Rukongai.
It sounded like quite a poetic name, but in reality, it was simply a vast circle drawn around the Seireitei, crammed full of departed souls with nowhere else to go.
The closer one was to the Seireitei, the smaller the district number and the relatively more "stable" life was. After all, Shinigami could stroll over in just a few steps, so causing trouble came at a rather high cost.
Conversely, the higher the district number, the more the Seireitei's rules resembled a worthless sheet of paper.
District Eighty, Gomukure.
This place already lay along the edge of the Seireitei's jurisdiction. It was perfectly normal not to see a single Shinigami for decades.
So, people who could no longer survive elsewhere, were being hunted, simply wanted to stay far away from rules, or just enjoyed cutting things up all flocked here.
The air always carried the scent of rust mixed with rot.
"Ha, this place really hasn't changed at all."
Kurayashiki Kenpachi had his right hand tucked into his Shinigami uniform as he swaggered down Zaraki District's main road.
That was, if this narrow path covered in broken stones and garbage, with houses on both sides leaning so badly they were nearly kissing the ground, could be called a "main road."
He glanced to either side.
Figures huddled inside ruined houses without doors. Something lay on the ground every few steps; some no longer moved, while others still groaned. Stains layered the walls, dark and light, old and fresh.
Ashido followed behind, his gaze sweeping over the eyes hidden behind empty window frames and in the shadows. Those stares were sticky and vicious, but no one actually jumped out.
"Captain," Ashido said evenly, "it seems that even here, they understand the consequences of attacking a Shinigami."
A Shinigami, especially one wearing a captain's Haori, often meant two words in Rukongai: "Don't provoke." Those who could survive here might be crazy, but they were not stupid.
"Heh, that's hard to say." Kurayashiki Kenpachi grinned, his bright smile utterly at odds with the surroundings.
"I came here once about a hundred years ago. The division was short on people then, and I heard the Eleventh Division had an old tradition of coming here to 'pick up recruits,' so I came to take a look around."
He gestured with his left hand. "And the result? I made one round, and they were all just showpieces. They looked intimidating, but when it came to a real fight, they couldn't even beat the new brats in the division."
Ashido said nothing. He was all too familiar with his captain's standard that only fighting strength truly mattered.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi suddenly stopped.
He tilted his head, his gaze falling upon a pile of broken boards and debris by the roadside.
"Oh, hiding here, are you?" He walked over with a smile.
"Captain?" Ashido was somewhat puzzled.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi did not answer. His right hand, which had remained tucked inside his clothes, slid out. He grabbed several planks and yanked them aside!
Crash!
The boards scattered, revealing a man curled up behind them.
He was painfully thin, his clothes reduced to strips of rags, and the exposed skin was covered in grime and scars.
The moment he saw Kurayashiki Kenpachi, especially that Haori, his whole body trembled. He immediately covered his head with both hands and curled up tighter, forcing out a shrill cry.
"Don't kill me! I don't know anything! Let me go!"
His voice was hoarse, filled with desperate terror.
Ashido frowned. "Captain, someone like this..."
He did not finish.
Because at the exact moment Kurayashiki Kenpachi seemed to relax slightly at the man's pitiful appearance—
The curled-up man suddenly sprang up!
His right hand, which had been concealed beneath him, gripped a rusty short blade. Dark red stains still clung to its edge as he thrust it straight at Kurayashiki Kenpachi's stomach!
"Die!"
There was no trace of fear left on the man's face. It had twisted entirely into savagery, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Too close, too fast!
Ashido's pupils constricted, and his hand moved to his sword hilt.
Clang!
A crisp metallic sound rang out. The rusty blade struck Kurayashiki Kenpachi squarely in the stomach. Then the tip snapped off, rusted fragments flying away, bouncing twice on the ground before becoming still.
The thin man stared blankly at the half-broken hilt in his hand.
He looked at the broken blade, then at Kurayashiki Kenpachi's Shinigami uniform, which did not even bear a mark. The savagery froze on his face before swiftly turning back into terror.
"N-No, it wasn't my fault! He forced me to do it!" he wailed again.
Even as he wailed, he opened his mouth, revealing uneven yellow teeth, and bit straight at Kurayashiki Kenpachi's neck from point-blank range!
The transition from crying to biting was seamless. Begging for mercy and killing had long become the same thing to this man.
This time, Kurayashiki Kenpachi moved.
His right hand, which had been resting against his abdomen, had somehow already risen. His fingers spread, and he clamped them over the man's filthy face.
"Tch, sharp teeth." Kurayashiki Kenpachi effortlessly lifted him off the ground.
The man's skinny legs flailed wildly in the air, kicking Kurayashiki Kenpachi's Shinigami uniform again and again with dull thuds.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi even had time to turn his head and shoot Ashido a look that said, See that?
"Get it now, Ashido?" Kurayashiki Kenpachi's voice remained as booming as ever.
"In Zaraki District, you only see three kinds of people. One kind is already lying on the ground." He pointed at the corpses by the road. "The second kind will be lying there soon."
He shook the "trophy" in his hand, who was trying to scratch at his wrist with his nails.
"And the third kind is this sort... They look like a pile of sludge, but the moment you let your guard down, they go straight for your throat. Nobody who can still breathe here is a helpless little rabbit, and none of them are truly useless. Their fangs are simply buried deep."
Ashido released the hilt he had been holding. Looking at the man in his captain's grip, whose face was still being crushed while he continued kicking and attacking, he said nothing. He understood.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi turned back to the man in his hand. His smile faded somewhat, but the hint of interest in his eyes remained.
"Hey, I want to ask something. Who calls the shots in Zaraki District now? Tell me, and I won't kill you."
His tone was casual, but the weight behind his words was crushing.
The thin man's kicking weakened slightly, and the eye visible through Kurayashiki Kenpachi's fingers darted around.
"R-Really? If I tell you... you really won't kill me?" His voice was muffled by the hand crushing his face.
"Of course." Kurayashiki Kenpachi nodded. "Kurayashiki Kenpachi, captain of the Eleventh Division, keeps his word." His hand did not loosen, however.
The thin man hesitated for at most two seconds. In Zaraki District, two seconds were enough to die three times over. He immediately opened his mouth, words spilling out at lightning speed.
"N-No more great villains! There used to be, but they all died! Zaraki District belongs to the 'Demon' now!"
"Oh?!" Kurayashiki Kenpachi's eyes lit up at once. "A Demon? There really is one! No wonder there have been bodies lying everywhere along the way. Was that the Demon's work?"
"Y-Yes, him! He kills people every day! He does whatever he feels like! No one can control him! Everyone avoids him!"
The man nodded frantically, twisting his distorted face toward the far end of the street. "That way! There's an old well in the middle! He, he's often there!"
"Fine." Kurayashiki Kenpachi grinned and casually flung him aside.
Bang!
The man crashed onto the gravel, rolled several times, and coughed up blood. He did not dare make another sound, scrambling and crawling into another heap of debris before vanishing from sight.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi dusted off his hands, turned around, and strode toward the end of the street.
"Ashido, did you hear that? A 'Demon'! This trip wasn't wasted!"
Ashido hurried after him, his brow still furrowed.
He had mainly come to see whether Zaraki District had any promising recruits who could be brought into the Eleventh Division.
The Eleventh Division did not care about background, and District Eighty of Rukongai sounded like a good place to look.
But after seeing the sights along the way... corpses, cripples, and wolves in sheep's clothing like that man. They were ruthless enough, cunning enough, but as division members? Discipline and obedience were out of the question.
More importantly, their Reiatsu was pitifully weak. Among Shinigami, it likely would not even count as a breeze.
"Captain," Ashido said steadily, "even if there truly is a 'Demon,' given the caliber of Zaraki District's residents, I'm afraid..."
"Don't jump to conclusions, Ashido." Kurayashiki Kenpachi cut him off as they walked.
"After District Sixty, the territory becomes a stage where the 'great villains' fight over turf. Whenever someone appears in Zaraki District wanting to be king, they always end up dead before long. To establish himself here and still be called a 'Demon'..."
He paused, and something else entered his smile.
"Either he's a true madman, or... he has some real skill. Since we're already here, it would be a shame not to see him for ourselves."
The two continued talking without slowing their pace.
Zaraki District was not large, and its so-called "center" soon came into view.
It was a somewhat spacious clearing. The stone slabs on the ground were shattered beyond recognition, with dead grass squeezing through the cracks.
In the center of the clearing stood an old well, built of stacked stones. Its rim was chipped, and it looked as though it had long since dried up.
Their attention was immediately drawn to the person sitting beneath a tree beside the well.
A young man.
Messy black hair draped over broad shoulders. He was tall and powerfully built, muscles swelling beneath pale skin with a sense of untamed strength.
He was bare-chested, his skin crisscrossed with wounds.
Cuts from blades, claw marks, tears... some had faded, while others were still pink.
An oddly shaped long sword rested carelessly against the tree roots. Its blade was broad, and rather than a smooth curve, its edge was serrated, gleaming darkly beneath the bleak daylight.
The young man had merely been sitting with his head lowered, as if dozing or looking at something on the ground.
The instant Kurayashiki Kenpachi and Ashido stepped into the clearing, he raised his head.
His face looked quite young, his features clear and even fairly handsome. But his eyes were frighteningly empty, like two dry wells containing nothing at all.
Until his gaze fell upon Kurayashiki Kenpachi, especially the Haori he wore.
A glimmer of light suddenly appeared in those empty eyes.
Before you continue