The Evil Spirit Lurking in Gengmu District

Soul Society.

It sounded like a poetic name, but in reality, it was just a large circle drawn around Seireitei, filled with lost souls who had nowhere else to go.

The closer you got to Seireitei, the smaller the number, and the more "peaceful" life became. After all, it was only a few steps for Shinigami to patrol, and the price for causing trouble was a bit too high.

Conversely, the larger the number, the more Seireitei's rules became like a piece of scrap paper.

District 80, Zaraki.

This place was already at the edge of Seireitei's jurisdiction. It was normal not to see a single Shinigami for decades.

As a result, those who couldn't survive elsewhere, were being hunted, simply wanted to stay far from rules, or just liked to fight, all flooded here.

The air always carried a smell of rust mixed with foul odor.

"Hoh, this place really hasn't changed at all."

Kurotsuchi Kenpachi, with his right hand tucked inside his shihakusho, swaggered down the main road of District 80.

If this narrow path, littered with broken stones and trash, with houses on both sides leaning so much they almost touched the ground, could be called a "main road."

He glanced to the sides.

Shadows huddled in dilapidated houses without doors, things lay on the ground every few steps, some already still, others still groaning. Stains on the walls piled up layer after layer, dark and light, old and new.

Ashido followed behind, his gaze sweeping over the eyes hiding behind window holes and in the shadows. Those gazes were sticky and fierce, but no one truly jumped out.

"Captain," Ashido's voice was flat, "it seems even here, they know the consequences of attacking a Shinigami."

Shinigami, especially those wearing captain's haori, often meant "don't mess with me" in the Rukongai. Those who survived here, even if crazy, weren't stupid.

"Heh, that's not necessarily true." Kurotsuchi Kenpachi grinned, his smile refreshingly out of place with his surroundings.

"I came here about a hundred years ago. The squad was short on people back then, and I heard the 11th Division had an old tradition of 'picking up people' here, so I came to take a look."

He gestured with his left hand. "The result? After looking around, they were all just for show. They looked intimidating, but when it came down to it, they couldn't even beat the rookies in the squad."

Ashido didn't reply. He was too familiar with his captain's standard that "being strong is the only thing that matters."

Kurotsuchi Kenpachi suddenly stopped.

He tilted his head, his gaze falling on a pile of broken wooden boards and miscellaneous items by the roadside.

"Yo, hiding here." He walked over with a smile.

"Captain?" Ashido was a little confused.

Kurotsuchi Kenpachi didn't answer. He pulled out his right hand, which had been in his clothes, grabbed a few wooden boards, and tore them aside!

Crash!

The wooden boards scattered, revealing a man curled up behind them.

He was extremely thin, his clothes tattered into rags, and his exposed skin was covered in dirt and scars.

Upon seeing Kurotsuchi Kenpachi, especially the haori, he trembled all over. He immediately pulled his hands over his head, shrinking tighter, and squeezed out a sharp cry from his throat:

"Don't kill me! I don't know anything! Let me go!"

His voice was hoarse, filled with the tone of someone terrified to death.

Ashido's brow furrowed. "Captain, this kind of..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

Because just as Kurotsuchi Kenpachi seemed to have let his guard down slightly due to the man's pitiful appearance.

The man, who had been curled up, suddenly sprang up!

His right hand, which had been hidden beneath him, clutched a rusty short sword. The blade was still stained with something dark red. He lunged towards Kurotsuchi Kenpachi's abdomen and stabbed!

"Die!"

There was no trace of fear on the man's face anymore; it was filled with ferocity, his eyes bloodshot.

Too close, too fast!

Ashido's pupils constricted, and he reached for his sword hilt.

Clang!

A crisp sound, like metal striking metal. The rusty sword struck Kurotsuchi Kenpachi's abdomen squarely, then the tip broke off. Rusty fragments flew out, bounced twice on the ground, and lay still.

The thin man, holding the hilt of the broken sword, froze.

He looked at the broken blade, then at Kurotsuchi Kenpachi's shihakusho, which hadn't even left a mark. The ferocity on his face froze, and in an instant, it turned back into terror.

"No, it's not my fault! He forced me!" he continued to wail.

As he wailed, he opened his mouth, revealing his uneven yellow teeth, and lunged to bite Kurotsuchi Kenpachi's neck at close range!

The transition from crying to biting was seamless. Begging for mercy and attempting murder had long since become one thing in this person.

This time, Kurotsuchi Kenpachi moved.

His right hand, which had been resting on his abdomen, had already been raised at some point. His fingers spread open and grasped the man's dirty face.

"Tsk, sharp teeth." Kurotsuchi Kenpachi easily lifted the man off the ground.

The man's thin legs flailed in the air, kicking against his shihakushō with dull thuds.

He even had the presence of mind to turn his head, giving Ashido a "See what I mean?" look.

"Understand now, Ashido?" Kukuya Kenpachi's voice was as booming as ever.

"In the Zaraki District, you only see three kinds of people: one, those already on the ground." He pointed to the corpses by the roadside. "One, those about to be on the ground."

He dangled the "trophy" in his hand, who was trying to scratch his wrist with his fingernails.

"And the third kind, like this guy... Looks like a puddle of mud, but the moment you relax, he'll be going for your throat. Anyone breathing here isn't a little lamb, nor are they truly useless; they just hide their fangs deep."

Ashido released his hand from the hilt of his sword and watched the man in the captain's grip, whose face was being crushed but who still kept kicking and attacking, without speaking. He understood.

Kukuya Kenpachi turned his face back to the man in his hand, his smile softening slightly, but the interest in his eyes remained.

"Hey, I need to ask something. Who's in charge in the Zaraki District right now? Tell me, and I won't kill you."

His tone was casual, but the weight of his words pressed down.

The skinny man's kicking weakened slightly, and his eyes, peeking through his fingers, darted around.

"R-really? If I tell you... you really won't kill me?" His voice was muffled, his face being squeezed.

"Of course," Kukuya Kenpachi nodded. "Captain of the 11th Division, Kukuya Kenpachi, keeps his word." But his hand didn't loosen.

The skinny man hesitated for at most two seconds. In the Zaraki District, two seconds was enough to die three times. He immediately opened his mouth, words tumbling out rapidly:

"N-no big villains! There were some before, but they're all dead! The Zaraki District is the territory of the 'Demon' now!"

"Oh?!" Kukuya Kenpachi's eyes lit up. "Demon? There really is one! No wonder there were so many lying around on the way. Did that 'Demon' do it?"

"Yes, him! Kills people every day! Does whatever he wants! No one can control him! Everyone avoids him!"

The man nodded frantically, his contorted face desperately twisting towards the end of the street. "That way! There's an old well in the middle! He, he's often there!"

"Alright." Kukuya Kenpachi chuckled and casually flung the man aside.

Bang!

The man crashed onto the gravelly ground, rolling a few times. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, but didn't dare utter another sound. He scrambled and crawled into another pile of rubble, disappearing from sight.

Kukuya Kenpachi clapped his hands, turned, and strode towards the end of the street.

"Ashido, did you hear that? 'Demon'! This trip wasn't in vain!"

Ashido quickly followed, his brow still furrowed.

His main purpose for this trip was to see if there were any "seeds" in the Zaraki District that could be brought into the 11th Division.

The 11th Division didn't care about background; the eighty districts of the Rukongai were considered good places.

But looking around so far... corpses, cripples, and the guy just now who pretended to be a sheep. They were ruthless, cunning, but as squad members? Discipline and obedience were out of the question.

More importantly, their spiritual pressure was pitifully weak. In a crowd of Shinigami, they probably wouldn't even count as a gust of wind.

"Captain," Ashido spoke, his voice steady, "even if there is a 'Demon', given the caliber of the residents in the Zaraki District, I'm afraid..."

"Don't jump to conclusions so quickly, Ashido," Kukuya Kenpachi interrupted, speaking as he walked.

"From the sixtieth district onwards, the territory becomes a stage for 'great villains' to fight over. Every time someone in the Zaraki District tries to claim the throne, they end up dying violently soon after. To be able to establish a foothold here and be called a 'Demon'..."

He paused, a different kind of smile appearing.

"Either they're truly mad, or... they have something real. Since we're here, it would be a shame not to see."

They spoke as they walked, their feet never stopping.

The Zaraki District wasn't large, and what was called the "center" soon came into view.

A slightly wider open space, the flagstones on the ground were shattered beyond recognition, with withered grass growing in the cracks.

In the middle of the open space, there was indeed an old well, built of stone, with a missing section on the rim, looking long disused.

Their gazes were immediately captured by the person sitting under the tree by the well.

A young man.

Messy black hair cascaded over broad shoulders. He was tall and powerfully built, muscle lines bulging beneath his pale skin, exuding an untamed strength.

He was bare-chested, his skin covered in crisscrossing scars.

From sword cuts, scratches, tears... some were faded, others still a fresh pink.

A particularly unique-looking long sword leaned casually against the tree roots. The blade was wide, and the edge wasn't a smooth arc but serrated, glinting with a dull sheen under the bleak daylight.

The young man had been sitting with his head bowed, as if dozing, or perhaps looking at something on the ground.

The moment Kukuya Kenpachi and Ashido stepped into the open space, he raised his head.

His face was quite young, his features clear, even considered pleasant-looking, but his eyes were terrifyingly vacant, like two dry wells, containing nothing.

It wasn't until his gaze fell upon Kukuya Kenpachi, especially his haori, that...

A flicker of light appeared in those empty eyes.