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"You would be wise to surrender now," the daimyo gestures at his men - the horses restlessly stamping and the soldiers nervously shifting. "This is my army, but I don't see yours."
"There's no army at my back because I don't need one," Madara smirks as his best friend steps up next to him. "I have everything I need right here."
Hashirama grins cheerfully at the disconcerted daimyo, but says nothing as the rising wind whips his long hair into a war banner. The two of them don't look like the equivalent of several thousand men, but looks can be deceiving... and Madara has no intention of letting this escalate to the point where their wives feel the need to get involved. Seal masters are terrifying, and - as one of the best her clan has to offer - Mito is more terrifying than most, a warrior goddess fit to make any man run screaming.
But even she isn't the equal of Tobirama.
That man is a walking, talking repository of knowledge, full of things from the future which he's all too happy to teach them, and he's all the more dangerous for not being a warrior. He single handedly increased the yield of all their crops to the point where they don't have to live off the daimyo's goodwill anymore, and that's exactly what's led to this.
Two clans, sheltering together in a single village, raising their hand against the man who the world deems to be their rightful ruler.
The daimyo may say that he's chosen by the gods, but Madara has already died once and returned to tell the tale. No, there are no gods, and he'll gladly put his faith in more worldly things instead.
The feel of the gunbai in his hand, the flood of Hashirama's chakra, and the seal which Tobirama inscribed on this patch of ground... the oldest and most contested battlefield in the country. If they fail here and now, Madara's wife will deploy an army the likes of which the world has never seen.
So unless he'd like to see a walking horde of dead men, he'd better win this fight.
For everyone's sake.