079 Life Is Hard, The Little Snake Sighs

A thousand years ago, the place known now as the Dragon Earth Cavern had yet to receive that name. Beneath the surface, a dense network of roots from a lifeform called the Divine Tree sprawled in every direction. In many ways, it was no different from other places on the planet; at most, this section of root was a crucial node, rich in natural energy, making the insects that thrived there plump and succulent.

Roots, insects, mice, snakes, and other creatures formed the initial ecosystem of the Dragon Earth Cavern. Later, a great war erupted, engulfing the entire world, and the Hamura brothers began to turn against their mother. As a fragment of their mother—the Divine Tree—she reverted to her Ten-Tails form. Since this place was a vital node, the roots here were naturally withdrawn, leaving behind a vast hollow beneath the earth.

The once-fat insects vanished, but fortunately, after the war ended and the earth’s veins stabilized, the Dragon Earth Cavern, though bereft of the Divine Tree’s roots, remained a node of natural energy. Or perhaps it was precisely because this place was already such a node that the Divine Tree had extended its roots here to siphon energy.

But regardless, with the Ten-Tails sealed away and without the will of the Divine Tree to guide them, the ordinary roots scattered throughout the planet gradually fell into slumber. In the short term, this dealt a heavy blow to the ecosystem: the most immediate effect was the dwindling of the once-succulent insects, their numbers decreasing with each passing day.

Still, this was not an insurmountable problem. The old order of “gods” had been overthrown, and a new era was beginning. The pain of transition was simply inevitable. Without the Divine Tree’s exploitation of natural energy, given time, the area would only become more prosperous.

Yet, this world was never host to natural forces alone. In the absence of the Divine Tree, other extraordinary beings rose to prominence. During the vacuum that followed the collapse of the old order, the White Snake Sage ascended. Or perhaps “ascended” is not quite right; it had long been accumulating power through the ages, and by a twist of fate, the White Snake Sage became the apex predator.

Yielding to the instinct of the great serpent, it devoured all it encountered: insects, mice—nearly every non-snake lifeform was driven to extinction. Even so, the White Snake Sage was not satisfied. Its ambitions turned to the earth veins themselves, seeking to replace the Divine Tree’s roots.

In the end, it succeeded—its own body filled the pathways of natural energy, growing ever larger under the ceaseless flow, until it became a living embodiment of the earth vein. Yet, in a sense, the White Snake Sage also failed; it was, after all, just a snake, and a snake has its limits.

The name “Dragon Earth Cavern” was conceived when the White Snake Sage recognized those limits and set its sights on a new ambition. All told, the White Snake Sage was a tyrant among serpents, and its tale is nothing short of legendary.

But for the other snakes, the story was far from glorious. At first, the White Snake Sage nearly sealed off all sources of energy to the Dragon Earth Cavern’s ecosystem. With the other species annihilated, the starving snake population split—some turned on each other in cannibalistic desperation, while others fled to the surface.

Those who fled did not fare much better. It was an era when the fate of the Sage of Six Paths was uncertain, the Shinobi order was newly born, and the world was awash with warring factions. Even the White Snake Sage barely held its own, let alone its lesser kin.

As for those that remained below and preyed upon one another, they endured the White Snake Sage’s ascendance. Once its body became saturated with natural energy, a new dawn finally arrived. The first to recover were the plants—mosses, fungi, and the like. Normally, insects such as ants, cockroaches, and pill bugs would follow, but the snakes had been starved for so long, some had gone mad.

During that famine, snakes’ forked tongues, originally used for sensing scents, were employed to lick up insect larvae and ants from the soil; at the very edge of starvation, they even ate dirt itself. Now, with plants returning, the lowest ranks of snakes turned to a vegetarian diet.

Plants, the herbivorous snakes, and the carrion-eating snakes that survived the famine soon reestablished the ecosystem, making it robust once more. Thus, within the Dragon Earth Cavern, a unique food chain emerged—comprised of plants and various types of snakes—a chain that endures to this day.

…

“…I must say, it’s impressive how quickly you managed to piece together the history of the Dragon Earth Cavern with such logical coherence,” Orochimaru remarked, his gaze at the Lamp Spirit tinged with a complex mix of admiration and incredulity.

The Dragon Earth Cavern had never maintained a record of its history, and the White Snake Sage would never publicize its own rise for the benefit of its kin. All that Manda knew came from sheer longevity. The only certainties it could offer were that the cavern was home solely to snakes—large ones eating smaller ones, the small subsisting on plants.

The young snakes were born with molars, suited for chewing vegetation. As they matured and shed their skins, the molars would fall out, replaced by sharp fangs for a carnivorous diet. Manda itself had climbed to the top through a long cycle of devouring its own kind.

Another fact was that the White Snake Sage, much like a coiling dragon, sprawled motionless throughout the entire Dragon Earth Cavern for years on end. The natural energy within the cavern was but the residue leaking from the Sage’s own body.

This, in fact, was even more terrifying than what the Lamp Spirit had described. The Dragon Earth Cavern was not merely an extension of the White Snake Sage’s will; even the bodies of the serpent population had not escaped the transformation of the “White Snake Sage Arts.”

Upon realizing this, Orochimaru hesitated for the first time in his resolve to study Sage Arts in the Dragon Earth Cavern. Changes to the body inevitably reflected upon the mind—this was an ironclad truth, proven time and again in his research on the Uchiha’s Sharingan and the data from his countless experiments.

If he were to accept the White Snake Sage’s natural energy, would he really remain unchanged?

Caught in uncertainty, Orochimaru licked his lips. He had attempted to harness natural energy through his own will—the “patterned markings” of the Breathing Technique—twice. Once, the Lamp Spirit had forcibly activated the process; once, during the battle with the Cloud, the Lamp Spirit used a wish to initiate it. The latter, fortified by the wish’s protective power, had left only physical wounds, but the former—facing the invasion of natural energy alone—had nearly led to the loss of his very consciousness. If not for the Lamp Spirit releasing the absorbed energy, his soul might well have perished.

Humans, after all, have their limits. Yet it was precisely to surpass those limits that he sought to master Sage Arts and graft the cells of the First Hokage.

Orochimaru drew a deep breath, his gaze sharpening with both clarity and madness. The White Snake Sage’s arts were something he must obtain. The question was, how could he persuade the Sage to offer more than a perfunctory lesson—how could he secure its full assistance?

He turned to the Lamp Spirit. “Is it true, then, that the White Snake Sage seeks transformation? Lamp Spirit, how confident are you in the tale you’ve spun?”

“‘Spun’ is rather an impolite term. It is simply a plausible deduction based on the facts at hand,” the Lamp Spirit replied with a raised brow. “As for its veracity, I am eighty percent certain—the White Snake Sage desires to become a dragon.”

“Power is not about quantity, but about strength. The First’s cells have already taught you that, haven’t they? And surely, a white snake that has survived for a thousand years would understand this truth as well.”