Opposition Is True Friendship

Opposition is true Friendship.

--William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790-1793)

The smoke of battle on the Peony Mountain has finally dissipated.

The two pieces of Asauchi left behind after the collapse of the Tenken Wisdom King lay quietly among the rubble, the embers of Reiatsu on the blades slowly dissipating.

"Mr. Sylvan, you actually defeated the Tenken! That's amazing..."

The battle, which had just been on the verge of despair, ended so quickly and easily because of the return of one person, which made Hanatarō feel somewhat unreal.

The dark clouds that had been lingering in the sky gradually dissipated, and sunlight pierced through them. Hanatarō's eyes reflected the image of the white-haired hero, stirring a sense of longing within him.

Sylvan stood on the battle-ravaged rocky platform, his white hair fading from the tips, strands of black spreading outwards from the roots like ink slowly spreading in Shimizu.

Rook's form had dissipated, and the dark purple particles silently returned to Sylvan's body, most of them becoming the tattoos on Sylvan's torso, while the rest transformed into a jet-black scabbard with a purple eye embedded in its mouth.

Oren and Rain exited their combat forms and returned to normal. Sylvan barely managed to sheath the Blade of Power, which could finally be called a sword, and staggered as if about to fall.

"Mr. Sylvan!"

Hanatarō immediately rushed over, grabbed Sylvan's arms with both hands, and pulled him back from the brink of falling.

Hanatarō looked up at Sylvan's face, wanting to confirm his condition, but his eyes widened in surprise. "You are...?"

Just then, a series of hurried footsteps came from the direction of the mountain road.

"Are you alright?!" Ichigo rushed over, his black and white trench coat-style Shihakusho now riddled with holes.

Ichigo!

"How are things?" Ichigo asked with concern.

"The enemy has finally been dealt with, but Mr. Sylvan..."

Hanatarō looked at Sylvan, blinked, and all the previous changes had faded away like the morning mist, leaving only his usual thin and calm face.

"... Is it just my imagination?"

Hanatarō didn't think much of it; the current situation didn't give him time to think too much.

"What's wrong with Sylvan?" Ichigo walked over, ready to lend a hand.

"I'm fine." Sylvan had recovered somewhat by now. He patted Hanatarō's hand to indicate that he could stand up straight. "My Reiatsu was a bit depleted, but I'll be fine after a while."

After Rook returned, his total Reiatsu was several times higher than before. The battle just now had almost completely depleted his recovery, which caused him to feel dizzy. Now that he was out of the battle, his Reiatsu began to gradually recover.

"Looks like you've finished here." Ichigo looked around at the traces left by the battle and the Asauchi that had been broken in two.

Sylvan looked up and sized up Ichigo:

At this moment, Ichigo's face, neck, and arms were covered with charred knife wounds, and some of the wound edges seemed to still have tiny arcs of electricity remaining, stimulating the skin surface and causing it to throb incessantly.

The white Tensa Zangetsu unsheathed at his waist, the blade still warm from the battle. In his right hand, he now held a broken Asauchi.

Those silver eyes reflected Ichigo's disheveled figure, and a slight smile curved her lips, "You're having a tough time too, aren't you?"

"Uh..." Ichigo scratched his head. Even now, recalling his battle with Gonryōmaru, he could still feel a tingling sensation all over his body.

"Very strong." Ichigo didn't have the habit of belittling his opponents. He held the broken sword up to his eyes, looking at the fine patterns remaining on the blade. "Gonryōmaru is really strong."

He recalled the battle on the riverbank, "That guy was really strong. Although his fighting style wasn't as flashy as Byakuya's or as domineering as Kenpachi's, he always managed to overpower me."

Although I ultimately won, I never really felt like I had won.

Ichigo at the scorch marks on the back of his hand and cuffs, Ichigo was certain that if his current Bankai hadn't possessed defensive capabilities comparable to Menos Grande's Hierro, his hand would have been severed several times during the battle. "If that old man had used the Bankai of Gonryōmaru on Sōkyoku Hill, I might be finished back then."

There were too many uncertainties in that battle.

Sylvan leaned against the rock, holding the Blade of Power across his lap. "Our success was due to a great deal of luck. If we hadn't made the right move at any point, we could have suffered an unimaginable defeat. Fortunately, we pulled through."

"Yes." Ichigo lowered his head, looking at the broken sword in his hand, and remained silent for a while.

Meanwhile, Hanatarō silently tended to Marechiyo Ōmaeda's injuries while listening to Ichigo and Sylvan's conversation, wondering to himself, "Was Mr. Sylvan already in Seireitei at that time?"

Ichigo recalled the thrilling battle from a few months ago, feeling as if he had forgotten something at the time. Then, his peripheral vision caught Hanatarō's side, and his mind seemed to clear up. He turned his gaze to the figure lying next to Hanatarō.

"Ah!" Ichigo's eyes widened as he pointed at Marechiyo Ōmaeda, his voice tinged with an embarrassed realization.

"So this guy is the Lieutenant you were talking about who's been secretly helping us!"

Sylvan raised an eyebrow. "You only just recognized me?"

"I was in a bit of a rush when I went up to Sōkyoku Hill!" Ichigo scratched the back of his head, making his short, charred orange hair even messier. "I was just thinking about taking care of whoever got in my way. He was charging at me with so many people, I didn't think about anything else—"

Ichigo finally understood what Marechiyo Ōmaeda lost consciousness. His voice grew softer and softer until he finally knelt down, clasped his hands together, and apologized to Marechiyo Ōmaeda was also unconscious at the time. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I'll apologize properly when you wake up!"

After Hanatarō finished tying the last bandage, he stood up, dusted off his knees, looked at the people in front of him, and gave a tired but gentle smile, "It's finally all over. Now Captain Marechiyo Ōmaeda should be fine. Let's go back."

Sylvan stood up, supporting himself with the Blade of Power. Although the exhaustion of Reiatsu made him feel lightheaded, as if he were walking on cotton, he was much better than when he first woke up.

"I'll do it."

Ichigo that Hanatarō was struggling to support Marechiyo Ōmaeda, Ichigo handed the broken sword to Hanatarō, squatted down, and lifted Marechiyo Ōmaeda off the ground.

The group left Peony Mountain under the increasingly hot midday sun, heading towards the Seireitei along the stone-paved Rukongai.

In a certain part of Seireitei, deep within an underground cave, dim lights cast flickering shadows on the stone walls. The underground river at the deepest part of the cave gushes out from the cracks in the rock walls, forming a shallow pool of water, which then flows along a dark channel into the deeper darkness.

Muramasa sat on a rock by the river, holding a flat pebble in his hand, and gently flicked it into the water.

The pebble bounced three times on the water's surface before sinking into the undercurrent.

"Are you ready?" a voice came from deep within the cave.

Jiku'a emerged from the darkness, the hem of her blue trench coat fluttering gently in the breeze, the gold embroidery gleaming dimly in the yellow lamplight.

He walked to the riverbank, stopped beside the Muramasa, bent down, picked up a pebble, and threw it into the water.

The pebble bounced five times on the river surface before sinking further into the water.

"Why do you say that?" Muramasa didn't turn around.

"Is that hard to guess?" Jiku'a picked up another pebble, twirled it between his fingers, and then flung it away. "Attack the Soul Reaper's medical system—it's indeed quite effective in the long run, fundamentally weakening their ability to sustain combat."

The problem is, this won't immediately reduce the Soul Reaper's fighting power; instead, it will only provoke Soul Reaper to become even more determined to Zanpakuto.

He turned his head to look at Muramasa's profile. "In other words, this plan seems reasonable, but it is not suitable for the Zanpakuto who need immediate results, and it will drag them into the siege of the Soul Reaper."

You made them do that just to draw the attention of the Final Soul Reaper so you could do your own thing, didn't you?"

Muramasa was silent for a moment, then laughed, "Looks like this little trick can't fool you."

Muramasa readily admitted to Jiku'a's guess.

"So readily?" Jiku'a was surprised by Muramasa's reaction. "If you hadn't said something more high-sounding, I might have believed you."

"No need. I know best whether my abilities have worked or not. You are different from them. They are pawns, while you are a partner on the same path." Muramasa looked at Sylvan and said earnestly.

"I'm not your partner." Jiku'a picked up a pebble and continued throwing it. "We're just using each other. You accomplish your goal, and I'll accomplish yours."

Muramasa stared at the last ripple on the water's surface, then picked up a pebble and skipped it across the water again. "Companions don't necessarily have to have the exact same goals or the same ideals; they can still be called companions."

Like Zangetsu, like you, you are all my comrades, even if you are unwilling to admit it.

Jiku'a looked at Muramasa, somewhat puzzled. "Have you been away from your master for too long and your head is already foggy?"

"Who knows? I've been separated from Kōga for a hundred years. Maybe, as you said, I've gradually become abnormal, so..." Muramasa his head, looking at his reflection in the water, his expression resolute. "This time, no matter what, I must return to Kōga's side! I must restore everything to its original state."

Jiku'a looked at Muramasa and snorted, "You're at least better than those guys who can be easily turned. I'm not a man of my word either. So, tell me, when are we leaving?"

"We won't be heading to the World of the Living until noon tomorrow at the earliest. I already have a plan, so just follow it step by step and don't worry. Before that, we can prepare your plan." Muramasa put his hands in his pockets and sat down on a stone stool.

"Oh? You're so eager too?" This time it was Jiku'a's turn, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes. He sat down on another stone stool next to him. "I thought you wouldn't do anything for me until your master's matter was resolved."

"Of course, I don't want to be someone who breaks a promise." Muramasa stood up, dusted off his clothes, and turned his gaze to the narrow passage leading to the surface deep in the cave. "After Kōga escapes, he will definitely not let go of those Soul Reaper who oppressed him—that's his character, I know it better than anyone."

He paused, his voice turning somber. "And your Golden Fruit Plan requires a large number of Soul Reaper to sustain it, which would conflict with your plan."

"Then what do you want to do? I can't let you and Kōga kill any of Hu's companions. That's my bottom line, and you know that." Jiku'a's eyes were as cold as ever. Even though the two of them had just had a pleasant conversation, he would never back down once his red line was crossed.

"I know, so I have a win-win solution." Muramasa interrupted Jiku'a's change of expression, "Do you know Captain-Commander Yamamoto's current situation?"

"Wasn't he sealed away by you using the Zanpakuto of three captains? What happened to him?" Jiku'a asked, feigning confusion.

Muramasa revealed the truth to Jiku'a: "The Captain-Commander is not someone I can easily seal. Even with the help of those three Zanpakuto, he is still not someone I can seal."

What about that seal?

"That was a self-sealing he made to prevent Ryūjin Jakka from being affected by me. That's why it's inconvenient for me to go directly to the World of the Living. The only thing that can hold back the Captain-Commander half of Ryūjin Jakka."

If I do nothing and go directly to the World of the Living, the Captain-Commander, sensing my departure, will be able to quell the Zanpakuto rebellion and then organize a force to come to the World of the Living to subdue me.

Similarly, if the Captain-Commander were safely stationed in Soul Society, you wouldn't be able to carry out your plan either.

Jiku'a crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. This was indeed a problem. "What do you want to do?"

"It's very simple..." Muramasa explained the plan to Jiku'a.

A moment later, Jiku'a watched Muramasa's departing figure and said, "You've thought of everything."

"I've already said it." Muramasa turned to face Jiku'a, his deep-set pupils appearing exceptionally unfathomable in the dim light. "I will not break my promise."

Jiku'a didn't reply, watching Muramasa leave until his figure gradually disappeared into the darkness. Then he returned to the riverbank, listening to the sound of the water flowing in the culvert beneath his feet, and muttered to himself, "What do you think of Muramasa's plan?"

After a while, a mouth grew out of the wall, which was particularly eerie, but a rather noble young master's voice came from it. "From a purely plan perspective, it's not bad. If Ryūjin Jakka could hold off the Captain-Commander for a while, your plan would go much more smoothly. But you, why do you look so regretful? Don't you have high hopes for Muramasa's plan?"

"No, Muramasa's plan will succeed." Jiku'a, possessing Amber's memories, naturally knew that Kōga would be successfully rescued by Muramasa. His regret lay in what followed. "Sometimes, loyalty goes unrewarded. It's just a pity such a fine sword didn't find a wise master."

"If that's the case, why not stop him? You don't dislike him, do you? I've seen Kōga; he's arrogant yet impatient, short-sighted and incapable of great things, a waste of his talent."

"Since you don't think he's a good candidate either, why are you watching Muramasa towards his death?" he asked, opening his mouth.

"You don't understand Zanpakuto. Zanpakuto dies for its master; it is its long-cherished wish."

Even if that master is utterly useless?

Even if the master is utterly useless!

After a long silence, he finally uttered, "I don't understand. If the ruler is incompetent, then blindly obeying him is not an honor. I don't understand, I really don't understand."

The mouth disappeared, still holding a hint of doubt.

At that moment, in the Muken, a refined and elegant man muttered to himself, "I don't understand Zanpakuto? Even with Bankai, I still don't truly understand you, Urozakuro?"

In his eyes, a woman whom only he could see stuck out her tongue. "You think you can understand me? Wait another thousand years."

Jiku'a stood alone by the underground river, looking down at the dark water that shimmered with an eerie light.

His reflection was on the water: Blue Coat, white hair, and those cold, almost empty eyes.

"Will you blame me after all this is over?"