The Starting Point

Kenpachi administered Reiatsu Recovery Potion to Amber, and the Reiatsu within her body began to recover rapidly, ignoring Amber's will. All the pores on her body opened, and external Reishi, like streams of the Heat magma, burned through every stinging blood vessel in her Spirit Body.

Kenpachi straightened his back, his shoulder blades spread back, and his bones emitted a series of dull cracking sounds.

The moment Kenpachi poured the Reiatsu Recovery Potion into Amber's mouth, Fon Shaoling's fingers were already on the hilt of Suzumebachi. She took a step forward, her Reiatsu condensing into an extremely fine pressure at the edge of her sleeve.

"Captain Zaraki," she said in a low voice, "That's enough."

Kenpachi turned his head. He didn't draw his sword, nor did he release his Reiatsu to counter Fon Shaoling's Reiatsu —he simply turned his one eye towards her.

"Hey, what do you think he needs right now?" Kenpachi's voice wasn't as aggressive as usual. "Comfort? Guidance? Or just leave him alone?"

Fon Shaoling did not answer.

"That's not what he needs right now." He pointed to Amber, who was coughing from the medicine. "He needs to fight. You saw it yourself—this guy wasn't defeated by anything external, not even by his own blade."

After saying that, he dragged Hu to a more spacious place where everyone present could see him.

Fon Shaoling hesitated.

At this moment, Gin interjected beside Fon Shaoling, "Captain Zaraki can be reasonable after all." His tone was still flippant, but his voice was lower than usual, "I thought he was going to just say 'Let me chop you up.'"

"Stand up." Kenpachi's voice was like rusty iron scraping against metal, leaving no room for negotiation. "You've already drunk the medicine I gave you, your Reiatsu should have almost recovered. Get up now, let me cut you down!"

"Ah~ he really said it..." Yin felt that today was a bit unlucky.

Fon Shaoling's hand slowly loosened its grip on the hilt of the sword, and she compromised, "Three things are agreed upon. First, suppressing him is sufficient; there's no need to release additional Reiatsu. Second, the slashes should only target the torso, not cause irreversible damage to Amber. Third—if I think it's time to stop, I will intervene. If you can't sheathe your sword immediately, this Suzumebachi will take your life."

Kenpachi was silent for a moment, then said, "Whatever."

Fon Shaoling looked at him. "Remember what you said. If he dies by your hand today, the entire 11th Division will never have peace."

"Did you hear that? Your owner has already spoken." Kenpachi's lips curled into a sneer as he said to Kou, "Come on, let me see what kind of guy that left Gin Ichimaru covered in wounds is really!"

'So please stop using me as an example,' Gin Ichimaru thought to himself, exasperated.

Kenpachi exuded the instinctive pleasure of a predator spotting its prey as he charged forward.

He raised his sword high, took long strides, each step shattering the ground, his body leaning forward almost parallel to the ground. Golden Reiatsu exploded from his body, like a Beast breaking free of its shackles, charging directly at its prey.

When that slash came down, there was absolutely no skill involved—it was just a vertical slash from top to bottom. The blade sliced through the air, and what it brought was not the sound of wind, but a hoarse the Roar like an iron plate being torn apart.

Hu instinctively raised his knife to parry, and the moment the two knives collided, his hand split open. His skin and muscles were ripped apart by the immense force, and blood splattered from between his fingers. His knees bent, and the ground beneath his feet caved in, cracks spreading outwards in all directions.

"Even without the will to fight, you still have the instinct to defend, right? Haha! That's right!" Kenpachi's voice boomed from behind the blade. He pressed down on the sword with one hand, looking down at Amber, his single eye burning with golden light. "It'll be more interesting if you can block it!"

The second strike was a horizontal sweep. The angle was tricky, and the speed was abnormally fast— Kenpachi's size shouldn't allow for such speed.

Hu had no time to parry and could only retreat in Shunpo. The blade grazed his chest, and the resulting wind pressure tore his clothes, leaving a bloody gash on his skin.

The third strike was an upward slash. Amber parried again, the impact sending him sliding several meters backward. A sudden blue light flashed in his silver eyes— Beowulf's gauntlets condensed on his left fist, pulsating with light patterns. He threw a punch, slamming it into Kenpachi's blade.

The shockwave exploded, Kenpachi was forced back a step.

He glanced down at his hand holding the knife, then at the black gauntlets on Hu's fist, a hint of surprise flashing in his single eye. "... Not bad, you can still fight back."

He slung the sword back over his shoulder and tilted his head. "But what's with that expression of yours? Your eyes are clearly shining, but your face looks like a dead man's." He took a step forward, and his Reiatsu increased again. The ground began to crack, and unseen forces lifted the rubble, suspending it in mid-air.

Do you think fighting is a painful thing?

Amber's pupils contracted slightly, but he didn't answer. He instinctively rushed forward.

Jiku'a thrust out, only to be parried by Kenpachi; Beowulf blasted out, but Kenpachi dodged to the side, his fist grazing Kenpachi's chest, barely breaking the skin. The barrage of attacks was like a storm, but Kenpachi always managed to respond with ease. He suppressed Koko's attacks each time, the collision of blades and gauntlets creating shockwaves that shattered the ancient trees around them, leaving no intact patch on the ground.

Kenpachi then launched a counterattack.

When Amber's Jiku'a slashed at him, he no longer dodged. The blade pierced half an inch into his shoulder, but he didn't even flinch. He swung his sword back and slashed Amber's side. Blood splattered, and both were injured at the same time, but Kenpachi was laughing—the kind of laugh that came from deep in his throat, the kind that made people instinctively want to back away. Sword for sword, blade for blade, every punch landing with flesh, every cut cutting to bone.

Kenpachi's swordsmanship has no rules whatsoever. He never feints, never probes; every strike is aimed at killing Amber.

His fighting style transformed this exchange of wounds into the purest form of hunting. Hu was forced to retreat repeatedly, blood seeping from every wound on his body—left shoulder, ribs, thigh, forearm, countless knife marks crisscrossing and overlapping, new wounds tearing open old ones, pain surging up layer upon layer like Tide.

But Kenpachi continued. With each strike, he spoke.

"Does it hurt? That's good!" A blade slashed across Amber's shoulder, blood splattering out. "Battle is supposed to be painful!"

The pursuit of power also hurts!

This also applies when challenging an enemy alone!

But there are things that allow us to endure, or even enjoy, this pain!

That was our original reason for taking up the sword!

Fighting shouldn't be painful!

You feel pain because you've forgotten—forgotten why you picked up the sword in the first place!

Amber's consciousness began to waver. Pain and blood loss blurred his senses, and Kenpachi's voice seemed to come from a great distance, passing through layers of tinnitus and intermittently hitting his ears.

He entered his Inner World.

The canopy of the Demon World Tree overlooks a greyish-black sky. Mōcāng stands opposite him, his Blue Coat fluttering in the wind that seems to come from nowhere, his scarlet eyes revealing a condescending disdain.

"Here we go again." He slowly walked towards Hu. "What do you think will be different this time?"

He thrust out his sword, and Amber parried. The two Jiku'a clashed, their dark blue lights clashing against each other. Mōcāng didn't use any techniques to suppress him; he simply swung his sword down one after another.

Every strike landed on the most vulnerable spot of the amber blade, forcing him to retreat. The same moves, the same power, Mōcāng was always half a beat faster, half an inch more accurate, and half a bit more ruthless.

"You can't even beat yourself." Mōcāng's blade pressed against Hu's, their faces separated by only an inch of blade. After a moment of eye contact between their crimson and silver-blue eyes, Mōcāng pushed aside Hu's blade, and Mōcāng's Jiku'a plunged fiercely into Hu's chest.

Then memories flooded in, accompanied by intense pain.

This time it's not the fragmented kind of input.

The memories unfolded slowly and completely, like a scroll deliberately unfurled by the Mōcāng.

The image of his mother's golden hair scattered on the ground reappeared in his mind, but this time it lingered—the boy saw her lips move for the last time, and she uttered a name.

Dante

Her greatest concern before she died was for her younger brother, whom she had hidden away.

Ripples spread across the painting...

When his magic was exhausted and he couldn't even draw the Yamato, he could only huddle in the alley, clutching a rusty dagger, while a powerful demon roared from the alley entrance.

This loneliness is amplified once again—a child who has lost his father, his mother, and his brother; he has only himself left.

Then the scene changed again.

The Demon King sat on his Throne, mocking his overestimation of his abilities. He charged forward, wielding the Yamato, but was easily defeated. The Yamato was destroyed, and he himself was hung up, covered in blood, to endure endless humiliation.

Then came darkness. A long, endless darkness, as demonic power poured into his body. His body was tearing apart, every bone was crushed and reconstructed, his soul screamed, and the man who had sworn to pursue absolute power and be free from anyone's control was ultimately transformed into someone else's puppet.

"Do you want to continue?" Mōcāng's voice descended from above. "Every time you come, I will show you these things, and every time you will inevitably kneel down helplessly!"

Because you are not as strong as him by nature, you are naturally unable to bear his heavy past.

Why do you have to endure all this?

Why are you carrying these burdens?

You're just an ordinary person!

You can completely give up—give up Toki Jiku'a, give up Bankai, give up fighting, go back to being an intern, date Shaoling, go fishing with Shimizu, and live your peaceful life. This world has its own savior! There's absolutely no need for you to busy yourself; being a spectator doesn't require having power!

He crouched down, his scarlet eyes meeting Hu's gaze.

Sparda is not your father. Dante is not your brother. And you are not Vergil!

You couldn't bear such a dark past like Vergil, which is why I came into being, to bear it for you!

You are just an ordinary nobody!

Amber knelt on the treetop. The Tide of memories still swirled around him, one after another, layer upon layer, like countless paintings torn apart and pieced back together, playing repeatedly. But this time he did not close his eyes.

Original intention!

The original intention behind picking up the sword!

The origin of the fight!

After Kenpachi's reminder, Amber finally found another voice in the deepest part of her consciousness, in the cracks of those images—the laughter of children, the laughter of two children.

"If you can transfer your memories to me, then I can transfer my memories to you too!"

"What?"

Hu raised his head, enduring the pain, and thrust his own Jiku'a into Mōcāng's body.

Memories resurfaced, but this time they didn't come from the darkness of the Mōcāng —they came from the depths of Amber's heart, from those glimmers of light that hadn't been separated by Jiku'a but had been obscured by the darkness of the Mōcāng:

The two brothers wrestled on the grass, a wooden sword hitting his head, making him wince in pain, but he still laughed. The younger brother bit his arm, and he grabbed his brother's ear. The two rolled from the grass into a mud puddle, and then they both got scolded by their mother.

After the same ripple...

The father stood in the setting sun, the enormous demonic sword planted in the ground beside him. The wind blew from behind him, carrying the sulfurous smell of the Demon World, but the father stood firm, as if nothing in this world could make him take a step back.

Then comes V...

The black-haired, thin man, shrouded in black from head to toe, was someone completely different from himself yet the same person. He saw V standing at the foot of the Demon World Tree, looking up at the top of the canopy.

He saw V fighting side by side with Nero, the silver-haired boy charging at the forefront, wielding a greatsword. He saw a faint smile curve at the corner of V's mouth—a tenderness that had been suppressed for too long and had finally rekindled at the end of the road.

He witnessed V plunge his cane into his own body. In that moment when the split personality returned and the two became one again, the obsession echoing in his heart was not some grand ideal or mission, but simply a memory from a long time ago, on an afternoon when the twins were still fighting with wooden swords on the grass.

"If you like fighting with your younger brother, then go ahead."

Hu gripped the Jiku'a tightly. A warm current surged from his chest, flowing through the Jiku'a in his chest into Mōcāng's body. The two Jiku'a emitted a deep cry, and the eerie blue light was no longer dim, but grew brighter and brighter—until the entire tree canopy was illuminated.

Mōcāng released Jiku'a and took a step back. For the first time, a look of confusion appeared in his scarlet eyes.

"You—" His voice paused, as if searching for the right words, but he couldn't find them.

In that instant, Mōcāng felt something emanating from Hu that he had never felt before—warm, bright memories devoid of any grand purpose or deep-seated hatred.

Those fragments that belonged to Vergil, but which he never possessed since the birth of the Mōcāng.

The mother's laughter, the father's silhouette in the sunset, his wide smile—these images, like seeds buried deep within, sprouted, broke through the darkness, and brought in the light.

"What... what is this smell?" For the first time, Mōcāng's voice trembled slightly.

He smelled the scent of sun-dried grass, the faint, unnamed floral fragrance emanating from his mother, and the moss and earthy smell of the wooden sword.

"No... don't come any closer!" He pulled the sword from his chest and swung it Jiku'a, but nothing happened. The man wielding the sword panicked, and his strength dissipated.

Hu grabbed Mōcāng's arm. "I am indeed not Vergil, but neither are you!"

Amber continuously transmits her memories to Mōcāng —memories that don't belong to Vergil, but rather Amber's own.

The gentle breeze while night fishing with Shimizu is the sweat in the Shin'ō Academy, the moonlight while drinking under the silver moon, the new clothes produced by Qinghui Clothing Shop, and the hot tea in Fon Shaoling's office.

This warm current was unreasonable, ignoring his defenses and the cold walls he had built layer by layer since his birth. It seeped into every cell of his body, filling the cracks created by hatred, loneliness, and resentment.

"These things... are so strange..." Mōcāng's voice softened, his lips trembling. "I can't see clearly... it's so bright ahead..."

For the first time, the light in those scarlet eyes softened.

He reached out his left hand, as if trying to grab something, his fingertips pointing towards Hu, then withdrew it, as if he couldn't understand why he would want to actively touch the person he had always looked down on.

He looked down at the light emanating from his fingertips, but it was like a mother's fingers gently and softly clasping the back of her son's hand, doing nothing but quietly keeping him company. He pulled that hand back and covered his eyes.

"My king, I've had so many 'dreams'... countless... each 'dream' was so long, so long that I thought they would last forever." His lips curved into a smile, as if relieved, as if in a final act of defiance. "But just when I thought these 'nightmares' would haunt me for the rest of my life, the 'dream' you brought me was so sweet that it left me speechless."

"Without even the slightest glimmer of light, no one can survive the darkness."

Even Vergil was the same; without those happy childhood days, I think Vergil would have died on the night his mother was attacked, and without Dante, Vergil would not have reached his later heights.

Hu had already stood up, the Jiku'a belonging to Mōcāng, embedded in his chest, had shattered and dissipated. "Power without an origin is just a rootless duckweed. The initial motivation for fighting wasn't so bitter or hateful. At least my first battle was simply to help a girl in distress."

He stood before the Mōcāng, extending his right hand, palm facing upward. "Though we are not Vergil, we can become Amber! Come with me, my other half, and together we will become the strongest in this world!"

Mōcāng stared at the hand, remaining silent for a long time, as if trying to see all his dreams in that instant. Then he reached out, his fingertips still trembling slightly as they touched Hu's palm. He grasped it.

A deep blue light engulfed everything.