Battle Against Kenpachi Zaraki (6)

The blade of the Tang Dao is entirely black, without any reflection, as if it can absorb all light, as if it itself is part of the darkness. There are no decorations, no patterns, no superfluous details on the blade, only a pure simplicity to the extreme, a chilling coldness.

Kenpachi Zaraki's pupils contracted sharply. His fighting instincts kicked in at that moment, and his body began to react the instant the Imperial Guard drew his sword. He pushed off the ground with both feet, his body retreating backward, while simultaneously raising his Zanpakuto in both hands, holding it horizontally in front of him, ready to block the Imperial Guard's attack.

But the Imperial Guard's blade was too fast.

The black arc flashed through the air like lightning ripped through the night sky, like an arrow piercing the air, like the Soul Reaper wielding his scythe. The blade collided with Kenpachi Zaraki's Zanpakuto, producing a crisp metallic clang. The sharp, loud sound echoed in the empty space, making everyone's eardrums buzz.

Kenpachi Zaraki felt an immense force emanating from his blade, a force like a mountain collapsing, a tsunami crashing, or the sky falling, sending his body flying backward.

His hands went numb, his tiger's mouth split open, and blood gushed from the wounds, staining the hilt of his knife. His body tumbled through the air several times before crashing heavily to the ground, sliding backward a few meters before barely managing to regain his balance.

He looked down at his Zanpakuto, where a small nick had appeared on the blade—a cut made by the Imperial Guard's Tang Dao. A flicker of shock crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by excitement.

The power of the Imperial Guard was far greater than he had imagined. This being, born from Liu Hao's Bankai, this man who looked like just an ordinary guard, was probably no less powerful than any Captain-level Soul Reaper.

Kenpachi Zaraki raised his head, looking at the Imperial Guards standing not far away, a grin spreading across his face, revealing an almost maniacal smile. His eyes burned with an even more intense fighting spirit, a fighting spirit that burned like flames, churned like magma, and shone like the sun.

"Interesting!" Kenpachi Zaraki's voice was filled with excitement and anticipation. "This is so interesting!"

He gripped his Zanpakuto tightly, pushed off the ground with both feet, and charged towards the Imperial Guard. His speed was astonishing, faster, fiercer, and more ferocious than before. He raised his Zanpakuto high, its blade gleaming with a cold light, the serrated notches on the blade appearing particularly ferocious under the light.

The Imperial Guard stood there, expressionless, watching Kenpachi Zaraki charge towards him. His Tang Dao pointed diagonally at the ground, a drop of blood still clinging to its tip—blood that had splattered from when Kenpachi Zaraki's tiger's mouth was shattered. His eyes were cold and calm, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, only a pure, unadorned killing intent.

He leaned forward slightly, gripped his Tang Dao tightly in his right hand, and pointed the tip of the sword at Kenpachi Zaraki. He lightly touched the ground with his foot, and his body shot out like an arrow, heading towards Kenpachi Zaraki.

Two figures met in mid-air, their swords clashing, sparking a dazzling burst of light. The sparks stood out starkly in the dim light, like fireworks blooming in the night sky, like the first rays of dawn, like a flame of hope ignited in the darkness.

"Clang clang--"

A series of metallic clanging sounds exploded in the air, like firecrackers, like drumbeats, like a roaring waterfall. The figures of the Imperial Guard and Kenpachi Zaraki constantly clashed in the air, their swords colliding and sparks flying.

The two moved so fast that it was dazzling and impossible to follow; one could only see two blurry figures moving rapidly across the field, and hear the continuous clanging of metal echoing in the air.

Imperial Guard's swordsmanship was precise and fierce, each strike aimed at Kenpachi Zaraki's vital points, each strike carrying deadly intent. His swordsmanship contained no superfluous movements, no fancy moves, only the simplest, most direct, and most effective attacks. Every strike of his was perfectly timed, every strike was incredibly precise, and every strike was impossible to defend against.

Kenpachi Zaraki's swordsmanship is completely different. His swordsmanship is wild and brutal, without rules or routines, relying solely on pure brute force and instinct.

Each of his strikes carried a devastating power, each strike seemingly capable of cleaving everything in its path in two.

His swordsmanship had no defense, only offense, because in his view, the best defense was offense, which meant attacking faster, more ruthlessly, and more fiercely than his opponent.

The two fighters had completely different fighting styles, but they had one thing in common—they were both enjoying the fight.

Although there was no emotional fluctuation in Imperial Guard's eyes, every movement he made carried a focus on the battle and a respect for his opponent.

The clash between Kenpachi Zaraki and the Imperial Guards has transformed into a frenzied battle worthy of being recorded in the annals of Soul Society.

Two figures clashed repeatedly in the darkness of the Muken. The metallic clang of clashing swords was like an incessant thunderclap, exploding, echoing, and overlapping in this space that was sealed and reinforced in layers. The sealing runes on the walls trembled slightly, as if even these ancient restrictions were trembling at the sight of this battle.

Kenpachi Zaraki's eyes burned with a fiery light, a kind of almost manic excitement, a pure and extreme fervor.

His pupils reflected the cold and sharp figure of the Imperial Guard, and a nearly ferocious smile spread across his lips, revealing two rows of teeth stained with blood.

His breathing was rapid and heavy, each breath carrying a strong stench of blood, but his face showed no sign of pain, only a deep-seated satisfaction. He had waited for this day for far too long.

Throughout his time in Seireitei, Kenpachi Zaraki was always searching for an opponent who could give him his all. He was like a peerless blade hidden in its sheath, its brilliance fully revealed yet with nowhere to be unleashed, yearning to be drawn but unable to find a worthy adversary to wield.

And now, he has finally found it.

The Imperial Guard's swordsmanship was precise and fierce, each strike carrying a deadly intent, each blow aimed directly at vital points. His speed was astonishing, leaving afterimages in the air, as if countless Imperial Guards were attacking Kenpachi Zaraki simultaneously.

His strength was terrifying. Every time their swords clashed, Kenpachi Zaraki or tsunami coming from the blade, which would make his arm go numb, his hand split open, and blood would gush out from the crack and drip onto the ground along the hilt of the sword.

But Kenpachi Zaraki didn't care about any of that. He didn't care about the pain, the wounds, or the bleeding. There was only one thing he cared about—fighting. A real, exhilarating battle that would make him feel alive.

The Imperial Guards ' blades left one wound after another on his body.

Some wounds were so deep that the bone was visible, some were over a foot long, some were on the chest, some on the back, some on the arms, and some on the legs. The wounds crisscrossed and densely packed, Kenpachi Zaraki's body into a bloody painting.

Blood gushed from his wounds, staining his already tattered Shihakushō a dark red. Bloodstains dripped everywhere on the ground, pooling into small pools.

However, the moment the wounds on Kenpachi Zaraki's body appear, a warm and gentle light will immediately envelop him.