The sky hung heavy with dark clouds, the air thick with the threat of rain. A stifling pressure weighed on the chest, as if the world itself held its breath.
In the city, fires still smoldered, their remnants staining the ancient walls with charred streaks. Blood and debris mingled in the mud, trampled into a sticky, indistinguishable mess by countless boots.
Yet, amidst the filth of the outer city, the towering Gothic castle at its heart stood pristine, unmarred by the chaos.
Or rather, someone ensured it appeared so.
At the castle's entrance, rows of disciplined Quincy Reishi soldiers marched in perfect formation, their postures rigid, their blades and spears still flecked with blood.
Leading them were two young men, similar in build but opposite in demeanor.
The one on the left, Bazz-B, sported a fiery red mohawk, hands stuffed in his pockets as he glanced carelessly at the blackened streets in the distance.
Years ago, his hometown and castle had been consumed by flames like these, hadn't they?
Bazz-B's mind lingered on the thought.
In just a few short years, he had risen to become a candidate for the Sternritter.
If he could gain enough power…
If he could seize enough power from that man, he could…
Bazz-B's thoughts burned with the image of the man who had mercilessly razed his home. His expression remained indifferent, but his heart blazed like an inferno.
But as he drifted into his reverie, Jugram Haschwalth, beside him, suddenly halted, raising a hand.
The entire column of Reishi soldiers stopped in unison.
"Jugram?" Bazz-B turned, instinctively.
Though he saw himself as the older one of the pair, even he couldn't deny that Jugram's judgment was almost always sharper and more precise.
The man with flowing golden hair stood still, eyes closed, brows furrowed as if grappling with some unseen puzzle.
Despite earning the title of soldier captain, the power granted by Yhwach remained frustratingly limited.
"Bazz-B." Jugram said, his tone uncertain. "Have you… noticed anything off?"
"Huh?" Bazz-B raised an eyebrow, puzzled by the question. "What's off?"
"I don't know."
Despite his words, Jugram's voice grew tenser, more guarded, as if an invisible threat encircled them, poised to claim their lives at any moment.
Seeing his demeanor, Bazz-B waved a hand dismissively, feigning nonchalance. "Jugram, you've been too wound up lately, haven't you?"
"Even if it's your first time killing that many, you shouldn't look so shaken!"
"If it's too much, there's still some dark liquor in the west district…"
But before he could finish regurgitating the bravado he'd overheard from others, Jugram's head snapped up, his gaze fixed on the distance.
His eyes widened, pupils contracting as his mouth fell open.
"What… is this?!"
Bazz-B had never seen Jugram so rattled. Instinctively drawn in, he followed his gaze.
The sky remained a somber gray, the heavy clouds showing no sign of parting.
"What the-"
Before Bazz-B could finish, a series of dull thuds echoed behind him.
Thump! Thump!
The hardened Reishi soldiers, who had endured the city's brutal slaughter alongside them, suddenly collapsed like puppets with cut strings. Their consciousnesses were erased in an instant, bodies slumping to the ground with heavy, muffled sounds.
In the next moment, Bazz-B's own mind began to fog, his eyelids growing heavy.
His body swayed, on the verge of collapsing.
"Bazz-B! Don't fall asleep!" Jugram's sharp cry pierced his ears, jolting him. Cold sweat beaded from his pores, dripping with a chill.
Jugram had somehow positioned himself in front of him.
Bazz-B glanced down.
He saw Jugram's hand, pierced through by a dagger.
His pupils constricted.
But that wasn't all.
Jugram, usually as emotionless and rational as ice, was trembling uncontrollably. Even his other hand, gripping his blade, shook.
Fear? Cowardice? A chill?
What was this?
Thoughts raced through Bazz-B's mind as his head cleared slightly. But seeing the sprawled bodies of the Reishi soldiers around them, he couldn't help but wish he'd collapsed instantly like them.
"What the hell is this?!"
But in the next second, his pupils reflected Jugram's back.
Jugram's trembling stopped.
And in that same reflection appeared a towering figure, a monk over two meters tall.
Unlike the local priests of this Eastern European nation, this monk was bald, with a heavy black beard…
A race he'd never seen.
A savage shaman from the dark continent? Or something from beyond the Ottomans…?
"You're quite impressive."
"After death, you'd make a fine Shinigami, Jugram Haschwalth."
The monk's heavy hand clapped Jugram's shoulder as he stepped toward the castle's gates, his geta clacking.
Bazz-B stared, frozen.
He wanted to shout, to roar defiantly, to draw his blade.
But for some reason, every impulse was crushed by an overwhelming emotion that struck the depths of his soul.
All his desires to act became futile.
Clack, clack.
From start to finish, the monk never spared him a glance, passing them by and heading straight for the castle's heart.
Bazz-B could only bear witness.
In the next moment, his consciousness plunged into darkness.
Ichibē Hyōsube strolled through the dim corridors of the Eastern European castle, the clack of his geta on stone tiles echoing. Most of the Reishi soldiers collapsed before he even drew near.
As a "transcendent" forged with the "Soul King's power" as his foundation, Ichibē Hyōsube's strength far surpassed the limits of mere "Shinigami."
The surrounding soldiers, simply by encountering him, began to crumble from the depths of their souls.
But this method only served to weed out the weak.
Clack.
The monk tucked his hands into his sleeves, pausing.
A middle-aged man with an eyepatch appeared before him, expression stern.
"His Majesty commands that our guest proceed this way." Zeidritz said with cold tone and gaze, as if oblivious to the fallen soldiers. His single eye fixed on the monk.
"Oh! Much obliged, then." The monk replied, his tone jovial, or perhaps… guileless?
Zeidritz noted the response but said nothing, leading the way.
He guided Hyōsube into the audience hall.
The vast room held only a long, snow-white table, fit for noble assemblies. Stained glass along one wall cast prismatic light, illuminating half the room while shadows lingered.
Members of the Sternritter stood like sentinels beneath the hall's columns, their piercing gazes carrying veiled threats.
But when Yhwach's footsteps echoed from the entrance, they averted their eyes, standing taller.
To everyone present, Yhwach was, without question, their "God."
Yhwach lingered at the doorway, as if awaiting something.
Long before arriving here, he had seen what would unfold today.
To avoid this outcome, he had tirelessly led the Quincy across multiple cities, day and night. Yet, no matter which path he foresaw, all converged on the same result.
His power would be sealed today.
Even he couldn't glimpse the process of his sealing.
It was as if his foresight was disrupted by some overwhelming force.
Thus, the moment he saw Ichibē Hyōsube, even Yhwach couldn't help but question his own power.
But…
If it couldn't be avoided, he would face it head-on.
As if resolving himself, Yhwach closed his eyes, then opened them again.
As an emperor, even in such a predicament, he would maintain his dignity.
Yhwach strode into the hall and took his seat at the opposite end.
After brief pleasantries, Ichibē Hyōsube's voice continued, just as Yhwach had known it would,
"My purpose here is singular."
"Sign a non-aggression pact between the Lichtreich and the Soul Society, Yhwach."
The monk smiled at him. "Your power is far too dangerous."
"If left unchecked, the entire Soul Society could be effortlessly destroyed."
Though the details differed slightly, the monk's tone was exactly as Yhwach had known, arrogantly insufferable.
"…To prevent the devastation your power could cause, let us set clear boundaries!"
"That's a deception." Yhwach interrupted, unwilling to hear more. His eyes snapped open.
Within the whites of his eyes, two pupils in each shifted up and down.
"Oh my." Ichibē Hyōsube's voice paused. "Those are troublesome eyes."
Before the words settled, Yhwach's form blurred, crossing dozens of meters in an instant, charging across the table toward the monk.
Yet, a colossal left hand materialized in the air above the table, barring his path like an impassable chasm.
Yhwach's body, sharp as a blade, pierced into it.
But the hand dissolved into countless bubbles, coalescing to grip him tightly, pinning his entire body in place.
Ichibē Hyōsube's voice drifted lazily from afar,
"You're not wrong, though."
"Before the true power of the Soul King, you're as frail as an ignorant child…"
"Those eyes of yours won't open again until you die."
"Live carefully, Yhwach."
As the words echoed, the monk tucked his hands into his sleeves and strolled toward the exit.
Several Sternritter lunged toward Hyōsube.
"Stop!" Yhwach's voice rang out abruptly.
He clutched his eyes, staring at Ichibē Hyōsube's retreating figure.
Yhwach watched silently as the monk vanished into the distant corridor, sensing the force sealing his power within him. A flicker of mockery stirred in his heart.
Did you see, Father?
Your omnipotent power can't be wielded by you…
You, who sacrificed everything for this world, reduced to a will-less stone, does your existence still hold meaning?
Yhwach questioned over and over in his mind.
He questioned the long-dead Soul King, and himself.
He knew full well why Ichibē Hyōsube had come to meet him.
He could clearly sense the shadow of greed lurking in the monk's eyes.
The more wedges to stabilize the world, the better.
If he followed that path, the Soul King's fate, his father's fate, would become his own future.
Could he accept such a future?
"…"
"Never."
"Even if the cost… is to embrace death once."
---
Makoto lay quietly on his bed, hands clasped over his chest.
His Zanpakutō rested atop his heart.
His expression was serene as he entered Jinzen.
Since the founding of the Seireitei, few could enjoy such leisure. These carefree days were a rare luxury.
Squad duties? He'd dumped them all on the unfortunate "former 8th Division 5th Seat."
Of course, he had a legitimate reason.
Having just achieved Shikai, he needed ample time to bond with his little chipped blade through dessert-themed lessons, ensuring smooth cooperation in the future. Since fully manifesting his Shikai, the blade seemed to let him freely enter and exit its Jinzen space.
As for revisiting certain films etched deep in his memory within the scripted world… that was another matter entirely.
But today, before Makoto could begin Jinzen, his blade's childish voice suddenly piped up, urgent and rapid.
[Makoto! Makoto!]
[Something's trying to get in from outside!]
What?
Makoto snapped out of Jinzen.
Opening his eyes, he spotted a delicate Reishi paper crane perched at his window.
He froze momentarily.
Sensing the Reishi signature enveloping the crane, he realized who sent it.
Unfolding the paper, he found a single line of hurried, scrawled text,
[The adjacent palace shows no response, suspected to have left the Soul Society, first time in a millennium.]
Makoto's pupils constricted.
The "tool" he'd planted near Ōetsu Nimaiya had finally yielded results.
But it wasn't good news.
Makoto padded barefoot to the window.
The paper crane dissolved into scattered motes of light under faint Reishi traces.
His expression grew grave.
The horn of war was about to sound.
***
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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