Naruto:Thunder Cultivation As An Uchiha

The battlefield was a graveyard of shattered weapons and broken dreams. Smoke rose in thin trails from the ruins of the Murim Alliance's stronghold, now a shadow of its former glory. The air was thick with the stench of blood and ash.

Baek Seungwoo knelt in the dirt, his once-pristine white robes torn and stained crimson. His sword trembled in his hand as he looked up at the towering figure before him—the Heavenly Demon.

The man was a towering presence cloaked in black, his crimson eyes burning with malice and power. His blade dripped with the blood of countless warriors, and the smirk tugging at his lips was one of absolute victory.

"You're just like your father," the Heavenly Demon sneered, his voice a low rumble that sent chills down Seungwoo's spine. "Clinging to the illusion of honor while the world bows to strength."

Seungwoo clenched his teeth, his heart pounding. His father's broken body lay not far from him, a symbol of their lost hope. The memories of his father's final words echoed in his mind. "Survive, Seungwoo. The future depends on you."

But survival felt impossible now.

"I will not kneel to you," Seungwoo spat, his voice hoarse yet unyielding.

The Heavenly Demon chuckled, a sound that reverberated through the battlefield. "Kneel? No, boy. You won't even have the chance." He raised his blade, its dark edge glinting ominously.

The sword came down faster than Seungwoo could react. Pain erupted in his chest as he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His vision blurred, and the warmth of his own blood seeped into the ground beneath him.

Is this how it ends?

His thoughts drifted to his failures—his father, the Alliance, the people who believed in him. He had let them all down. The world began to darken, and the Heavenly Demon's triumphant smirk was the last thing he saw before everything went silent.

Seungwoo's consciousness floated in the void, untethered and weightless. He felt no pain, only a strange warmth enveloping him. Slowly, his senses began to return. The sound of rustling leaves and distant voices reached his ears. He opened his eyes to a blinding light, forcing him to squint.

He gasped, air filling his lungs as if he had been drowning moments before. The ground beneath him was soft, not the cold battlefield he remembered. Grass and dirt pressed against his hands as he pushed himself up. His body felt strange, lighter, and... smaller?

Where am I?

He looked down at his hands. They were unfamiliar—slender, uncalloused, and covered in strange black sleeves. He reached for the puddle beside him, his reflection sending a jolt of shock through his body. Staring back at him was the face of a boy, no older than thirteen, with jet-black hair and piercing onyx eyes. His clothes were a uniform of sorts, marked with a red-and-white fan emblem.

This isn't me...

He stumbled to his feet, his legs trembling. His surroundings were unfamiliar—a dense forest filled with towering trees. Yet, something about the orderly layout felt deliberate. Tall wooden posts marked with deep grooves and a worn training dummy riddled with kunai marks came into view.

Is this... a training ground?

The distant sound of clashing metal and shouted commands broke the eerie silence. His instincts, honed through years of rigorous training, surged to the forefront. He scanned the area, searching for a weapon, but there was none. He clenched his fists, his breathing steadying as he processed the situation.

This was no afterlife, no illusion. The bark of the tree beneath his hand was rough and real. The breeze on his face carried the scent of earth and sweat. Wherever he was, it was real.

In the distance, a group of shinobi trained diligently, their movements precise and methodical. The boy who was once Baek Seungwoo narrowed his eyes. He didn't know where he was or why he was here, but the scars on the ground and the faint remnants of countless battles called to him.