navigating the shifting tides of politics. It was delicate work, far less glamorous than the battlefield, but no less important.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps. She looked up to see an ANBU operative standing at the edge of the room, their mask shadowed in the dim light.

"Utatane-sama," the ANBU said, bowing deeply. "The Hokage has requested your presence."

Koharu's lips pressed into a thin line. "Very well," she said, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity. She adjusted the folds of her kimono with practiced care, rising from her seat with slow, deliberate movements.

The ANBU bowed again before disappearing in a blur.

Koharu lingered for a moment, her gaze drifting back to the letter on the desk. The words seemed less important now, dwarfed by the gravity of Hiruzen's summons. He rarely called her and Homura together unless the matter was serious.

What now, Saru? she wondered, her mind already turning over possibilities. What piece of history has come back to haunt us this time?

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The elder council rarely convened unless there was something that demanded the weight of their experience—a moment where the Hokage, no matter how seasoned, needed advice from those who had survived as long as he had. Today was one of those moments.

"Saru, nice to see you still think these old bones have some value," Koharu muttered with a smirk.

"Let's just hope you didn't call us here to give us some bad news."

Hiruzen offered them a small, tired smile, but his mind wasn't on pleasantries. He reminded himself why he had summoned them, why he still needed their wisdom despite how many times they had clashed. Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.

Old warriors didn't live long by accident. They survived through wisdom, toughness, and an instinct sharpened by years of battle and politics. Hiruzen had seen it firsthand under Tobirama's leadership, watched them make decisions others couldn't stomach, and he knew the weight of that experience was exactly what he needed right now.

As the barrier surrounding his office flickered into place, sealing them in, he slid the autopsy report across the table without ceremony

"In front of you is the autopsy report on Shisui Uchiha."

Their eyes sharpened, the playful remarks fading instantly. Koharu and Homura might have been many things—stubborn, politically calculating—but they were never ones to flinch when it came to business. Hiruzen watched as their gazes lowered to the report, the weight of his own unease hanging between them like smoke.

And then, there it was. The words he had dreaded seeing confirmed.

Salamander's Milk.

Koharu's normally squinted eyes opened slightly—just a flicker, but in all the years Hiruzen had known her, that flicker meant something. He could feel it too, like the floor had shifted under them. The name echoed in his mind, dragging him back to memories of the Third Shinobi War. Hanzo of Amegakure. Tsunade's exhausted face as she worked through night after night, desperate to develop an antidote before the poison claimed more lives.

Slow-acting. Nearly undetectable. By the time you knew you'd been poisoned, you were already dying.

"It was found in his liver," Hiruzen said softly, breaking the silence.

Homura's frown deepened as he flipped through the report. His fingers tapped the page rhythmically—a sign he was processing. "If it's in the liver, he ingested it. Food or drink, most likely. Someone he trusted enough to eat or drink with must have given it to him."

"Not just someone he trusted," Koharu added. "Someone close. Close enough to know his movements and plans. Shisui wasn't just any shinobi. No one would've gotten near him casually."

Hiruzen's grip on his pipe tightened, though he didn't light it. There was no comfort to be found in the ritual today. "Shisui was planning to use Kotoamatsukami on Fugaku Uchiha," he said, mostly to himself. "The timing isn't a coincidence. The poison must have been meant to incapacitate him before he could cast it."

Homura skimmed further down the report, then paused. "One of Shisui's eyes was removed violently. The socket was damaged—whoever took it didn't care about finesse. But the other eye… it was removed with precision."

"Shisui removed one of those himself," Koharu said.

The thought sat like a stone in Hiruzen's stomach. He pictured Shisui, barely holding on, the poison coursing through his veins, realizing that his enemy wasn't just after his life but after the power of his eyes. He must have known what would happen if both fell into the wrong hands. Desperation. Determination. Hiruzen could see it all so clearly—the way Shisui must have torn out his own eye to keep it safe.

"Then he threw himself into the waterfall," Homura said, finishing the thought. "To hide his body. To ensure his secrets died with him."

The room seemed colder, the implications wrapping around Hiruzen's chest like a vice. He stared at the report, but his mind was already spinning elsewhere.

"He knew," Hiruzen muttered. "Shisui must have known someone was after him, but he trusted Itachi. Trusted him enough to make him the keeper of one of his eyes."

"But if that's true," Homura said, "why did Itachi lie to you about Shisui's death?"

Koharu leaned forward slightly, her gaze narrowing. "Itachi had to know something we didn't. Either he was protecting someone or manipulating the truth to protect the village."

Hiruzen hated how easily her suggestion made sense. He had seen Itachi's devotion to Konoha, the sacrifices he was willing to make, and he knew how far that devotion could stretch. Had he lied to save the village from something larger? Or was there a more personal reason buried beneath that cold exterior?

Homura broke the silence, his tone low but sharp. "Danzo."

The name struck everyone like the toll of a distant bell.

Koharu's gaze flicked toward Hiruzen. "I don't know how, but if anyone could access or recreate Salamander's Milk, it's Danzo. As head of the ANBU, he had access to everything—classified resources, black-market connections. And he would have known about Kotoamatsukami and the threat it posed to his… vision of the village." She leaned forward slightly. "Shisui would've trusted him, at least enough to let his guard down. And Danzo is one of the few people who could've forced Itachi into silence."

Homura shook his head. "Danzo's methods have always been extreme, but this wasn't just extreme. This was deliberate. He didn't just kill Shisui—he sabotaged the last chance we had for a peaceful solution."

Their words scraped against the walls of Hiruzen's mind, relentless, like stones grinding together under pressure. He sat there, listening, but each sentence felt like another blow—another crack forming deep within him, threatening to split open everything he had buried for so long. His heart pounded in his chest, hard and fast, anger surging through him in sharp waves. He tried to suppress it, but it clawed its way through, tearing apart years of carefully built restraint.

His hand trembled as he gripped the edge of the desk, the polished wood creaking under the pressure. The fire in his chest—one he had ignored for too long—raged now, fueled by their deductions, by his own failures, by the truth he had known but never dared confront.

You demand fairness, you demand justice, you demand control—but you don't give any of it. You talk about family, about protecting the village, but where was all of that when I needed it?

Naruto's words echoed in his mind, reverberating like a hammer striking iron, each syllable burning with the sting of truth.

Then Asuma's voice followed, the blow that shattered the last of his composure.

It's our job to protect the king. And the king of Konoha isn't the Hokage or its leaders. It's the children. The people. Kids like Naruto.

His breath hitched, the shame cutting deep, but alongside it, something else began to bloom—a deeper, fiercer anger. Not at Naruto, not even entirely at Danzo, but at himself. He had allowed this. He had let the village rot under the guise of maintaining order. He had let people like Danzo take advantage of his leniency, his hesitation.

With a sharp crack, the desk gave way under his grip, a large chunk splintering off and crashing to the floor.

The room fell completely silent. Homura and Koharu froze mid-sentence, their eyes snapping to Hiruzen, wide with surprise. The Third Hokage, the "Professor," had lost his composure.

Hiruzen rose to his feet slowly, shoulders straightening as though a great weight had finally been lifted—or perhaps, as though he had finally chosen to carry it properly. His presence filled the room, no longer the tired shadow of a leader who had spent too long in regret, but the man who had once led Konoha through war and peace with unwavering resolve.

He extended his hand, deactivating the barrier seals with a simple gesture.

When he spoke, his voice was low and measured, but there was no mistaking the finality behind it—a tone that demanded no discussion. "Danzo's usefulness has long been outweighed by the chaos he leaves in his wake," he said. "The village can no longer bear the burden of his 'necessary evils.'"

For years, Hiruzen had convinced himself that Danzo was a necessary shadow, a counterbalance to his idealism. He had allowed him to move unchecked because he thought he needed him. But now, as he stood there, that belief seemed almost laughable. He had always known what Danzo was capable of. He had just chosen to turn a blind eye.

No more.

His gaze hardened, and he could see in Koharu and Homura's eyes that they understood. This was not a conversation. This was a decision.

He turned toward the ANBU operative lingering silently in the shadows of the room.

"Send a team to Fire Zen Temple," Hiruzen ordered. "Shimura Danzo is to be brought back to the village—not as a trusted advisor, but as a traitor. He will face judgment before the Council. Before me."

The ANBU bowed deeply, vanishing in a flicker of chakra. The room fell back into silence, but this time it wasn't the oppressive kind Hiruzen had endured for years. No, this silence carried something different—like the stillness before the first crack of thunder in a storm.

Koharu and Homura exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to say.

Hiruzen turned his gaze to the broken desk, the splinters scattered across the floor. He had failed before—failed Naruto, failed Shisui, failed the Uchiha, and failed the very ideals he had once stood for. But now he felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel: clarity.

This time, he wouldn't falter. This time, he wouldn't bury his failures under more excuses.

It would start with Danzo.

Shimura Danzo, the traitor who had thrived in the shadows for far too long, would finally face the light of justice. His days of manipulating the village from behind the scenes were over.

Hiruzen had made his choice. He would give justice to Shisui, to the Uchiha, and to Naruto.

There would be no going back.

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[ Personal Note: First off, thanks a ton to all of you for sticking with this story. Seriously, you guys are awesome. Now, if you're interested in supporting me on P@treon, let me just say that over there, I post these massive 5k-word chapters. But heads up, if you're jumping to P@treon, you'll need to start from Chapter 39, since that's where this chapter lines up with the content there.

To everyone here just reading along, please don't forget to leave a comment! Honestly, your comments make my day, and they let me know you're as invested in this story as I am. So yeah, thanks again, and I hope you have an amazing rest of your day!