Goddess of This World!

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In the vast expanse of the open field, a sea of eighty thousand shinobi stood united, their individual allegiances blurred into a single formidable force. The new forehead protectors gleaming in the sunlight bore the simple engraving of 'Ninja.' Village divisions were a thing of the past; now, they were one – an alliance bound together against a common enemy.

The sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows and bathing the field in a golden hue. It wasn't a battlefield yet, just a field of life. Eighty thousand strong, they waited, each heartbeat synchronized in apprehension and determination. The air was electric with anticipation, crackling with the potential of the warriors gathered under the vast, cloudless sky.

High on a hill overlooking the troops, the Division Captains stood in silent vigil. Darui, a shinobi of unwavering will and the Captain of the First Division, stood tall on the right, his deep-set eyes scanning the multitudes below. Next to him, Kitsuchi, the sturdy, unyielding Captain of the Second Division, stood resolute, his gaze as steady as bedrock.

On the other side of the hill's crest, Kakashi, assumed his position as the Captain of the Third Division. His presence was calming, an oasis of tranquility in a desert of uncertainty. Next to him stood Mifune, the samurai leader and Captain of the Fifth Division, his body rigid, eyes as sharp as his sword.

In the middle of these formidable figures stood Koushin, the Captain of the Fourth Division and the chosen Regimental Commander of the Allied Shinobi Forces. His jovial demeanor from previous encounters was replaced by an aura of quiet strength. A commanding presence radiated from him, drawing the eyes of those around him like a beacon in a storm.

Koushin's hand rested lightly on Ino's. Her gaze traveled over the sea of ninja gathered before them, a wave of awe washing over her. "This...this is incredible," she breathed, the weight of their combined might making her voice shake.

Beneath them, a low murmur swept across the vast assembly of shinobi. Doubts seeped into the voices, the anxiety of the soldiers palpable even from the distance. An uneasy ripple spread through the crowd as a shinobi from the mist village, his voice laced with uncertainty, asked, "Will we be okay with a kid like that in charge?"

The query hung in the air like a dense fog, the anxiety of the assembled forces spreading like wildfire. It echoed the sentiment that was festering in the hearts of many, regardless of the village they hailed from. After all, to them, Koushin was just a boy - a boy in the face of a war that promised nothing but death and despair.

A response pierced the low murmurs like a hot kunai through butter. "That man is Koushin the Thunderfire," a shinobi from the leaf village retorted, his voice radiating unwavering confidence. "You don't know what you're talking about, fool."

The mist shinobi snorted dismissively, a bitter retort on his tongue. "How should I know any kid? We were enemies not long ago."

In a force as vast and varied as eighty thousand shinobi, hailing from villages that were, until recently, bitter rivals, it was only natural for there to be discord. They had set out to kill each other countless times in the past, had lost kin, teammates, friends, and loved ones to each other. The hostile air, thick with unspoken resentment and old grudges, was to be expected.

But Koushin didn't care about any of those.

"KAAN DREM OV!" His voice boomed, ringing out across the field with the force and authority of a dragon's roar. The Peace Shout coursed through the air like a tangible wave of serenity, washing over the assembled shinobi. A sudden, surprising calm fell upon the army, their bickering quieting as every eye turned towards the young commander at the top of the hill.

Koushin's youthful face was alight with a contagious energy that radiated from him in waves, electrifying the field. With Ino still by his side, he took a step forward, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Look here, you pebbles!" His voice carried an uncharacteristic edge, its thunderous echo slicing through the eerie calm.

His words, intended as an insult, were met with a sea of clenched fists and heated glares. Eighty thousand shinobi, each one a warrior trained in the art of patience and stealth, yet roused now to indignation. Mifune, standing tall at the crest of the hill, spoke up, "Koushin—"

But the young commander cut him off, his voice booming out across the crowd once more, "Silence! I'm not finished!"

His eyes scanned the assembled masses, a multitude of faces each unique in their expressions. Anger, confusion, defiance - all looked up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"You are nothing but pebbles in a vast ocean of soldiers," Koushin said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a grin. "Just another face that will be forgotten."

A wave of shock swept through the crowd. The shinobi exchanged glances, their anger replaced by disbelief. Who did this child think he was, to belittle them so?

"But it's in your hands to make something of yourselves!" Koushin continued, his voice ringing out with unmistakable conviction. "Stand out, carve your face into the side of a mountain. Become a legend from nothing!"

He paused, letting his words sink into the hearts of the shinobi below. The murmurs of discontent were slowly replaced by murmurs of determination, a burning fire ignited in the hearts of the eighty thousand.

"I want you to look here," Koushin said, his tone softening as he turned to Ino, who stood by his side. He took her hand in his, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "This woman is the Goddess of this world. My wife, and the person I love more than anyone else."

He let his words hang in the air, his gaze never leaving Ino's. Then, he turned back to the crowd, his voice once again booming out, strong and clear.

"She matters so much to me that if all of you died right now, I wouldn't care less."

For a moment, silence reigned. The shock was palpable, the rage and indignation boiling beneath the surface. But before anyone could protest, Koushin raised a hand and continued, "Each one of you should have a person like this in your life. A love like this. A person you love more than anything in the world, someone who means everything to you. It could be your kin, your lover, or even the patriotic love you hold for your village and your fellow shinobi."

His words flowed like a river, his voice resonating in the hearts of the shinobi. He was no longer the boy commander belittling them, but a leader inspiring them.

"If you do have such a love," Koushin continued, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces, "remember this: you are not fighting for me, and you are not fighting for yourself. You are fighting to protect those you hold dear."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink into the hearts of the shinobi. A hush fell over the crowd, eighty thousand shinobi hanging onto his every word.

"So, stop your childish quarrels," Koushin said, his voice stern but not unkind. "Stop your petty hatreds for one another. We are not enemies here. We are a single, formidable force, bound together by a common goal."

He turned to face the horizon, his gaze focused on a point far in the distance. "Our real enemy is out there, on the horizon," he said, pointing out into the distance. "And they are charging towards what you wish to protect."

The sea of shinobi followed his gaze, their eyes narrowing in determination as they turned to face the invisible enemy on the horizon. Eighty thousand hearts beating as one, united by the words of their young commander.

"I will only give one promise," Koushin began, his gaze sweeping across the sea of shinobi that stretched out before him. His tone had taken on a chilling edge, his face assuming a fearsome, devilish look that sent a thrill of anticipation down their collective spines.

"I will make them regret."

The roar that erupted from the crowd was deafening, a resounding surge of unified fury that echoed through the vast field. The intensity of their determination, sparked by Koushin's words, was so palpable that Koushin felt sure that, if he ordered them to march to their deaths, they would do so without hesitation. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took in the fiery resolve etched on each face, their spirits aflame, ready to charge into the mouth of war itself.

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