Suppose a one-on-one battle is akin to an intimate duet at a ball, where two dancers move in perfect harmony. In that case, a fight against multiple foes is like a chaotic melee erupting in the center of the dance floor, a brutal clash of blades where survival hinges on finding the tiniest gap, a fleeting chance to break through, lest one be overwhelmed by a relentless barrage of attacks in an instant.
Makoto's speed was far from sluggish. Through days of relentless training and combat, his Shunpo and Zanjutsu had reached the level of Tier-12.
To measure this against an ordinary shinigami, it was roughly equivalent to the prodigious talent of Toshiro Hitsugaya from a later era, a height attainable only after a century of ceaseless refinement. In terms of sheer finesse in Zanjutsu and Shunpo, few could rival him even among the battle-hardened members of the 11th Division.
However...
The adversaries he faced were no ordinary foes. They were three formidable Zanpakuto spirits, forged by the masterful hands of Oetsu Nimaiya himself.
Boom!!!
Hammering forth, Tsumiko swung her jet-black hammer with ferocious might. The handle, crafted entirely from her own teeth, flexed mid-swing like the toughest yew wood or rubber weave. It carved a shrieking arc through the air before crashing down in front of Makoto with devastating force.
Even with Makoto's current level of spiritual pressure, such raw power was beyond what he could withstand head-on. He could only rely on evasion to weather the assault.
"Too slow, kid!"
A cascade of golden hair whipped through the air as Hasuka bellowed, flinging her locks downward in a dramatic flourish.
Her hair surged forward like a waterfall, rushing toward Makoto. Though the strands appeared loose and unstructured, they effortlessly ensnared airborne debris shattering stones with ease as they twisted together. Several locks braided into a single mass, forming the world's most unyielding whip, slashing down with a howling ferocity that blotted out the sky.
Knowing escape was futile, Makoto pressed his left index finger against the blade of his small, chipped sword, tracing it lightly. A faint gleam of spiritual energy shimmered across its surface, as though coating the edge with a delicate film.
His gaze sharpened fierce and unyielding.
"First Form - Severing Strike!"
A speed surpassing sound itself merged with the whirling dance of his blade in a single, fluid turn. Like a beam of radiant light piercing through all obstacles, a dazzling ribbon of white wove a continuous line through the air. It traced his silhouette as he darted and slashed, tearing through the suffocating web of hair.
Multiple slashes converged, and the seemingly invincible strands snapped apart, scattering into countless severed threads.
[Zanjutsu +2]
[Hair control and back control are fine arts of civilization! But if you get it tangled up there, washing it alone will be a nightmare!]
Makoto paid no heed to the incessant chatter of his chipped blade. He pressed forward relentlessly toward Hasuka, his form nearly dissolving into the gleam of his sword.
The flamboyant Hasuka shrieked in dismay as her precious hair was sliced apart.
"Mera! Tsumiko!"
"Save me! I-I'm no good at close combat!"
But before Makoto could close the distance, the frantic woman's expression froze, only to bloom into a triumphant grin, as if her ploy had succeeded.
In the next instant...
A petite figure, Mera leaped out from behind her.
"I've been waiting for you!"
Barefoot, she stomped the air, her steps compressing Reishi into a tangible force. Propelled by the recoil, she shot straight toward Makoto. Flames erupted from her hands and feet, blazing trails of fire that spiraled toward him, linking into a resplendent chain of inferno.
"Flame Dance!!"
Instinctively, Makoto raised his blade to strike.
But in the next heartbeat, he sensed a subtle shift in spiritual pressure. His pupils contracted sharply.
Shunpo!
His figure vanished from the spot, reappearing dozens of meters away.
Because still mid-flip in the air, Mera faltered for a moment before snarling and slamming her fist into the ground.
Crack!
The surface of her fist exploded into a blinding torch of white flame as it struck. What appeared as a mere shallow crater unleashed a deafening cascade of cracking sounds from beneath the earth. Countless web-like fractures spidered outward, shattering the ground into a mosaic of jagged lines.
Then, the earth itself trembled.
Rumble!
The ground around Mera buckled, bulging into translucent, molten-like domes. Pillars of fire, laden with overwhelming heat, erupted from these swells, their scorching intensity threatening to roast anything nearby hair and skin alike into cinders.
Yet Makoto stood poised just beyond the fiery prison, silently observing the red-haired girl at its blazing heart.
"Tch!"
"Just let me hit you already!" The hot-tempered girl snapped, her sharp canine tooth glinting as she vented her frustration.
Makoto, however, merely watched as the trio closed in once more, a flicker of contemplation shimmering in his eyes.
His Shikai was ill-suited for crowded battlefields.
For anyone who met his gaze would be drawn into the same script.
Coupled with the absolute nature of its rules, even Makoto himself couldn't predict whether his allies, caught in the script, might unwittingly trigger multiple violations only to be transformed into firearms by its power.
If that happened, victory would be the least of his concerns.
Even if he won, his days as a Shinigami in the Soul Society would be numbered. A millennium hence, tales might still circulate of a chilling urban legend, "Lock eyes with him, and you'll turn into a gun!"
If that was the case, then perhaps he needed to lure these blade spirits away from the crowd?
As he pondered, a voice rang out behind him someone charging toward the fray.
"Makoto-sama!"
Kuruyashiki Ryoma shouted as he rushed forward.
But Makoto halted him with a raised hand.
Facing the three formidable humanoid Zanpakuto, he turned his head slightly, his back to his comrade, a confident smirk curling his lips.
"Leave this to me."
"…"
In that moment, gazing at his resolute back, Ryoma seemed to grasp something profound.
Both Makoto and Ryoma understood well.
To counter these mighty Zanpakuto, one would need to pave the way with dozens, if not scores, of lives.
In such a dire situation, even Instructor Makoto would have to fight with everything he had.
The more Zanpakuto he could hold at bay, the more lives he could save!
At that thought, his eyes welled with emotion as he beheld the steadfast figure before him.
Just as the young boy was swept up in his own wave of emotion, a crude and jarring familiar voice shattered his reverie once again. The chipped blade let out a childish roar.
[Mine! All mine!]
[I'll take on three by myself! No one's getting away!]
[I'll get foursome this day boys!]
In an instant, Ryoma felt his entire being slump into a state of utter despondence.
His mood was thoroughly ruined.
On second thought, these women... married women in a certain sense might indeed be the type Makoto would fancy… perhaps?
Makoto stood rooted to the spot.
Though he didn't turn back again, his silhouette inexplicably took on a bleak, windswept melancholy.
Not a word escaped his lips.
The blade spirits facing him furrowed their brows in unison, staring him down.
The most hotheaded of them, Mera had veins bulging on her forehead. She bared her teeth in a feral snarl and bellowed, "Hey, hey, HEY!"
"What's this foursome nonsense?!"
"A guy like you couldn't touch my breast even in a thousand years!!"
[That's because you don't even have any!]
The chipped blade reveled in picking fights with the other Zanpakuto spirits.
Was this the infamous rivalry between peers?
No sooner had the words landed than both Tsumiko and Hasuka seemed to realize something. Their eyes widened in sync.
"Huh?!"
They turned their heads toward Mera simultaneously.
In the next heartbeat, Mera's expression froze. Her lips twitched into a grimace of pure rage, her eyes bloodshot and trembling with fury.
"Charcoal!"
"I'll burn you into a lump of charcoal!"
"You stinking-mouthed blade-GAH!"
Before she could finish, she charged forward recklessly.
A perfect opening.
Makoto's eyes narrowed as he seized the moment. With a burst of speed, he bolted toward the battlefield's outskirts, moving like a streak of lightning.
Mera pursued him with wild shouts, hot on his heels.
"Mera! Mera!"
"Don't run so far!"
Hasuka followed suit.
Only Tsumiko masked and hesitant lingered behind.
"Um, Hasuka…"
"If we follow them, we won't fall into a trap, right?"
"That guy's strength isn't half-bad, you know?"
But by the time her words faded, both Mera and Hasuka had already dashed off, their figures nearly vanishing from sight.
Seeing this, Tsumiko let out a resigned sigh and trailed after them.
No choice.
Oetsu's orders were to capture that guy alive, after all.
…
Makoto cut through the heart of the battlefield, racing straight for the perimeter. He deftly avoided the throngs of people along the way, his speed pushed to its absolute limit.
Behind him, the three blade spirits unleashed their powers in pursuit.
Among them, Mera was the swiftest and the closest on his tail.
Flames erupted from her limbs in unison, propelling her through the air like a rocket. She streaked forward in a beeline, intent on closing the gap with that infuriating figure ahead.
It wasn't until Makoto reached the edge of a valley, far from the battlefield, that his steps finally halted.
BOOM!
Mera crashed down from the sky like a cannonball, the impact reverberating with a thunderous explosion.
The fiery temper of this flame-wielding Zanpakuto was palpable in a very literal sense. As Mera glared at Makoto, tiny sparks unwittingly flickered from her mouth with every word, her pupils ablaze with an intense, searing light.
"Run?"
"Where do you think you can escape to?"
As her words rang out, the two figures trailing behind her caught up.
All three fixed him with cold, piercing stares.
"Even if your head's overheating, after seeing how your comrades performed, you must have pieced together a thing or two by now, Mera-san."
Makoto's voice remained steady, his tone laced with a gentle smile as he regarded the diminutive figure standing at the forefront.
Mera faltered for a moment. Only after glancing back at the visibly grave expressions of Hasuhara and Tsumiko did realization dawn on her. With a low growl, she snapped, "You lured us here on purpose?"
"Isn't that obvious?" Makoto met her gaze, a faint, mocking smile tugging at his lips. "After all, taking all three of you down at once without releasing my Shikai is frankly quite the challenge."
Her eyes widened as the weight of his words sank in.
They had served under Oetsu Nimaiya for over a millennium.
In those thousand-plus years, as key figures in his forging process, they had lost count of how many Zanpakuto they'd helped craft.
They knew full well.
For most Shinigami, their combat prowess hinged almost entirely on their blades.
And yet, from the start, Makoto had not once released his…
The realization sent a shiver of wariness through even Mera. Her burning gaze locked onto him as she bellowed, "You think you can handle us?"
Makoto merely smiled at her.
Then...
Hasuhara and Tsumiko both caught the subtle shift in the spiritual pressure emanating from his body. Their senses sharpened, tracking his every expression and movement.
"Here it comes!"
Deep within Makoto's eyes, a faint pink glow flared to life.
A delicate heart-shaped glimmer flickered briefly into existence.
In that instant, it etched itself into the pupils of both him and the three blade spirits before him.
His calm and measured voice intoned softly as he faced them.
"First, let's make a pact."
"Once I strike your vitals, you'll have to obey my commands."
The moment his words fell...
The three spirits before him simultaneously noticed their surroundings warp dramatically in response to his voice.
"An illusion?!"
"No no, wait! It's like a tangible field!"
"I've never heard of Oetsu forging a blade like this!"
"A Shikai alone can alter the environment?!"
The trio gasped in unison as the reality of the scene sank in.
Having witnessed countless Zanpakuto abilities over the centuries and given their own unique identities, they understood the scope of a Shikai's power better than most. That was precisely why they all recognized just how extraordinary Makoto's Shikai was.
This was no power a Zanpakuto forged by Oetsu could possess.
Which meant…
As they turned their gazes back to Makoto, a subtle inexplicable shift colored their expressions.
Though it had been quite some time since Oetsu Nimaiya ascended to the Soul King Palace through his unparalleled forging prowess, the three blade spirits still remembered clearly.
Before the advent of the Asauchi...
The entities the Shinigami of the Soul Society once relied upon.
"Hey, hey." Tsumiko, ever the timid one, murmured under her breath, "It couldn't be… a true blade, could it?"
"No way a true blade would be this weak!" Mera shot back instinctively, her voice booming.
Yet, as she registered the drastic transformation unfolding around them, even her fiery temper couldn't suppress the faint unease creeping into her heart.
If they were defeated by a mere kid like this, wouldn't their reputations be utterly ruined?
As that thought gnawed at them...
Makoto stood poised at the very center of the field, his gaze calm and steady as it swept over the three women.
Following his earlier words, the barren expanse that once lingered at the valley's edge had morphed into a grim, medieval battlefield. Encircled by towering castle walls, the ground was strewn with corpses, broken arrows, smoldering wildfires, and tattered banners, a fortified killing ground that reeked of recent, savage slaughter.
Encircling the three blade spirits loomed a ring of hulking, black-skinned beasts. Standing over three meters tall, their grotesque faces mirrored the hollowed ugliness of a Vasto Lorde. Thick, muscular limbs bulged from their frames, and their jet-black hides gleamed under the dim light. Clutching crude weapons, their blood-red eyes glared menacingly at the trio, exuding predatory intent.
Yet, it was all a façade.
In truth, their forms were ashen and lifeless, mere shells animated with vivid expressions and postures.
A chilling silence blanketed the scene.
What was this place?
As that question consumed their thoughts, a soft, eerie nursery rhyme whispered into their ears, its childlike tone laced with a bone-chilling edge.
"When, oh when, shall we meet again?"
"By the dusk of the Obon feast, we swear!"
"Pinky promise, pinky promise, no lies to bear!"
"Break your oath, and shatter to dust!"
"Pass on, pass on, down the path to the gods."
"Offer tribute ■■■■…"
Almost instinctively, Mera, Hasuka, and Tsumiko formed a tight, back-to-back formation, warily eyeing the monstrous figures surrounding them.
But soon, they noticed something peculiar.
Hovering above each beast's head was a faintly blurred symbol [3].
"W-What are these things?" Tsumiko stammered, her grip tightening around her massive hammer.
"Don't panic."
"This is the script I've crafted for you."
"Pacts and rules govern everything here." Makoto's soft and assured voice drifted through the air.
He strolled across the battlefield's heart, his demeanor as leisurely as ever, offering his explanation with practiced ease.
This, too, was part of the rules.
As the three spirits absorbed the rules, their faces contorted with stunned disbelief in unison.
Only then did Makoto, ever the gentleman, flash a warm smile and speak in a gentle tone.
"Playlife - World of Revelry!"
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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