Shanks's gaze landed on the lifeless body of Uzumaki Tatsuya—his father in this new life. The man had been their final hope, the one who might have led them to safety. Grief surged through Shanks like a tide. The loss of Tatsuya struck something deep inside him, something raw and vulnerable.
The masked shinobi turned toward the handful of survivors still standing. Their eyes, visible through slits in their masks, radiated nothing but killing intent.
Shanks knew in that moment—they weren't here to take prisoners.
Shanks had never felt fear like this before. He had never faced a situation so dire, so overwhelming. Panic surged through him, threatening to drown whatever resolve he had left. Though he possessed the memories and experiences of this body's former owner, they offered little comfort now. He had some skill in swordsmanship—enough to try, perhaps—but he wasn't sure if that would be enough to survive… or protect what was left of the Uzumaki Clan.
His eyes scanned the remaining clan members. Seven women stood before him, their ages ranging roughly from twenty to forty. Each one clutched a child, no older than ten, likely their own. The children clung to their mothers, wide-eyed and terrified. Shanks himself was sixteen in this life, and among the survivors, only one other was close to his age—a fourteen-year-old girl named Erza Uzumaki.
Erza was different.
She had a rare ability, one that could prove invaluable. Anyone who bit her would be healed instantly. It was strange, almost unbelievable—but he had seen it in the inherited memories. A secret hope, hidden in plain sight.
Counting everyone except himself, Shanks realized there were ten children in total, all between the ages of eight and ten. Seven were boys, three were girls. Then there were the seven adult women—likely the children's mothers—and Erza. Including himself, that made nineteen survivors.
Nineteen lives… and a one-handed boy who couldn't even use ninjutsu—now depended on him to save them.
His breath caught as he turned toward the enemy. A group of masked shinobi were charging at them, swords drawn, bloodlust in their eyes. They weren't coming to capture—they were coming to kill.
Panic surged inside him like a storm. What can I do? The memories he'd inherited from this body told him he had some training in swordsmanship—nothing extraordinary, just the basics. It wasn't nearly enough. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't certain he'd make it out alive.
Desperate, he turned toward Erza, just about to ask her for a sword.
But then—everything stopped.
Literally.
The world around him froze in place. The wind halted mid-gust. Dust and ash hung still in the air. Even his own body refused to move, like time itself had turned to stone.
And then, without warning, his consciousness was yanked away—pulled into a place so dark it felt like reality itself had vanished. A void. Pitch black, endless, and empty. He couldn't even see his own hands. It was as if he didn't exist.
"What is happening? Who's there?!" he shouted, his voice echoing into the abyss.
His thoughts spiralled. I just transmigrated into the Naruto world… and now I've ended up here?
What is this place? Did I transmigrate again?
He stood alone, surrounded by silence and shadows, waiting for an answer that might never come.
Before Shanks could gather another thought, a sudden burst of sky-blue light ignited in front of him. The oppressive darkness that had surrounded him began to dissolve, replaced by a serene grassy plain stretching as far as the eye could see. The once pitch-black void was now bathed in a gentle, almost surreal glow.
The light before him shimmered, pulsing like a heartbeat, and then—without warning—it morphed into a more defined form. At that exact moment, a voice echoed from every direction, calm and omnipresent:
"Congratulations, Host, on transmigrating to the Naruto world. You have successfully awakened the Red-Haired Character Template System. I am at your service."
Shanks blinked, stunned. "System?" he repeated aloud. "First, I get transmigrated into the Naruto world… and now I've got a system? Is this a dream coming true… or just a dream?"
He quickly pinched his arm—hard. Pain bloomed through his nerves, sharp and real.
So it wasn't a dream.
Everything was real.
The system responded, its tone reassuring and almost amused, "Host, you are neither hallucinating nor dreaming. Everything is real."
Shanks quickly regained his composure, standing with an air of quiet confidence, his crimson hair gleaming in the light. "All right, that's enough," he said in a measured tone. "Now, tell me more about what you can do."
The system's voice responded calmly, almost mechanical yet oddly familiar. "As you may have inferred from my name, I am a Template System. My primary function is to provide character templates based on red-haired characters from various anime worlds. Your personal template is fixed, but you may assign different templates to your red-haired subordinates — for now, your Clan members."
Shanks nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, so what character template am I getting?" he asked.
"You," the system answered, "will receive the template of the Red-Haired Emperor — Shanks."
Shanks couldn't help but chuckle internally. Why am I not surprised? he thought. It made perfect sense. With a name like Shanks, he had all but expected this outcome.
Just as he accepted this, a new thought flashed through his mind: the other children — and Erza — bore the names of characters from different anime worlds. What would that mean for them?
Before he could dwell on it longer, the system's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Congratulations, Host, on successfully obtaining the character template of Shanks. Please check your Status Panel for further details."