Without Contraries Is No Progression

Without contraries, there is no progression. -- William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790-1793)

Ichigo and Yoruichi passed through the Senkaimon and stepped onto the land of Seireitei. In the distance, wisps of black smoke were still slowly rising. Rubble and broken wood were scattered on the stone road. Occasionally, a few members of the Fourth Division could be seen carrying stretchers and hurrying through the ruins.

"Now you know, right? Urahara said it himself, so don't force yourself or do anything reckless." Yoruichi ran forward, with Ichigo carrying Zangetsu behind her. "Huh? What's wrong?"

Yoruichi glanced at Zangetsu, which Ichigo was carrying. "If you sense anything unusual about Zangetsu, retreat immediately."

"Zangetsu is fine, he's special." Ichigo touched the hilt of Zangetsu on his back, his voice without a trace of hesitation.

Yoruichi paused for a moment. "For you, Zangetsu is indeed special."

"Of course."

"But for everyone, Zanpakuto is special." Her gaze towards Ichigo was exceptionally profound. "That's what it means to have your own Zanpakuto."

After saying that, she flashed and leaped to the top of a broken wall. "I'm going to check on the Stealth Force. Be careful on your own."

"I see."

As Yoruichi's figure disappeared into the ruins, Ichigo put Zangetsu down from his shoulder, stood on the ground, and looked around—everywhere were traces of battle, everywhere were wounded, everywhere were familiar street scenes that were now unrecognizable.

"Where could Rukia be now...?"

Meanwhile, in the Sixth Division

The corridors of the barracks were quiet. Most of the uninjured soldiers had been deployed to support defenses in various locations, leaving very few people in the barracks.

"Big brother..."

Ichigo, whom Rukia was searching for, pushed open the door to the captain's office, but did not see Byakuya.

Several unread documents lay spread out on the spacious desk, the ink already dry. Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on the empty chair, with Byakuya's spare veil draped over the back.

Renji, who was sitting behind the side table and was being tormented by a pile of documents, looked up and saw the small, thin figure at the door.

Rukia!

He sprang up from his chair, rushed to her, and Rukia's shoulder, then stroked her head, and finally grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently.

"Hey! It really is you! I was so worried about you! Honestly, where have you been all this time?"

"Ouch!" Rukia's wound, which had just been bandaged by Orihime, stung from his shaking, and a vein throbbed on her forehead. "Renji, you bastard, that hurts! Stop it!"

He punched Renji in the face, making him lean back.

Renji covered his face, his voice muffled. "I'm sorry..."

He looked at Rukia's face, slightly pale from her injuries, her eyes still the same as before—stubborn, strong-willed, and never willing to back down in anything. "But it's so good that you're safe and sound."

Rukia shifted her gaze from him to Byakuya's empty chair. Her lips moved, her voice much softer than before. "Speaking of which, has anything happened to Captain Kuchiki...?"

"Although a search team has been dispatched, it hasn't happened yet." Renji looked at her profile and shook his head.

He then gave a thumbs-up to reassure her, "Don't worry about anything. How could the captain be defeated by something so trivial?"

Rukia was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly. "That's true."

She didn't linger in the captain's office. She walked out the door, along the corridor of the Sixth Division, through the courtyard, and as she passed a side courtyard, she suddenly stopped.

Before her was a door completely covered by a thick layer of ice crystals. The ice crystals seeped out from the cracks in the door and extended along the walls to both sides, freezing the entire door into a huge, transparent cocoon.

Rukia's face was reflected on the ice, and deep within the ice, a Reiatsu she knew all too well was slowly pulsating—almost identical to her own, only colder, sharper, and more resolute.

"This Reiatsu is... Sode no Shirayuki!"

Rukia rushed straight through the ice crystal door.

The scene in the courtyard froze her in place. Several soldiers lay sprawled on the stone ground, covered with a thin layer of Frost, their consciousness hazy, their bodies still trembling.

Their Zanpakuto were scattered around them, their blades covered in ice crystals.

Sode no Shirayuki stood in the center of the courtyard, her long hair cascading down her back like a frozen waterfall, each strand shimmering with the luster of ice crystals, the hem of her pure white kimono leaving a very thin icy trail on the ground.

She held the pure white Zanpakuto in her hand, its tip pointing diagonally towards the ground. Fine ice mist swirled around the blade, and tiny ice crystals drifted from her lips with each breath.

"Stop it!"

Rukia stood in front of the fallen soldiers, arms outstretched, looking up at Sode no Shirayuki's eyes, which were as cold as a frozen lake. "Stop! Sode no Shirayuki!"

Sode no Shirayuki lowered her head and looked at her, her eyes filled with determination.

She raised her Zanpakuto, the tip pointing at Rukia's forehead.

"Rukia Kuchiki." Her words were like shattered ice, carrying a chilling coldness, "You are not allowed to order me around."

Fourth Division, Unohana Dōjō

The crisp sound of bamboo knives clashing against canes echoed in the empty training ground.

Sylvan gripped the jet-black cane with both hands, sweat trickling down his forehead and dripping onto the floor along his thin chin.

His breathing was heavy, each inhale as if he were forcing air out of the depths of his lungs.

Kyōraku gripped his bamboo sword, the blade hanging askew at his side, and looked at the thin, almost bony young man opposite him.

"That's interesting." Kyōraku's voice carried its usual laziness as he casually twirled the bamboo sword. "It's like stuffing all the skills of a master swordsman into the body of a frail child."

He knew when to attack and when to defend, but even if his body made the corresponding movements, his frail physique rendered them ineffective.

He suddenly took a step forward. The step was extremely fast. Although Sylvan's body reacted, it was obvious that the reaction was not commensurate with his current level of strength. His attempt to block with one hand on his staff was clearly no match for Kyōraku's frontal attack.

Kyōraku looked at Sylvan, who had been knocked back, and said, "Look, your movements are precise, but this attack was clearly beyond what you could have blocked with that move. You always overestimate your physical abilities in battle."

Sylvan looked at the cane in his hand. He knew that these fighting habits were from the past, habits inherited from Yexing Hu, and rooted in Vergil's fighting techniques. Without the corresponding physical attributes, subconsciously using these techniques would put him at a disadvantage in battle.

Sylvan frowned; this was indeed a problem.

Kyōraku twirled the bamboo sword around. "Is it because of your nearly dried-up body that Yexing Hu's power-generating technique has become a hindrance?"

Sylvan suddenly looked up. "The Captain Kyōraku?! You know him?"

"What do you mean 'know' or 'don't know'? I was right there when Captain Unohana was examining and treating you." Kyōraku's tone remained as languid as ever.

"In any case, it's better to discard those old habits before your soul returns to its wholeness, otherwise, you might die." Kyōraku said casually, but when those last three words fell, the air in the Dōjō suddenly became heavier.

Sylvan's fingers tightened slightly on the handle of his cane. "But habits aren't so easy to change..."

"It's not that hard to fix." Kyōraku put the bamboo sword back on the sword holder.

Then he turned around and slowly drew his Zanpakuto.

"When faced with a choice between life and death..." Kyōraku's eyes turned cold and sharp the moment he gripped the sword and turned around. His usually languid eyes were devoid of any warmth, filled only with a pure focus honed by countless deadly battles.

Sylvan's pupils contracted slightly. The aura emanating from Kyōraku made Sylvan realize that the person in front of him was serious!

Kyōraku walked towards him step by step, abandoning his previous gentle demeanor, and brought his sword down in a fierce vertical slash.

Sylvan blocked with his staff, and Zanpakuto sparks flew when the Zanpakuto clashed with the staff. However, the stalemate lasted for less than a second. Kyōraku smirked and forcefully pressed the Zanpakuto downwards. Sylvan was forced back several steps by the force, and the tip of the staff carved a deep scratch on the floor before he could barely regain his footing.

"After all, this is Captain Unohana's Dōjō; it's best not to damage Dōjō." Kyōraku, carrying his sword, slowly walked towards Sylvan.

His pace was slow, but it was precisely this slowness—this almost leisurely slowness—that made Sylvan's breathing become increasingly rapid.

"You've lost your original power, yet you still cling to your old habits; that in itself is arrogance." Kyōraku slowly raised his Zanpakuto, the blade gleaming coldly in the white light of the Reishi lamp. "Sylvan, a sword that's already rusted—do you expect it to still be as sharp as before?"

He unleashed a series of slashes at Sylvan. First, a horizontal sweep aimed at his lower body, Sylvan parried with his cane; however, Kyōraku's sword, though seemingly parried, appeared to be following the original sword path. Kyōraku raised his sword and delivered another diagonal slash, which Sylvan, still holding his cane, turned to the side, the cane grazing the blade with a very faint tremor.

"A knife can't stay sharp forever; it will dull, break, and eventually become useless. A dull knife has its uses, and finding those uses is what you should be doing now."

The Zanpakuto and cane clashed again, forcing Sylvan's knees to bend slightly. The angle at which the Zanpakuto bounced off was just enough for Kyōraku to strike again, causing Sylvan to retreat. But Kyōraku's blade followed like a shadow, delivering an upward slash that grazed Sylvan's chest, leaving a very thin cut on his black vest.

Kyōraku looked at him, his cold eyes devoid of any emotion. "Do you know what's most important in a desperate situation?"

Sylvan struggled to even respond to Kyōraku's attacks, so naturally he couldn't answer.

Kyōraku's downward slash followed immediately, and Sylvan raised his staff to block it, his hand going numb from the impact.

Have you ever heard the saying, "Courage is the hymn of life"?

With a sudden thrust, the blade aimed straight for Sylvan's throat. Sylvan barely managed to turn to the side, the blade grazing his neck and leaving a very thin line of blood on his skin.

"Do you know what courage is?" Kyōraku Zanpakuto over his shoulder, tilting his head to look at him. "Courage isn't the absence of fear. Quite the opposite, only fear can prove the existence of courage."

He raised his knife, the tip pointing at Sylvan once more. "Come on. Let me see your courage."

Kyōraku lunged forward, his blade raining down like a storm. "Step out of your past skills and experiences; clinging to those will only drag you deeper into trouble!"

Sylvan parried, dodged, and retreated—he began to fight not with the instincts that remained in his body from the past, but with the methods his frail body could now perform.

His movements were no longer fluid, no longer precise, and even somewhat clumsy, but every movement was a choice he made himself, not something his body did for him.

Kyōraku's blade grazed his shoulder, slicing a gash in his black vest. Using the momentum of his sidestep, Sylvan thrust the tip of his cane's sword at an extremely low angle toward Kyōraku's side.

Kyōraku parried to the side, the blade clashing with the cane, sparks exploding between the two.

"Very good." A faint smile appeared on Kyōraku's lips. He took a step back and Zanpakuto horizontally in front of him.

"No matter how afraid a person is, as long as they still have the courage to swing the sword again, the door to possibilities will open for them. Remember the starting point and original intention that drove you to where you are now!"

Sylvan's fingers tightened slightly on his cane.

Kyōraku looked at him. "Can you still find that source of courage now?"

Sylvan closed his eyes, recalling that rainy night when Fon Shaoling stood on the execution platform, rain streaming down her Captain's Haori, her golden eyes filled with tears.

"I promised her."

He opened his eyes, and something was slowly awakening within his silver pupils. "I promised her... I would definitely go back."

Kyōraku looked into those eyes, and the smile on his lips deepened.

Sylvan gripped his cane tightly:

"Indeed, almost all of my abilities come from Jiku'a and Vergil, and my powerful techniques are almost entirely Vergil's skills. Only that one move, only that one move, is something I obtained myself!"

His Reiatsu began to slowly gather—

A very faint, mist-like blue halo emanated from the depths of his thin body, wrapping around the tip of the sword on his cane.

A quiet yet intense light burned within those silver pupils.

Kyōraku looked at him, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "The direction of this Reiatsu is..."

He gripped his Zanpakuto with both hands, holding the blade horizontally in front of him, assuming a stance ready for true battle.

Sylvan took a step forward and swung his sword.

The tip of the sword on the cane sliced through the air without making a sound, and time seemed to stretch out at that moment— Kyōraku saw the extremely thin, almost invisible blue light membrane detach from the tip of the sword, drawing an extremely smooth arc in the air.

It was a pure, extremely thin, extremely light, and extremely fast slash, created by compressing Reiatsu to its limit, attaching it to the sword's edge, and then releasing it with Zanjutsu.

The slash grazed Kyōraku's chest, leaving an extremely thin, smooth, mirror-like cut on the wall behind him.

He looked down at his Shihakusho —the fabric was neatly cut open, the cut so smooth it was almost as if it had been slashed, more like it had been gently grazed by some extremely thin blade. A faint blue halo remained at the edge of the cut, slowly dissipating.

"Although the quality is quite different from Old Man Yama used, there's absolutely no mistake, this is Nadegiri!"

Kyōraku stared at the smooth incision on his chest and remained silent for a long time.

"... This is truly..." He looked up at the thin young man opposite him, who was covered in sweat, his legs were still trembling, but his eyes were brighter than ever. "Amazing."